it was the following night that i discovered the dylar. an amber bottle of lightweight plastic. it was taped to theunderside of the radiator cover in the bathroom. i found it when the radiator began knocking and i removed the coverto study the valve in an earnest and methodical way, trying to disguise to myself the helplessness i felt.

i went at once to find denise. she was in bed watching tv. when i told her what i'd found we went quietly into thebathroom and looked at the bottle together. it was easy to see the word dylar through the transparent tape. neither ofus touched a thing, so great was our surprise at finding the medication concealed in this manner. we regarded thelittle tablets with solemn concern. then we exchanged a look fraught with implication.

without a word we replaced the radiator cover, bottle intact, and went back to denise's room. the voice at the end ofthe bed said: "meanwhile here is a quick and attractive lemon garnish suitable for any sea food."denise sat on the bed, looking past me, past the tv set, past the posters and souvenirs. her eyes were narrowed, herface set in a thoughtful scowl.

"we say nothing to baba.""all right," i said.

"she'll only say she doesn't remember why she put it there.""what is dylar? that's what i want to know. there are only three or four places she could have gone to get theprescription filled, within a reasonable distance. a pharmacist can tell us what the stuff is for. i'll get in the car firstthing in the morning.""i already did that," she said.

"when?""around christmas. i went to three drugstores and talked to the indians behind the counters in the back.""i think they're pakistanis.""whatever.""what did they tell you about dylar?""never heard of it.""did you ask them to look it up? they must have lists of the most recent medications. supplements, updates.""they looked. it's not on any list.""unlisted," i said.

"we'll have to call her doctor.""i'll call him now. i'll call him at home.""surprise him," she said, with a certain ruthlessness.

"if i get him at home, he won't be screened by an answering service, a receptionist, a nurse, the young andgood-humored doctor who shares his suite of offices and whose role in life is to treat the established doctor's rejects.

once you're shunted from the older doctor to the younger doctor, it means that you and your disease are second-rate.""call him at home," she said. "wake him up. trick him into telling us what we want to know."the only phone was in the kitchen. i ambled down the hall, glancing into our bedroom to make sure babette was stillthere, ironing blouses and listening to a call-in show on the radio, a form of entertainment she'd recently becomeaddicted to. i went down to the kitchen, found the doctor's name in the phone book and dialed his home number.

the doctor's name was hookstratten. it sounded sort of german. i'd met him once—a stooped man with abird-wattled face and deep voice. denise had said to trick him but the only way to do that was within a context ofhonesty and truthfulness. if i pretended to be a stranger seeking information about dylar, he would either hang up ortell me to come into the office.

he answered on the fourth or fifth ring. i told him who i was and said i was concerned about babette. concernedenough to call him at home—an admittedly rash act but one i hoped he'd be able to understand. i said i was fairlysure it was the medication he'd prescribed for her that was causing the problem.

"what problem?""memory lapse.""you would call a doctor at home to talk about memory lapse. if everyone with memory lapse called a doctor athome, what would we have? the ripple effect would be tremendous."i told him the lapses were frequent.

"frequent. i know your wife. this is the wife who came to me one night with a crying child. 'my child is crying.' shewould come to a medical doctor who is a private corporation and ask him to treat a child for crying. now i pick upthe phone and it's the husband. you would call a doctor in his home after ten o'clock at night. you would say to him,'memory lapse.' why not tell me she has gas? call me at home for gas?""frequent and prolonged, doctor. it has to be the medication.""what medication?""dylar.""never heard of it.""a small white tablet. comes in an amber bottle.""you would describe a tablet as small and white and expect a doctor to respond, at home, after ten at night. why nottell me it is round? this is crucial to our case.""it's an unlisted drug.""i never saw it. i certainly never prescribed it for your wife. she's a very healthy woman so far as it's within myability to ascertain such things, being subject as i am to the same human failings as the next fellow."this sounded like a malpractice disclaimer. maybe he was reading it from a printed card like a detective informing asuspect of his constitutional rights. i thanked him, hung up, called my own doctor at home. he answered on theseventh ring, said he thought dylar was an island in the persian gulf, one of those oil terminals crucial to the survivalof the west. a woman did the weather in the background.

i went upstairs and told denise not to worry. i would take a tablet from the bottle and have it analyzed by someone inthe chemistry department at the college. i waited for her to tell me she'd already done that. but she just noddedgrimly and i headed down the hall, stopping in heinrich's room to say goodnight. he was doing chinning exercises inthe closet, using a bar clamped to the doorway.

"where did you get that?""it's mercator's.""who's that?""he's this senior i hang around with now. he's almost nineteen and he's still in high school. to give you some idea.""some idea of what?""how big he is. he bench-presses these awesome amounts.""why do you want to chin? what does chinning accomplish?" what does anything accomplish? maybe i just want tobuild up my body to compensate for other things.""what other things?""my hairline's getting worse, to name just one.""it's not getting worse. ask baba if you don't believe me. she has a sharp eye for things like that.""my mother told me to see a dermatologist.""i don't think that's necessary at this stage.""i already went.""what did he say?""it was a she. my mother told me to go to a woman.""what did she say?""she said i have a dense donor site.""what does that mean?""she can take hair from other parts of my head and surgically implant it where it's needed. not that it makes anydifference. i'd. just as soon be bald. i can easily see myself totally bald. there are kids my age with cancer. their hairfalls out from chemotherapy. why should i be different?"he was standing in the closet peering out at me. i decided to change the subject.

"if you really think chinning helps, why don't you stand outside the closet and do your exercises facing in? whystand in that dark musty space?""if you think this is strange, you ought to see what mercator's doing.""what's he doing?""he's training to break the world endurance record for sitting in a cage full of poisonous snakes, for the guinnessbook of records. he goes to glassboro three times a week where they have this exotic pet shop. the owner lets himfeed the mamba and the puff adder. to get him accustomed. totally forget your north american rattlesnake. thepuff adder is the most venomous snake in the world.""every time i see newsfilm of someone in his fourth week of sitting in a cage full of snakes, i find myself wishinghe'd get bitten.""so do i," heinrich said.

"why is that?""he's asking for it.""that's right. most of us spend our lives avoiding danger. who do these people think they are?""they ask for it. let them get it."i paused a while, savoring the rare moment of agreement.

"what else does your friend do to train?""he sits for long periods in one place, getting his bladder accustomed. he's down to two meals a day. he sleepssitting up, two hours at a time. he wants to train himself to wake up gradually, without sudden movements, whichcould startle a mamba.""it seems a strange ambition.""mambas are sensitive.""but if it makes him happy.""he thinks he's happy but it's just a nerve cell in his brain that's getting too much stimulation or too little stimulation."i got out of bed in the middle of the night and went to the small room at the end of the hall to watch steffie and wildersleep. i remained at this task, motionless, for nearly an hour, feeling refreshed and expanded in unnameable ways.

i was surprised, entering our bedroom, to find babette standing at a window looking out into the steely night. shegave no sign that she'd noticed my absence from the bed and did not seem to hear when i climbed back in, buryingmyself beneath the covers.