His dream or mental body had separated from his physical one, though, and suddenly Josef stared, literally beside himself, to see his rumpled, nearly blue, stiff, sodden, and drunken form; eyelids stuck shut, with frost climbing between the thick dark eyebrows; proud brown mustache looking like the ancient white quills of some senile porcupine. He was struck by a sudden forlorn longing for his body, with which he’d made love to Bianka and planted his seed—his bristly, usually vigorous thighs, splendid arms, paint-stained fingers. And he vowed that if he ever got out of this, he’d never complain again; he’d paint masterpieces and be a good husband and father and householder beside.

Oversoul Seven got embarrassed whenever Josef really allowed himself to feel his emotions, as opposed to playing with them as he usually did. What would happen if Josef actually allowed himself to—well, honestly experience his feelings, instead of playing the mad artist or buffoon? Easy sentimentality was one thing—and Josef moaned often, loudly, quarrelsomely, bombastically. But these present feelings went deeper. Josef’s sudden compassion for his body, in contrast to his usual self-pity, led Seven to say, gently, “Your body will be all right. If you believe me, it will be found in time. It won’t be damaged to any important degree.”

Josef was still staring at it, but the easily manufactured self-pity came back. “It’ll freeze, poor thing,” he sobbed.

“It just might,” Seven cried, exasperated. “Now, listen, I have to get your thoughts off your body somehow. Just forget it, will you?”

“Forget it?” Josef screamed, nearly out of his wits by now.

Nothing, Seven saw, would take Josef’s attention away from his body while he could still see it; and it wasn’t in any shape for him to get back into.

“Dear gods above,” Josef cried dramatically.

And Oversoul Seven thought: What a brilliant idea! It just might work—”Look over there,” he told Josef. Josef turned, and with his attention momentarily off his body, Seven was able to whisk him away from it. Josef felt a sudden dizziness; the snow grew dazzling bright all around him, despite the darkness of the moment before. The ledge above him trembled and shifted in some indescribable fashion as he stared at it—and before him stretched a summery path. The air was so warm and lovely in contrast to the earlier iciness that Josef cried out with delight and relief. So did Seven, because Josef’s concentration on warmth would help keep his physical body from freezing. That is, it would as long as Seven could keep Josef occupied.