Instantly he was dizzy again. In the same instant he saw Ma-ah quite clearly, standing only a few feet away. Enlarging his inner vision without being sure how he did so, he saw the ancient courtyard; but unmistakably, vividly, and simultaneously he also saw the courtyard as it existed in the twenty-third century A.D. The tile in the same physical place showed its two separate Aspects at once, not one before the other. And as his vision widened, the two courtyards were transposed one upon the other.

Cyprus’ voice seemed to come from a great distance. “This is just one hint of what’s possible,” she said. “But the same is true of you, Seven, and your personalities. You all exist in your own Aspects, at once, each separate yet a part of the other … occupying the same ‘place’ which isn’t a place at all … like the tile. Lydia, for example—her experience is yours, even if you aren’t conscious of it. And your experience is hers, if only you can help her realize it—”

Cyprus paused, and said, “Even now she’s translating your experience in her own way.”

“Yes, I see,” Seven cried, and the courtyards—both of them, disappeared. He was Lydia, yet she was herself, distinct, an old woman strapped in a wheelchair, staring with drug-filled eyes into the faces of her adult children.

Chapter Fifteen

Lydia’s Children Grow Backward in Time and Tweety Delivers a Message (Aspect Two)

Lydia sat staring petulantly at her grown children. She’d been in the Medford House for a week. It was Sunday, visitor’s day, and she sat propped up in the wheelchair like an ancient doll, powdered and perfumed, and dressed in one of the few dresses she owned. They’d thrown out her slacks and dungarees. Her eyes kept drifting off to the right, and she kept trying to bring them back into focus.

“We have her all fixed up for visitors. Doesn’t she look nice?” the nurse said. Like Lydia’s children, the nurse was in her fifties. “Shit!” Lydia said under her breath.

The nurse, Mrs. Only, smiled indulgently and chuckled. “Don’t pay any mind,” she said to Lydia’s daughter, Anna.

“Mama, you’re looking well,” Anna said nervously. She was a big woman with a large bosom; well-educated, at a loss as to what to say.

Lydia just stared.

“She’s tranquilized,” Mrs. Only said.

Roger, Lydia’s second son, grinned: “Any particular reason?”

“She got upset the other day and threw her milk glass across the room. Then she cursed everyone out, ran down the hall, and was heading for the stairs when we caught her.”

“I’d do it again if I had the chance.” Lydia tried to say the words clearly. They came out garbled, slurred. It was the damned drugs. She strained to get out of the chair.