“The atmosphere isn’t exactly inspiring,” Josef yelled from the bed, but the two marched out without another word, locking the door behind them. “I’ll die of starvation before I lift a brush to do a painting for you,” Josef shouted. No one answered. There was no one to talk with. He drank the water they were big-hearted enough to leave in the pitcher, but he was getting dizzy from lack of food.

The next day he just lay on the bed, brooding, and watching the few shafts of light that fell through the crevices in the boarded windows. A twilight cast filled the room. He felt lethargic. He’d almost convinced himself that Bianka would certainly sneak up with some food for him, when he began to doze.

The next thing he knew, he was dreaming. Then the dream itself shuddered, split open. The air shimmered. He was staring at his double, who looked down at him, mustache bristling, eyes warm and oddly understanding. “What are you doing here?” Josef said. “You’re another me? I’m dreaming again. One of me gets in enough trouble. I certainly don’t need two—”

“I thought your own image would be reassuring,” Oversoul Seven said.

“Reassuring! That’s how little you know—” Josef shouted. He turned his head to the wall.

“All right. All right,” Oversoul Seven said, hurt. He changed into the image of a wise old man. “Is this better? Turn around so you can see me,” he said.

“Thank heaven. Now you’re somebody I can trust,” Josef said. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in my dreams at all lately.”

“I’ve been very busy,” Seven said. “For that matter, I probably shouldn’t even be here. But I always relate to you. More and more, you remind me of myself. Except that you get in such trouble all the time; and it’s always needless. You could so easily avoid it. This time you’ve really done it. Hosentaufs won’t let you out, either, unless you produce. You’ve roused their sense of virtue. They’re going to teach you a lesson, even if you die of starvation—”

“Am I dreaming?”

“Yes and no. You’re sleeping. I’m really here, if that’s what you mean. But I’m not staying.”

“You can’t just go away and leave me,” Josef pleaded. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to for days. I’ll go crazy, if I haven’t already. You’ve got to help me.”

“I gave you the idea for that painting. And what did you do? Ruin it. You must like trouble,” Seven said, fading out.

“You can’t go. I won’t have it,” Josef cried. “If you have to go, take me with you.”