THE STUFF
By HENRY SLESAR
Illustrated by Ritter
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Magazine August 1961.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Would it work? Yes. How would
it work? Exactly like this.
"No more lies," Paula said. "For God's sake, Doctor, no more lies. I'vebeen living with lies for the past year and I'm tired of them."
Bernstein closed the white door before answering, mercifully obscuringthe sheeted, motionless mound on the hospital bed. He took the youngwoman's elbow and walked with her down the tiled corridor.
"He's dying, of course," he said conversationally. "We've never lied toyou about that, Mrs. Hills; you know what we've told you all along. Ihoped that by now you'd feel more resigned."
"I was," she said bitterly. They had stopped in front of Bernstein'ssmall office and she drew her arm away. "But then you called me. Aboutthis drug of yours—"
"We had to call you. Senopoline can't be administered withoutpermission of the patient, and since your husband has been in coma forthe last four days—"
He opened the door and nodded her inside. She hesitated, then walkedin. He took his place behind the cluttered desk, his grave facedistracted, and waited until she sat down in the facing chair. Hepicked up his telephone receiver, replaced it, shuffled papers, andthen locked his hands on the desk blotter.
"Senopoline is a curious drug," he said. "I've had little experiencewith it myself. You may have heard about the controversy surroundingit."
"No," she whispered. "I don't know about it. I haven't cared aboutanything since Andy's illness."
"At any rate, you're the only person in the world that can decidewhether your husband receives it. It's strange stuff, as I said, but inthe light of your husband's present condition, I can tell you this—itcan do him absolutely no harm."
"But it will do him good?"
"There," Bernstein sighed, "is the crux of the controversy, Mrs.Hills."
Row, row, row your boat, he sang in his mind, feeling the lappingtongues of the cool lake water against his fingers, drifting, drifting,under obeisant willows. Paula's hands were resting gently on his eyesand he lifted them away. Then he kissed the soft palms and pressed themon his cheek. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find thatthe boat was a bed, the water only pelting rain against the window, andthe willow trees long shadows on the walls. Only Paula's hands werereal, solid and real and comforting against his face.
He grinned at her. "Funniest damn thing," he said. "For a minute there,I thought we were back at Finger Lake. Remember that night we sprang aleak? I'll never forget the way you looked when you saw the hem of yourdress."
"Andy," she said quietly. "Andy, do you know what's happened?"
He scratched his head. "Seems to me Doc Bernstein was in here a whileago. Or was he? Didn't they jab me again or something?"
"It was a drug, Andy. Don't you remember? They have this new miracledrug, senopoline. Dr. Bernstein told you about it, said it was worththe try...."
"Oh, sure, I remember."
He sat up in bed, casually, as if sitting up in bed were an everydayoccurrence. He took a cigarette