When the dance was over, Magda gave her usual speech about how wonderfully they had all done—a little breathlessly, but without abridgement—then told them they could go downstairs to eat. Usually, during promotional courses like this one, Magda made a point of eating lunch with each of the classes in turn, just as she made a point of teaching each of them in turn. Today, she couldn’t have managed it. She got herself out into the hall without trouble. After that, she couldn’t keep herself from limping. She had let the class go on ahead of her. None of them saw how badly she was hurt, or how slowly she was moving. Magda went down to the opposite end of the hall from where the class was going and let herself into the service stairwell. She had to hold onto the railing with both hands to get down the stairs. The pain was getting worse. It had spread to both hips and both legs. It had begun to climb up her spine.
Magda’s bedroom was on the third floor, at the back, near the service stairwell. Some things, at least, were working in her favor. When she got to the third-floor landing, she opened the door and looked into the hall. It was empty and quiet. The intermediate class must have already gone to lunch. Magda limped out into the hall, propping herself up against the wall with one hand. Now the pain was beginning to spread into her arms. Magda thought that if it went on like this much longer, she was going to pass out.
The bedroom was five baby steps from the stairwell door. Magda counted them as she took them. Then she braced herself on the door and contorted herself sideways and backward until she could reach the spare key she left on the top of the door frame. The movement made her heave again. She got the door open and stumbled inside queasily, sucking in great gulps of air.
The air didn’t have enough oxygen in it. Magda was sure her lungs were collapsing. She got the bathroom door shut by kicking it shut. It should have hurt, but her legs had gone numb. Either that, or she was feeling as much pain as she was able to. Nothing she did could make her feel any more. She pressed her face down into the carpet and closed her eyes. Count to ten, she told herself. Count to nine. Count to eight. Count to seven. As an interior monologue, it didn’t make much sense, but it didn’t have to make much sense. It only had to work. That was what mantras were for.
Magda didn’t know how long she spent lying on the floor. It felt like forever, but it could probably have been measured in seconds. Then the pain began to drain out of her, like water going down the pipes of a sink. The sharp stabbing changed to a dull ache. Give it a minute more, she told herself. Then make yourself stand up.
Carefully, Magda rolled over on her back. She counted from ten again. She made herself breathe. Then she got herself onto her side and made herself curl into a ball. That was the way she had been taught that injured people were supposed to get themselves up.
She got herself up. She had to hold onto the side of a chair to do it, but she ended up on her feet. The ache was really terrible. It made her dizzy. She was going to have to go on holding onto furniture just to get herself across the room to the master bath.
“Magda?” someone called from the other side of the door.
Magda stiffened. It was a mistake. The pain came back again for one horrible, stabbing second. Then the stabbing evaporated, she caught her breath.
“Who is it?” she called out. Evenly, with no sign of wrongness in her voice.
“It’s Stella Mortimer. Can I come in?”
It was a million miles to the door of the master bath. Magda pushed herself in the direction of her bureau, gripped the edge of it, and let herself fall slightly. She caught herself at the last minute and made herself stand up again.
“Just a minute” she said.
The trick was to get into the bathroom quickly. The only way to do it was to go on her own two feet, and pretend that she didn’t hurt. Magda pushed herself from the bureau to the bed, wincing. Then she took a deep breath and launched herself into the middle of the carpet.
“Magda?”
Magda made it into the bathroom and got the door closed halfway. She sat down at the vanity table and put her forehead on the cool glass top.
“All right,” she said. “Stella? Come on in. I’m in the bathroom. I’ll be out in a minute.”
The master bedroom door opened and closed. Stella walked heavily across the carpet, moving without grace. Magda heard the bedsprings and knew that Stella had sat down on the side of the bed.
“Were you taking a shower?” Stella asked. “I forgot that you’d probably want to do that after a morning with the advanced class.”
“I haven’t actually gotten into the shower yet,” Magda replied. “We ran a little late. Because of all the time we lost.”