“O.K.,” I said, noting that Blob left me and went out again as if prearranged, “I’m here.”

“Cija,” he said, turning a heavy head to me over the pillow, “Could you do something for me?”

There was only a little torch flickering in the room but though I couldn’t get much of his face he was lying rather still.

“What’s the matter?” I said suspiciously.

“Couldn’t you try and get me some water?” he continued, turning restlessly.

“Everyone wants that.”

“Anyhow—just try—you’re the only one who can help. It would be no good asking anyone else for water—but you could steal some—she must get a generous ration—”

“She does, but there’s fat hope, I must say, of me getting any—and if I could, why should I give it to you?”

“Please,” he said weakly.

“You’re pretending to be ill,” I said. Cautious.

“Yes, on my chest,” he muttered.

Thinking I’d call his bluff, I went determinedly across to him and was bold enough to open his shirt. But on the pale narrow chest whose smooth male muscles I remembered so well, with its flat wine-dark male nipples, there was a bluish-black shock. The light flickered ugly over it. “A bruise,” I said. I touched it and he yelped and shocked me worse, and then he caught his lip fiercely in his teeth and scowled at me because I’d heard him yelp.

“What is it?” I said. “It’s not a bruise.”

“I know that, fool. Look, can’t you get me some water? Please.” His voice trailed away. I bent over him in anxiety but the light was too bad and too uncertain.

“What bit you?” I said.

“Yes, I think it’s a bite. Looks like a snake. Can’t be.” “You’re finding it difficult to talk? Let me put a few more cushions under your head.”

His fingers slid against my arm, caught my wrist. His skin was hot and harsh.

“The water?” he said. “Look, girl, any way, can’t you …?’ “You’re sick.” I decided intelligently.

“Not very—if it weren’t so hot—”

“I’ll try for some water,” I said and ran to the doorflap.

He stopped tossing for a moment. “Wonderful,” he breathed. And then, “I knew you would.”

That was laughable. I stopped feeling quite so sorry for him. “Don’t try to bribe me to good deeds with insincere compliments on my character—” I said.

“Cija,” he called as I was on the threshold.

“Well?”

“Will you nurse me? Blob can’t—no one will—”

“Don’t worry.”