Limekiller!

. odd affliction, is it not so, Professor, suffering from nightmares in the day-time?. and, The ephialtes may attack at noon as well as midnight. Greek word. Literally? “On-leaperf… the demon. causes nightmares.

And he, Jack Limekiller, had asked himself, incredulous at this ancient confusion between cause and effect, “ Causes?”

And Rosita had said, and now he knew why Rosita had said. why Bathsheba, and oh Lord how many others had said, whenever some hint of it came up: No tahk aboet eet!

No. He would never talk about it. He would… if only he would. if only he could… he could.

Suddenly he was out of there. Out of the bush. In the clearing. There was his boat, safely moored. There his guests, safe aboard. Both of them.

They did not at first see him. They simply sat there calmly, and calmly talking to each other; now and then pointing with calm unhurried gestures, to something afar off: the mountain range’s nearest reach, perhaps. The faint white line of the Great Reef, perhaps. The lay of the land up or down the coast. perhaps.

So, if there was any real meaning to the advice Pull yourself together, he was able to take advantage of it. He seemed to feel that he was, literally, pulling himself together. First he pulled his shirt down… it had ridden up his belly and buck. Second, he pulled his underpants and trousers up; they had slid down, down. Then he pulled his bones and tendons and ligaments and, most of all, his thoughts and mind, those he pulled together, too. Then he went on.

“Well, John! We were almost worried about you, but I said, Nooo. John’s a nalmost native woodsman, so, no need ta worry bout him!”

And, ‘John, oh, I feel so a-shamed: I got jist so unturrested in some of those flowers? And, well. ”

The best and the worst of it was, they had not worried!

He could bring himself, at first, to say nothing. And, though they both babbled on cheerfully until he was aboard, once he was aboard: then they noticed. “Why, now, John, you don’t look a-tall well!” “Umm. No. You don’t look one bit well, John. Why, what -

Nothing like a good, simple truth in due season. “Touch of the fever,” he mumbled, coming to a slow halt, sinking down to rest. “Chills. ”

Doctor Ed, was, after all (licensed to practice down here or not), after all, Doctor Ed. “Well, we’ll take care of that,” he said, suddenly brisk, professional, and having the situation well in hand. For a moment, Limekiller, (echoing his ears the words of Professor Brolly:. The incubus. causes nightmares, fevers, chills, and.), thought that Doctor Ed was about to give him an adjustment of the subluxation of your third vertebrar; he did not know if he could either stand it, lie down for it, or resist it: nothing, of the sort: from somewhere, perhaps his small carry-all, perhaps his left ear, Dr. Duckerson produced tablets and capsules (chiropractic science has made marvelous strides, and can now polish you off, pharmaceutically, almost as well as establishmentarian medical science; only of course, neither one does that, always) — water — a cup or glass -

And the magic words, “Just take these, and you’ll be all right.”

Magic words.

By and by, Limekiller was all right.

For the most part. From time to time, though, on the way back — and they had not tarried long, no longer than it took him to raise anchor and sails — he did feel himself shaken by a spasm. Spasms. And, compared to what he had already felt and seen, what were mere spasms? Trifles. Trifles light as air. Ella urged him to put on a jacket. Ella had a small, a very small, but large enough, flask of Very Good Brandy. Ed (Doctor Ed) regretted aloud that it was impractical for John to leave the helm and lie down for a very thorough adjustment; Ed did, however, do various things to Jack’s back as he stayed crouching, over at the helm. Did they, could they, help? Could they hurt?

Life is mostly froth and bubble;

Two things stand like stone:

Kindness in another’s trouble,

Courage in your own.

“I’m fine, now,” he said. And said it over till they began to believe him. The ring.

What do with, about, the ring? Ring made at least a thousand years ago by the Old Kingdom Indians, perhaps, before they’d fled. And now he knew why they had fled!. maybe.

. only maybe not.