Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven

With a click, the gate of the leprosy hospital closed behind the travelers.This beating made Hilary even more frightened, tantamount to finally declaring that there was no hope of surviving.As if to say, give up all hope, all of you who come in... It's the end, she thought... It's the end.Any escape routes were probably blocked. She is alone and surrounded by enemies.And, in a few minutes, what she will face is the impostor being found out.She has been dimly aware of this all day long.But the unyielding optimism of human beings; and the firm belief that a person's reality cannot disappear all at once, caused her to conceal the fact.She had asked Jessop in Casablanca, "When will Tom Betterton be there," and he had said, very seriously, that that was when the danger became serious.He also said he hoped that by that time it would be possible for him to offer her some kind of protection.But this hope of protection, Hillary has to admit, is out of reach.

If Miss Hetherington had been the agent on which Jessop relied, Miss Hetherington had been plotted against and had to admit defeat in Marrakech.But, in any case, what could Miss Hetherington do? A group of travelers has arrived at a place of no return.Hillary had gambled with death and lost.And she now knew that Jessop's diagnosis was correct.She no longer wants to die.She wants to live.The passion to live revived violently in her.She could think of Nigel with tragic pity, and of Brenda's grave, but she no longer sank into that cold, dreary despair which tempted her to think of dying. forget everything.She thought: "I'm alive again, sane and sound... Now I'm in a trap like a mouse, if only I could find a way out..."

It's not that she didn't think about it.She thought about it.But, as much as she hated to think it, it still seemed to her that once she met Betterton, there was no way out. Betterton would say, "That's not my wife..." That's it!In plain sight... suddenly exposed in broad daylight... it turned out to be a spy hiding among them. Because, is there any other way out?Imagine, what if she strikes first?Just think if she had cried out before Betterton could speak--"Who are you? You're not my husband!" —can incite doubt?Doubtful that Betterton was Betterton—or if some other scientist had been sent to impersonate Betterton.In other words, a spy.But if they believed it, did it embarrass Betterton too much?Her thoughts went back and forth like this for countless times.However, she thought that since Betterton was a traitor and willing to sell state secrets, why should he be embarrassed?How difficult it was, she thought, to measure loyalty--or even to judge anyone or anything... Anyway, it was worth trying to arouse a suspicion.

Although still slightly dizzy, she returned to normal immediately.But the feeling of the mouse falling into the trap kept churning in her heart.However, at the same time, her appearance was very calm, and her words and deeds were not at all deviant. The little group from the outside world was greeted by a very handsome man, big and small.He seems to be a linguist because he greets everyone in his (or her) native language. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear doctor," he whispered to Dr. Barron.Then turning to her: "Ah! Mrs. Betterton, we warmly welcome you here. I'm afraid the distance has confused you a little, and I'm sorry. Your husband is in good health, naturally, and you were a little impatient to wait." gone."

He smiled at her cautiously.She noticed that he was artificial and smiled unnaturally. "You must," he added, "desire to see him." The dizziness grew worse—it seemed as if the people around her were rushing around her like waves.Beside her, Peters held her out with an arm. "You probably don't know," he said to his welcoming host, "that Mrs. Betterton's plane crashed in Casablanca—she suffered a concussion. Husband, she is very excited. I think it is best to let her lie down in a room with low light now." Hilary felt his kindness in his voice and in the arm that held her.She swayed a few more times.It was easy to fall to one's knees, or to lie down... to pretend to be unconscious—or nearly unconscious, and it was easy to believe anything else.To be carried into a dimly lit room--postpone the moment of discovery... But Betterton would come to her--as any husband would.There he was, leaning over the edge of the bed in the gloom, hearing her first words, and shuddering as his eyes adjusted to the dim light and saw the blurred outline of her face for the first time. The wife recognized her as not Olive Betterton.

Hillary took courage.She straightened up, her whiskers blushed immediately, and she raised her head high. If everything is going to end here, it should end beautifully.She's going to see Betterton, and, when he denies her, she's going to give one last big lie, very frankly and fearlessly: "No, of course I'm not your wife. Your wife—very sorry, too. Terrible - she died. I was in the hospital when she died. I promised her to find you anyway and tell you her last words. I would love to do that. You know, I sympathize with what you did - I agree with you politically. I want to help...

"It's too much, too much...and there are all those tricky little things like passports, fake 'credit cards' that need to be explained. Sometimes, though, as long as you don't blush when you tell a lie--as long as you say it with a voice- - You can get away with just relying on a solid tongue. No matter what, you have to keep fighting." She straightened up and gently freed Peters from holding her arm. "Oh, no. I want to see Tom," she said. "I'm going to Tom's—now—at once—take me, please." The big man was a little moved and sympathetic (although, his hard eyes remained expressionless and wary.)

"Of course, of course, Mrs. Betterton. I know how you feel. Ah, here comes Miss Johnson." A slim, bespectacled girl came over. "Miss Johnson, meet Mrs Betterton, Miss Needham, Dr Barron, Mr Peters, Dr Erickson. Take them to the registry, will you? Give them something to drink. I In a moment. I'll take Mrs. Betterton to her husband at once." He walked in front and she followed.At the bend in the aisle, she glanced back one last time.Peters was still watching her, with a sad look on his face—she thought for a moment that he would go with her.She thought that he must have sensed that something was wrong, from her.However, why it is wrong, he has no way of knowing.

Thinking of this, she couldn't help shivering slightly: "Maybe this is the last time I saw him..." So when she turned the corner with her guide, she waved her hand up in good-bye. The big man was talking and laughing: "This way, Mrs. Betterton, please. You just got here, and you probably don't know how to get around in our building. There are so many corridors, and they are all almost the same." Hillary felt as if she was in a dream. In the dream, she walked along a white and sanitary corridor, walked, turned one corner after another, kept moving forward, and couldn't get to the end at all...

"I never expected that I would be in a ... hospital," she said. "Not expected, of course. Everything is unpredictable, isn't it?" There was a slightly sadistic glee in his voice. "You have to 'fly blind', as they say. By the way, my name is Van Heidem. - Paul Van Heidem." "It's kind of weird—and, pretty scary," Hilary said. "Those lepers . . . " "Yes, of course. The scenery is picturesque--and often unexpected in that way. It does make newcomers uncomfortable. You'll get used to it--yes, you'll get used to it in time."

He pursed his lips and smiled softly. "I always thought it was a funny joke myself." He stopped suddenly. "Up a flight of stairs—take it easy. Take it easy. We're almost there." Almost there - almost there - one step closer to death.Go up, go up!The steps are high, higher than the steps of ordinary European stairs.Now, walk along a clean and sanitary corridor.At a doorway Van Heydem stopped, knocked, waited, and then the door opened. "Hi, Betterton—we're here at last. Here's your wife." He stepped aside, dancing a little bit. Hillary walked in.Don't back down, don't flinch, hold your head high, and go forward bravely. Under the window stood a man, a somewhat startlingly handsome man.She noticed that she was really taken aback when she saw his handsome appearance.In any case, it wasn't the Betterton she'd imagined.Indeed, nothing like the picture of Betterton she had seen... It was this uneasy feeling that prompted her to make a bold decision.She threw herself into a desperate struggle. She lunged forward, then backed away.She cried out in horror and dismay: "Oh! That's not Tom. That's not my husband." It was done beautifully.She feels good about herself.It's like acting, but not too much.She looked at van Heydem with a look of surprise. Tom Betterton, however, laughed.It's a slight, amused, almost triumphant laugh. "Oh, Van Heydem, it's marvelous," said he, "not even my wife knows me!" He took four hasty steps forward and hugged her tightly. "Olive, dear. Of course you know me. I'm still your Tom, though I don't look like I used to." He pressed his face to hers, his lips to her ears.And then she heard him whispering, "Come on, for God's sake, it's dangerous." He let go, and hugged her tightly again. "My dear, it seems that I haven't seen you for many years... many, many years. You finally came to me." She could feel his fingers pinching her under her shoulder blades, admonishing her, greeting her urgently. After only a moment, he let go of her, pushed her away a little, and studied her face carefully. "I still don't quite believe it," he said, still smiling a little excitedly. "It's time to recognize me, don't you?" His eyes frantically looked into hers, still admonishing her. She really didn't understand what was going on--couldn't.However, this is a miracle created by God, she cheers up and is determined to play a good role. "Tom!" she said, and her voice was so charming that she could hear it in her own ears, and she couldn't help being smug. "Ah, Tom... how..." "Cosmetic surgery, here's Herz from Vienna. He's so rejuvenated, you'll never laugh at my flat nose again." He kissed her again.This time the kiss was light and natural.Then, with a slightly apologetic smile, he turned to Van Heidem, who was watching from the side: "We're overjoyed, and I'm sorry, Van Heydem." "There, there..." The Dutchman smiled kindly. "It's been such a long time," Hilary said. "I..." She flinched a little. "I...please let me sit down?" Hastily but deliberately slowly Tom seated her in a chair. "Of course, dear. You must be exhausted. It was a terrible ride. And the plane crash. My God, it was a near miss!" (They're really well-informed. They know everything about the plane crash.) "This accident has messed up my head." Hilary said with an embarrassing smile: "I always forget things, I am always confused, and I always have a bad headache. And Just now, I found out that you are completely like a stranger! My dear, I'm really a bit bad, I hope I don't cause trouble for you. " "You're making trouble for me? Absolutely not. You'll be all right if you take a good rest. Here—there's plenty of time." Van Heydem walked softly towards the door. "You guys just stay here," he said. "Later, Betterton, take your wife to the registry office. You'd like to be alone just now." He went out and closed the door behind him. Betterton immediately knelt down before Hillary, and pressed his face on her shoulder: "My dear, my dear," he kept whispering. Once again she felt him pointing his finger in warning.The whisper was so weak it was barely audible, it was urgent, and it went on and on. "Hold on! There's probably a bug in here—nobody knows." Of course, that's how it is.It's hard to say...fear—doubt—uneasiness—danger—always danger, and she senses danger everywhere. Tom Betterton simply sat down on his knees. "I'm so glad to see you!" he said softly. "And yet, you know, it's like a dream—not real. Do you feel it too?" "Yes, you're quite sure--dreaming--at last...with you...it doesn't seem real, Tom." She put both hands on his shoulders.She stared at him with a faint smile on her lips (in addition to the bugs, there might have been spies' peepholes). Calmly and serenely she takes stock of all that confronts her.A nervous.But a good-looking man in his thirties, terrified—almost doomed—who seemed to have come with lofty ideals.Now it has become like this..." Now that she's gotten over the first hurdle, Hilary couldn't be more excited to play her role.She must be Olive Betterton.Talk and act like Olive, feel everything outside like Olive.Life is inherently fake, but it seems perfectly natural.It's "falsely true when falsely true." Somebody named Hilary Craven died in a plane crash, and from now on she won't remember her. Instead, she racked her brains, trying to recall the lessons she had worked so hard to learn. "Looks like a long time ago in Furbank," she said, "Mustache...do you remember Mustache? It's all a little bit of this, and there's no way you'll know. That's where the blame is." "I know. The old life is over; the new life begins." "So—is everything okay here? Are you happy?" This is the inevitable question any wife must ask. "Excellent." Tom Betterton straightened his shoulders and threw back his head.From that smiling and confident face revealed his melancholy and frightened eyes. "Everything is there. No money you can't bear to spend. The working conditions are perfect. Also, the organization; it's unbelievable!" "Ah, I'm sure so. I've been—did you come by the same way?" "Let's not talk about that. I'm not trying to make you feel sorry, my dear. But—you know, you'll have to learn everything from scratch." "But what about the lepers? Is it really a leprosy hospital?" "Yes, that's not bad at all. There's a group of doctors here who are doing a good job in the study of leprosy. But it's isolated from the outside world, but it's self-sufficient. You don't have to worry about it, this place is just... well disguised." Clever." "So that's it." Hilary looked around, "Do we live here?" "Yes. This is the living room, and the bathroom is there. Beyond that is the bedroom. Come, let me show you." She stood up and followed him through the well-appointed bathroom to a fairly spacious bedroom with a double bed, a large wall kitchen, a dresser, and a bookshelf next to the bed.Hilary gazed happily at the empty alcove. "I really don't know what I'm going to put in here," she said. "I have everything on me." "Ah, clothes, you have what you want to wear. There are fashion stores here, and all the accessories, cosmetics, everything, all first-class. The unit is self-sufficient-everything you want, you can find it in the courtyard .No need to go outside again.” His words were light, but to Hilary's sensitive ear, there was a sense of desperation behind them. "There's no need to go outside again. There's no chance of going outside again. Give up your hopes, all who have entered. . . . This well-appointed cage! Is that what it is for," she thought, "these different Do the same people give up their country, their allegiances, their everyday life? Dr. Barron, Andy Peters, the dazed young Erickson, the haughty Needham, are here for that Did they come? Do they know what they're looking for? Are they satisfied? Is this cage what they need?" Then she thought: I'd better not ask so many questions... It would be bad if someone eavesdropped. Someone eavesdropping?Someone spying on them?Apparently Tom Betterton thought it might be done.But is that so?Or was he neurotic—even hysterical?She thought Tom Betterton was going to have a nervous breakdown. "Yes," she thought without sacrificing herself, "I might be like that myself, after six months..." She couldn't help asking, what kind of life would make a person like this? Tom Betterton said to her: "Would you like to lie down--rest for a while?" "No..." She hesitated a little, "No, I don't want to lie down." "Then you'd better come with me to the registry office." "What's the registry office for?" "Anyone who comes in has to go through the registry. They record everything about you. Health, teeth, blood pressure, blood type, psychological reactions, tastes, dislikes, allergies, habits, hobbies." "Sounds like enlistment—or, hospital admission?" "Both," said Tom Betterton. "Both enlistment and hospital admission. The organization—very strict indeed." "Heard that," Hilary said. "I mean, everything behind the Iron Curtain is very well planned." She tried to bring just the right amount of enthusiasm to her voice.After all, Oliver had long been conceived as a party sympathizer, though possibly by order.It is understood that she is not a party member. Betterton said somewhat vaguely: "There's so much you need to know." He then added, "It's best not to swallow too much at once." He kissed her again, strangely, like a very tender and even passionate kiss.In reality, though, the kiss was ice-cold, whispering in her ear: "Hold on." Then the voice grew louder, "Come on, go to the registry."