THE TERRACE
667
Smith, but did not see
him.
And he reflected: "This party alone
cost eight hundred and twenty-three dollars and twenty cents.
If
Miss Slingsby's money were invested, it could earn substantial
profits. For the sanatorium patients, of course."
On the terrace the night appeared to be more dense. Out–
side the enclosure things were black and remote.
"You know," Matilda remarked with a rather childlike
coquettry, "I wish this night could be longer than the others.
As
long as some nights I knew before coming to the sanatorium. An
interminable night, shall we say?"
"Oh," said Arner with alarm.
"There are long nights and short nights. Some can
last
ten
hours, twenty hours, two weeks. And more. I believe there could
be a night without end."
Arner listened with misgiving and said nothing. Matilda
was gazing at an ice cube on the tablecloth. Its angles decom–
posed the light and blue, rose, and green tints appeared. The
table lamp had a shade with red and black designs. Arner spun
it around to see the complete figure of one of those birds the
Indians weave into their rugs and paint on ceramic objects.
Arner was realizing that the calls of the universe for hope had
led her on to the "infinite night." Such exaltations were con–
tagious. And he said, prudently straying from the subject:
"That bird on the lampshade
is
not the storm thunderbird,
because if it were it would have the form of a cross and be a
front view with spread wings. This is a profile. See? The Zuiii
bird
is
always a profile, I believe.
As
painted by the Indians, I
mean."
Lowering his voice, he added:
"It looks a little like Dr. Smith, true enough. But the bird
of the Zuiiis, like the thunderbird, is sacred. All birds a:re sacred
among the Indians because they come down from the sky where
the rain is made. In that, their sacredness, they differ from Dr.
Smith."
"Don't you believe it. For some patients the director
is
'aJao
