st out of arm's reach.

"What's this?" He gestured toward the bags. "Where're you going?"

She stared at him for a long moment, her face set. She was of his height
and build and wore a suit the same light grey as his. Their hair cuts
were identical, their faces sharp featured and pale. They might have
been brother and sister--or two brothers, or two sisters.

"I'm going to the marriage center."

"What for?" He had tried to inject surprise into his voice. But the tone
was listless.

"The Superfather called about your dream."

Twenty-three turned away, lighted a cigarette. He should beg her to
stay, should promise to change. But the silence was in him, like a
sickness.

"A terrible thing's happening to you. I don't want any part of it." She
picked up the bags. "When you come to your senses, you know where to
reach me.... _If_ I haven't already made another contract, I _might_
come back to you."

She hesitated at the door.

"There's one thing I don't understand. You haven't begged me to stay.
You haven't broken down. You haven't threatened suicide." She paused.
"It's standard procedure, you know. It might even make me decide to wait
awhile."

"I don't want you to stay," he said. He felt a shock of surprise. It was
as though a voice had spoken from behind him.

He watched the door shut between them.

* * * * *

Dressed in his pajamas, he stood beside the metal tube, in which for so
many years he had slept his regulation sleep and dreamed his regulation
dreams. There was something of the finely made casket about this
tube--the six foot length and three foot diameter; the lid along its top
and the dull shine of the metal and the quiet of it, as though it were
asleep and lying in wait for a tired body to bring it awake so that it
could put the body to sleep and live in the dreams it would give to the
sleeper.

Beside his own tube stood its twin, where his wife had also slept and
dreamed through the years.

Leaning slightly forward, he felt the press of metal against his hip
bones, felt the tube roll an inch with his weight. He rested one hand on
the metal top, felt its warmth and smoothness, was aware of its
cleanness, like that of a surgical instrument.

Now he glanced at the glistening black panel that stood two feet high at
the tube's head; quickly checked its four illuminated dials and three
gleaming arrows and at the same time raised his hand to drop the cards
into the