"Theodore Sturgeon - The Perfect Host" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sturgeon Theodore)

carefully, but he seemed honestly to know nothing about it. I decided to let well enough alone, at
least for the time being. . . .
We had a quick dinner at the Bluebird, and then went home. I suppose I was poor company for
the boy, because I kept finding myself mulling over the thing. We went to the Criterion, and I
don't believe I heard or saw a bit of it. Then we picked up an evening paper and went home. He
went to bed while I sat up with the headlines.
I found it down at the bottom of the third page. This is the item:

WOMAN DIES IN HOSPITAL LEAP

Mrs. Helmuth Stoye, of Homeland, was found yesterday afternoon under her window at Memorial
Hospital, Carstairs. Dr. R. B. Knapp, head physician at the hospital, made a statement to the
press in which he absolved the hospital and staff from any charges of negligence. A nurse, whose
name is withheld, had just entered Mrs. Stoye's room when the woman leaped to her death.
"There was no way to stop her," said Dr. Knapp. "It happened too fast."
Dr. Knapp said that Mrs. Stoye had shown no signs of depression or suicidal intent on admission
to the hospital four days ago. Her specific illness was not divulged.
Mrs. Stoye, the former Grace Korshak of Ferntree, is survived by her husband, a well-known
printer here.

I went straight to the telephone and dialed the hospital. I heard the ringing signal once,
twice, and then, before the hospital could answer, I hung up again. What could I ask them, or tell
them? "I saw Mrs. Stoye jump." They'd be interested in that, all right. Then what? "She
disappeared when she hit the ground." I can imagine what they'd say to that. "But my son saw it
too!" And the question from hospital officials, a psychiatrist or two....Ronnie being questioned,
after he had mercifully forgotten about the whole thing ... no. No; better let well enough alone.
The newspaper said Mrs. Stoye was found under her window. Whoever found her must have been
able to see her.
I wonder what the nurse saw?
I went into the kitchen and heated some coffee, poured it, sweetened it, stirred it, and then
left it untasted on the table while I put on my hat and got my car keys.
I had to see that nurse. First I tore out the newspaper article--I didn't want Ronnie, ever to
see it.




III

As Told By
LUCILLE HOLDER


I HAVE seen a lot of ugly things as a trainee and as a nurse, but they don't bother me very much.
It's not that the familiarity hardens one; it is rather that one learns the knack of channeling
one's emotions around the ugly thing.
When I was a child in England I learned how to use this knack. I lived in Coventry, and though
Herr Hitler's treatment of the city seems to have faded from the news and from fiction, the story
is still vividly written on the memories of us who were there, and is read and reread more often
than we care to say.