To the left, an owlish youth blinked from a brightly lit cage. And on the right, the MC caressed the mike, chattering.
Flora deployed her chair, sank down, looking first this way, then that. There was so much going on—and she was in the middle of it. She watched for half an hour, then retracted the chair, deployed the bed. She was tired from the trip. A little nap....
She stopped with the first zipper. The MC was staring directly at her, leering. The owlish youth blinked at her. The fat man scratched himself, staring up at her from the front row. She couldn't undress in front of all of them....
She glanced around, located the switch near the door. With the click, the scene died around her. The glowing walls seemed to press close, fading slowly. Flora turned to the one remaining opaque wall, undressed slowly, her eyes on the familiar pictures. The children—she hadn't seen them since the last semi-annual vacation week. The cost of travel was so high, and the crowding....
She turned to the bed—and the three mirror-bright walls confronted her. She stared at the pale figure before her, stark against the wall patched with its faded mementos. She took a step; on either side, an endless rank of gaunt nude figures stepped in unison. She whirled, fixed her eyes gratefully on the familiar wall, the thin crevice outlining the door, the picture of the sea....
She closed her eyes, groped her way to the bed. Once covered by the sheet, she opened her eyes. The beds stood in a row, all identical, each with its huddled figure, like an infinite charity ward, she thought—or like a morgue where all the world lay dead....
Harry munched his yeast chop, his head moving from side to side as he followed the action across the three walls.
"It's marvellous, Flora. Marvellous. But it can be better yet," he added mysteriously.
"Harry—couldn't we move to a bigger place—and maybe do away with two of the walls. I—"