An Astronaut's Life by Sonja Dechian

where she curled on the bed and motioned
for him to join her. The architect was careful not to come too close, but when she
reached for him he wrapped his arm over her.
    After a few minutes he thought she’d fallen asleep and he started to shift away,
but Leisel reached for his hand. The architect allowed her to lead his fingers to
her stomach, winding them under her T-shirt. He spread his fingers, tentative. Her
skin was smooth and warm—unchanged. He held his hand against her as she breathed
and the shape of her small breasts shifted so close to his hand. He tried not to
make the comparison, but it came: he thought of his wife, how different they were.
    The architect heard Leisel’s breathing change as she slept, but he did not move away.
    ‘It’s so sad,’ he said that night. ‘She seemed so alone in there. I might visit again,
but I don’t see how it can make much difference.’
    The architect’s wife had made dinner reservations, but she cancelled when she saw
how the afternoon’s events had affected him. She changed into her slippers to show
she was happy to stay in. Her day had been busy too: she had her question-and-answer
segment on the radio on alternate Thursdays, where people called in to ask about
infectious diseases.
    He told her he’d forgotten to listen.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.
    ‘It’s fine, don’t even worry, I’ll be on again. It was kind of you to go see her.’
    ‘Was it?’
    ‘I’m sure it helped. But this problem, or whatever with her brain, do they know if
she’ll always be this way?’
    ‘I don’t know. The doctor seems to think it might help if I visit. From what I saw,
she thinks we’re still together.’
    ‘But she has family to take care of her. You don’t want to get too caught up. Perhaps
we should leave it at that?’
    The architect hadn’t forgotten to listen to the radio. At three o’clock he’d been
on the freeway. He’d thought of his wife and the special radio voice she used to
answer questions about influenza or meningococcal disease and he decided to pull
the car over and take a walk. He’d used the toilets at a service station and had
not washed his hands, a major factor in the spread of pathogenic microbial agents.
He’d thought of Leisel, her hold on his hand.
    That night he promised his wife he’d think it over, but he’d already made up his
mind.
    Over the following weeks, the architect returned to the hospital three or four times.
He guided Leisel on increasingly long walks around the ward. As she grew stronger
they were allowed outside to sit on a bench in the hospital grounds. She was still
tired, but began to open up about her illness and the life she remembered from before.
She talked about her younger brother and her mother and their visits, and one afternoon
she slipped her hand into his and leant against his shoulder.
    ‘One day we should go away together,’ she said. ‘To a beach, or a resort somewhere.
Do you think?’
    ‘Of course.’ The architect didn’t want to discourage her.
    ‘You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?’
    ‘I know you’re not.’
    ‘How?’
    He searched for the right tone of reassurance. ‘I once sat next to a crazy man on
the bus and he was shouting and dribbling. I’ve never seen you dribble.’
    Leisel laughed. ‘You should sleep over sometime. Then you would.’
    ‘I don’t think your doctors would approve.’
    ‘I wish you could stay. I hate it here. I hate these crazy people.’
    He put his arm around her. ‘You’ll be out soon, I know you will.’
    Leisel sighed and leant close. She reached up and kissed him. He parted his lips
and let her tongue touch his.
    The doctor explained about delusions. ‘Sometimes you can trick the brain out of a
delusion by forcing two beliefs into conflict. In cases where the brain is physically
scarred, say by an accident or infection, the damage to a person’s way of thinking
may be permanent. The delusion becomes the person’s way of life.’
    ‘But what