Josephine paused. Her face reddened. “I was shocked. I mean, wouldn’t you think I would have been delighted first of all? But my first thought was, ‘This is awful; he can’t do that.’ And he—John Window or Christ or whoever—smiled exactly as if he knew what I was thinking. Even as all that went through my head, though, John was John again. He seemed not to know what had happened. I thought he was pretending, but he wasn’t. His face was guileless. But I was—unbelievably I guess—almost in a fury. I told him that we’d have to cut the interview short; that I’d forgotten another appointment, and I really hustled him to the door.”

She stopped; out of breath. The bees in the shrubs sounded loudly again. George looked embarrassed and shook his head.

“Now that could have been suggestion,” George said. “I don’t know much about it, but aren’t migraines emotionally based?”

Josephine glared at him, placed her hands on her hips and stood up, legs spread out, the tips of her summer sandals pointing in almost opposite directions. “I’m aware of the emotional aspects of migraine,” she said in a cold, even voice. “And up to that point, mine had always lasted several days. I used to get them every other week or so. Well, I haven’t had one since, and that was six months ago.” Her voice softened. She brought her feet together almost primly and said, “I shouldn’t blame you, though. I was so upset about the whole thing that I avoided John Window like the plague for a while. I kept making excuses for not seeing him until finally I couldn’t stand myself, of course….”

She lowered her voice again. “There are other incidents too, but for now, here are the main points. I’d be passing through the corridors and find a small group around Window, or maybe he’d be standing there with just one patient. They protect him, I’ve had evidence of that, I’ll tell you later … But some patients that I’d worked with, without any discernible results—well, they suddenly improved remarkably well; well enough to be released. And I’d seen John talking to those same patients. I can’t tell you how I knew what he was doing, but there’d be a circle of secrecy or conspiracy about all of them when I found them. In each case—it happened three times—John would be Christ while they talked. He reverted to Window the minute I came by, looking at me with that same damned ignorance or innocence….”

“Nothing you could prove one way or the other,” George muttered.