Just then, the dreadful combination of sounds set up a new uproar, knocking all thoughts from Monarch’s head. This time the volume was greater than before, and the sounds rattled around Monarch’s dream head like sharp rocks. Then once again, unaccountably, the noises stopped.

One man was saying, “You can’t hear a thing with that goddamn traffic.” Monarch was able to make out the words. He grinned weakly at Leona. Traffic! So that’s what traffic was….

George closed the window.

Seven really wanted to get out of his body so that he could deal with this new group of events, but he didn’t dare. Again he said gently, “If you’re Monarch, we know the Codicils are in your world, in your probability. But in our probability, in your past, we haven’t put them there yet. Do you understand?”

Monarch tried to concentrate on the words he heard, but the floor of his consciousness kept shifting. There was only one thing to do, he thought—if he could manage it. “Bail me out if I need it,” he told Leona mentally. And in the next moment he let his consciousness lean closer and closer to Window’s.

At a certain psychological level, a subjective attraction took over, and Monarch felt as if he went twirling through worlds of emotions and sensations until finally he opened his eyes—to look out upon the strange room from Window’s viewpoint. Yet he was still himself, and this body’s senses kept the sense data clear and untangled. “I think I understand,” he said with Window’s voice.

But for a moment Monarch could say nothing more as he tried to orient himself. Window’s consciousness was … truly spacious! Monarch symbolically experienced the aspects of Window’s personality as separate large rooms at whose doorways he stood, staring. The twentieth-century Window faced his own time—that was certain. But in a reflection form, Monarch saw his own personality in still another room (where his own characteristics operated as Window’s unconscious? Could that be? he wondered). And between the two stood Window’s Christ. Really astonished, but understanding, Monarch through Window spoke out:

“Window can heal. I understand now. Before the Codicils, you didn’t realize that you could heal yourselves or others without … medicine.” Monarch was overwhelmed with compassion as Window’s memory-images glowed in his own consciousness: Window as a child being punished for healing a cat, the child trying to use his abilities against the greatest constraints…. “Oh,” Monarch cried, half with exasperation, “Window identified with Christ, because gods at least could heal. And Window wouldn’t have to bear the guilt …” Monarch felt woozy. He struggled to control his own subjective stance.

“It’s all right. I’m here, helping,” Leona said.