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TIT FOR TAT by Geneva A Gypsy's book found in a Nazi death camp plays a part in foiling some Cold War espionage. 1945, Germany "I should warn you, Captain. It's pretty horrible stuff, maybe the worst I've ever seen. I've seen a lot in the Great War and quite a bit in this one, but nothing to compare with this Hell. Have you seen much action and killing?" Captain Armstrong looked across the small camp table at the colonel. "Yes sir, my regiment was involved at Falaise. In fact, that's when I was wounded. When I recovered I was transferred to Intelligence. I think it's because I can speak German. I studied it at university." "Anything particular you are looking for, Captain?" Armstrong hesitated briefly. "Not really, sir. It was just that my superiors wanted my report on the site. Could you give me some of the background, as far as you know it?" Colonel Fitzgerald looked up at the stained cracked ceiling, searching for the right words, keeping his voice under control. "This site, this concentration camp, was one of many used by the Nazis to house their enemies, or perceived enemies, or those who didn't fit into their twisted racial schemes. We knew these places existed, but the size and number of them has just appalled us all. God knows what other foulness we will unearth further into Germany. Thank goodness the Huns are on their last legs. I don't see the war lasting more than a week or so now. "Anyway, this camp here was for women, various groups from eastern Europe. There are mostly Jewish women here, but also Poles, Czechs, Hungarians, Romanians, you name it, and quite a number of Gypsies. Poor devils. Those they didn't kill right away, or ship off to death camps, they worked to death and later let them just starve. There were only a few hundred left alive when we got to the place. Most of the guards had disappeared. There are so many corpses that we haven't had time yet to bury everyone, so you will still see a lot of bodies still lying around. We've got the few remaining guards, they're SS as you know, under lock and key. A sorry bunch of bastards they are now. Mostly trying to make excuses. "Strange thing, the Germans used mainly male guards, but in the medical room we found some women in men's uniforms. Much too big for them, of course. And some were even insisting that they were really men. They're definitely women. I had a nurse check them just to be sure. I suppose they are just trying to use insanity as an excuse to avoid trial, yet camp records show no woman here matching their descriptions. Or maybe they really are insane. Working here would do that. I know I will have nightmares about it for the rest of my life. "That's just about all I can tell you, Captain, so I'll leave you to look around. Are you all right for walking around? I see you use a stick." "Yes sir, walking's a bit slow but I can manage. I have a bit of damage on the left calf but I can still do my job." The colonel nodded with approval. "Very good, hen I'll leave you to it. Private?" he called out, and a young private stepped into the room and saluted. "Jones, this is Captain Armstrong. Show him around this place. Let him see all he wants, or has the stomach for." Private Jones saluted and led him out for a tour of the camp. It was as the colonel had said. A bulldozer was still piling earth over a pit of corpses, and a group of German civilians was being herded round the camp. Most looked ashen, and many women were crying. Rows of discoloured naked bodies lay between the huts. Armstrong was soon sickened by the sight and smell of death. "These are, or were, the guards, sir" said Jones, leading them into a low building. Some of the rooms were set up as cells. Jones pointed to a group in one of the cells. "They are a sorry looking bunch, aren't they, sir? They could be pretty too, but togged out in these men's uniforms? I thought the Nazis would have had more pride in their looks." Forbes scrutinized the four occupants of the cell in amazement. There was no doubt they were women, even pretty ones, but with dishevelled hair and tear stained faces. They looked as if they might be slim, but their figures were hidden in shapeless oversized clothing, in a men's style, the black garb of the SS. "I'd like to interrogate them, Private. Can you get me a room?" "Certainly sir, there's one across here. It was a bit mucked up but we cleared it out. I'll get some chairs. Do you want me with you, sir? For security, I mean." "No thanks. Just stand outside. I'll call you if need you." Soon a young woman was led into the room, shuffling in an overly large uniform and obviously oversized boots. Armstrong gestured to a chair. "Your name?" he asked, speaking in German. "Helmut Pfalz." The voice was hoarse and low, but a woman's. "That is a man's name!" "I tell you that I am a man. Something has happened to me. Some curse." "Indeed, " said Armstrong, trying to keep the scepticism off his face. "What do you mean?" "I am a man. So are the other three with me, yet something happened. We had a bunch of prisoners arrive about a week ago. Soon after they were unloaded I began to shiver, as if with a fever. Some of the other guards too, then I suppose I must have fallen unconscious. When I awoke, I found myself like this." Her narrow woman's hands gestured to her body. " I was still sore from my illness and could barely move. Most of the other guards had abandoned us. And then you British arrived soon after and we surrendered. " "That is a strange game you are playing. I only see a woman before me. Whether men or women, you will be treated the same." "It is not a game. I tell you I am a man. Check with the camp commandant's office for my records. See my own documents." She pulled some papers from a pocket of her tunic and held them to Armstrong. He looked at it. It was the identity papers of a Helmut Pfalz, sure enough, a corporal. Armstrong looked at the photograph. It was of a young man. He looked at the figure in front of him again and held up the photograph to compare. There was some resemblance. He read further, hair and eye color. These two matched, but there was no way the figure's height matched the 175 cm. listed in the document. Armstrong did a quick calculation, about 5'10". The figure before him was about 5'6". "What was your story again? Give me more details about what happened." "Myself, with several other guards, we had been supervising the unloading of a train with women in it. This group was from Hungary. Many were gypsies. The train was late. It had been much delayed in the bombing of the railyards further east, and many of the women were already dead from cold or hunger and we had to make the others pull the corpses from the train. One Gypsy woman was in a bad way, but as the cattle car was being cleared out she revived and started screaming at us in Hungarian or some other language. She would not stop so someone shot her. We had some other prisoners lift her out and we found a small notebook under her. It was soon after that I began to feel shivers. I thought perhaps it was the cold wind, or the beginning a fever. I saw the men men closest to me in the same way. Soon after that my teeth began to chatter and then I fell unconscious. "When I awoke, I was in the medical hut with four others. One man was dead, but three were alive, although all were now as I am, with womens' bodies. Many of the other guards at the camp had disappeared. We were all too sore and stiff to move, and so we were unable to flee. I see you do not believe me. I tell you that it is true." Armstrong shook his head. "What you are saying is ridiculous," he snapped. " Magic does not exist. I advise you to stop using this preposterous story. So you need not have cut your hair." He pointed to the prisoner's cropped hair. "But you say there was a Gypsy woman, the one who was screaming at you. What happened to her body?" "I do not know. I suppose it would have been dumped in the pit afterwards, with the other bodies, but I was unconscious, as I told you." "And this supposed magic book?" "Again I do not know, perhaps in the pit too, unless it was of use to the Reich. Perhaps it is in the commandant's office or a storage area." Armstrong thought about how the commmandant's body had been found in the office, a suicide. He motioned for the figure to be taken back to the cell, and ordered another of the cell occupants brought in. That one's story matched Pfalz's, as did the other two. "Anything you found out about these women, Captain Armstrong?" the colonel asked later. Armstrong shook his head. "Sorry sir, I can't make any sense of it all. Their stories are fantastic. It makes no sense. They are obviously not really guards. What will happen to them now?" "They are obviously partly loony, but we have no way of looking after them. They could not have been guards here and they otherwise look quite sane, so we will just release them and send them on their way. They can fend for themselves. If they had really been guards, probably we would have been kept them for questioning and possibly trial." "Would you mind if I looked round the storage areas and the commandant's office, sir?" "Anything you're looking for?" "No sir, not particularly. It's just to just check on some details for my report." The storage areas were in chaos. They had been looted by starving inmates, he supposed. What had not been taken was ground into the floor. The office had also been badly damaged, more belated revenge for the atrocities perhaps. The desk was smashed and filing cabinets overturned. A picture of Adolph Hitler on the wall was smeared with excrement.There was also a picture of a uniformed person, presumably the former commandant, shaking hands with Hitler. This was also smeared with excrement. Armstrong looked around. Underneath a shelf, pulled off the wall, were a few objects, a shell casing that had obviously been used as an ashtray, two sets of family photographs, obviously torn and damaged, a few small pencils and a small book, only about three inches square and covered with a faded and stained yellowish hide. The pages, in a coarse paper, had faint writing. He read on, mentally translating the German words. 'To heal a cut', was on the first page, with some words on the opposite page. He read some words out, frowning. That language was not German and he did not recognise it. He turned a few pages. 'To remedy a club foot', he read. He put it in his pocket for later examination. That night he thought about his findings. His quarters had been requisitioned from a small hotel and his room looked over the small town. About half the buildings were undamaged. It had had no military value and had not been seriously defended against the invading Allied forces. He looked down at the railway station below. A set of points switched trains from the main line to the camp and he mused that trains to the camp must all have passed through the station. So anyone working there must have seen the human cargo packed into the cattle cars, and heard the screams and moans. What effect had the cars carrying the Gypsy woman had on anyone working at the station? The next morning, after a meal of coarse rye bread, and dismal synthetic coffee, he limped across to the station. A civilian guard, with one arm and wearing an eye patch, looked at him through his good eye. "I want to speak to the stationmaster," Armstrong announced in German. The man's face showed fright. "He is indisposed." "What do you mean?" "He is ill. He is not to be seen." Armstrong became suspicious. "I demand to see him. Lead me to him," he ordered, glaring at the man. The worker swallowed and hesitated, but at another glare from Armstrong he led him up some stairs to a small apartment above the station office. On a bed in the corner of the room was a figure, obviously a woman and a beautiful one, but with ash blonde cropped hair and incongruously wearing a man's nightshirt. The figure screamed in a shrill female voice at the other man. "I told you I was to be left alone." It glared at Armstrong, but then the expression softened to despair and tears began to flow from her eyes. Without waiting to be asked, Armstrong sat down on a small stool by the bed. " You are the stationmaster? How long have you been like this? I mean in this woman's body." "I don't know. I was unconscious, several days I think, then when I woke up I was like this." He shook his head back and forward in despair. "What had happened before you became unconscious?" The figure closed her eyes to think. "I barely remember. There was a train of catttle cars, taking women to the camp. Many were moaning, but I heard a woman screaming at me and the SS guards on the platform with me. I had barely gone inside when I began to shiver and then I remember nothing until I woke up, like this. I am a man. But now I am in this woman's body." So the man's story matched those of the guards. There had been something about that last train. One of the women on board, probably the Gypsy, had used some kind of curse that made men into women. Armstrong shook his head. That was surely nonsense. Magic did not exist. There had to be a rational explanation. Yet, what other explanation was there? "What about the SS guards? Did you see what happened to them?" "I know that they began to shiver too, but then I saw them taken away by others just before I became unconscious. I don't know where." The guard at the camp had mentioned something about a book, perhaps the one he has taken from the Commandant's office. Armstrong pulled the book from a pocket in his tunic and slowly turned through the yellowed stained pages. The first pages seemed all to be medical matters. He read the first one again 'to heal a cut,', and another,'To heal toothache' and then to remedies dealing with more and more serious maladies. Finally, near the end, he found a page, 'To make man into a beautiful woman,' with some strange words following, not in German. "Now I wonder", he thought. He flipped one more page. 'To make the woman back into the man again,' he read, with more strange words afterwards. Could it be? He thought for a minute. He studied the other words, sounding a few out mentally. They were unlike any language he knew. Armstrong was about to read the words aloud when he hesitated. What if all within hearing were affected? He certainly did not want to be changed. Even though it said to turn the figure back to a man, there was no saying what might happen. He put the pages in the woman's hand and pointed. "Here, read these words. I know they are not German, but sound them out as best you can. Speak in a low voice. I will be outside." The figure looked at him blankly, but Armstrong did not offer an explanation. "Do it," he ordered. " I will be outside." Once outside the door he held his hands over his ears, and when he thought two minutes had passed he entered again. The figure was looking at him in hostility. "What is this? I read it as you said. Now what?" Armstrong felt disappointed. There appeared to be no change. He took the book from her. "I was trying a kind of experiment." "You damned Englander, I am not in the mood for your fooling around. I want help, to cure me, make me as I was. " But then the figure frowned, and winced. "I feel hot," she muttered. Armstrong watched as perspiration began to stream from the woman's brow, despite the coolness of the room. Armstrong felt his skin prickle. Something was obviously happening. In a minute the the woman was gasping and the nightshirt was soaked. Armstrong gave her some water, but in minutes she lapsed into unconsciousness. Armstrong felt acutely uncomfortable, alternately hot and cold. What if the figure below him died? What would happen then? Germany was still at war, but there would be questions if he was found in a room with a woman's body. He heard a knock at the door and before he could prevent it, the guard walked in. "What is happening?" "He has taken a seizure," he said desperately. "He is unconscious. I am attending to him. I am a doctor," he lied. "Now go about your duties. But one thing, did you put him in the nightshirt?" "Yes, when he first became unconscious I undressed him and put it on. I called for a doctor but no one came. Things are so disrupted." "That was considerate of you. But please leave us now. I will attend to him. I do not need your help." The other scowled at him but turned about and left. So the effect of the spell had been rapid enough that the stationmaster had not time, before he felt ill, to get to bed. Armstrong looked at the perspiring unconscious figure on the bed. He felt the pulse. It was racing, The woman's brow was covered with sweat, then it seemed as if a series of small spasms took it, and the features changed slightly and almost imperceptibly, the figure lengthened. He eased up the grubby sweat smelling nightshirt over the perspiring body and the head to better look at the changes. It was a woman's body, with full breasts and prominent nipples, a narrow waist, full hips and smoothly tapering thighs. He thought that the woman, although middle aged, was beautiful. She had a youthful figure. Her limbs were slim and rounded. He looked at the inside of the nightshirt. It was covered with short blond hairs. He examined some. They were short. Possibly male body hair? Feeling slightly guilty, he parted the woman's legs and examined her genitalia. All parts were totally female, but there was much loose blond hair lying there too. A man's pubic hair? Then, with another series of ripples, the body lengthened again, the full breasts began to shrink and the folds between her legs began to shrink. Over the next two hours, as he watched, the body grew, and the figure changed in a continuous series of small ripples from a woman into a man. The smooth rounded female body gradually lengthened, the shoulders widening, the waist thickening and the hips narrowing. The folds and cleft between the legs closed up, then as he watched, small at first, a penis started to erupt while the sac of the scrotum developed and began to expand. The arms and legs lost their smoothness and developed corded muscles. Finally, what was below him was the figure of a man, although with the fine body hair of a woman. Armstrong sat mesmerised, overwhelmed by what he had seen, then the sound of a vehicle startled him. He rose and , struggling with the weight of the body, hastily manoeuvred it back into the nightshirt, put the book back in his tunic and opened the door. The guard was at the foot of the stairs looking at him expectantly. " Should he, I mean she... be taken to the hospital? It is not badly damaged." "I think the stationmaster will be fine now. He has had a seizure but is recovering. When he wakens, probably a day or two, he will be well." The other licked his lips, "But it was a woman, wasn't it?" Armstrong raised his head in pretended amazement. "A woman? Of course not! What made you imagine that? No, he was only ill. He is sleeping now but I think you will find him well when he wakens." He turned and left but heard the other's boots clatter as he ran up the stairs to the small room. With luck the guard would put the whole thing down to his imagination. He returned to his room in the small hotel and sat on the bed, trying to make sense of what he had seen. He looked at his stick, then his leg and then opened the book, carefully turning over the pages and reading the German instructions. He whistled softly as he saw, on one page, 'To heal a scar'. He removed his trousers and looked at the scarred muscle. A chunk of it had been taken of by a machine gun and the ligament had suffered some damage. Nervously he bgan to sound out the words of the spell. There was nothing for some minutes, but then the scarred tissue began to feel warm. In another minute there was a prickly feeling, almost uncomfortable, then he saw the missing muscle begin to fill out, swelling until it was the same as the other leg. Only a fine white scar was left. He got up and flexed his leg. It was slightly painful and stiff, but as he worked at it the pain left. Next morning Armstrong made his back way to the camp. Immediately he noticed a difference in the soldiers, some openly laughing despite the dismal surroundings. "Have you heard, sir, the Huns have just surrendered? Unconditionally," one shouted. Forbes felt an enormous weight lifted off his chest. He would survive. Yet, as he looked around the camp, he could feel little elation. Since the day before the camp was a little more tidied up. The bodies had been removed from the open and the pit with the bodies was now only a slightly raised stretch of earth but he could see hundreds of emaciated bodies through the doors of the huts. He knew that many more would die before the month was out. He thought of his book. That might save many lives if he used it, but then its secret would be out and to what eventual cost? It would disrupt society. It would be a threat to both science and religion. No, he would have to keep it secret. He decided to search the camp commandant's office once more. It was still a scene of chaos, but he was looking for the contents of the filing cabinets. The Germans were usually meticulous in their record keeping. There were several cabinets, all overturned and their contents strewn over the floor. He sniffed. Someone must have urinated on them, but the files were still where they had fallen. At last he found what he was looking for, the list with the details of where the trains had come from. He shook his head as he read its contents. The Nazis sent unfortunates from all over Europe to this camp. Then, at the bottom of the list was what he had been looking for. That last train had delivered a cargo from where?. He could barely make out the name. It looked like Budapest. So that last group had come from Hungary, as the first woman he interviewed had said, and the gypsy had probably been Hungarian. Apart from a tally of the unfortunates by race there were few other details. That evening he asked about the prisoners he had interviewed the previous day. "Oh them," said the colonel, "we turfed them out. There was a lot of weeping and wailing but eventually they all left. There was no possible way that they could have been the camp's SS guards. They must have had some sort of mass hallucination. Maybe their rye bread was contaminated with ergot. In a way I didn't like sending women out unprotected, but we have our hands full. Not that the peace will be any easier for the Germans. There will be chaos at first, but if I know the Germans they will soon get things into order. "What will you do now, now that the war's over, Captain? I see you are not using your stick anymore." "Well sir, I decided to try to do without it, and so far it's working out fine." He made a mental note to limp slightly. "As for the future, first I will write my report on this place, and then see what other orders I have. After that? I think I will leave the army. Perhaps go back to University. I was studying history when the war broke out." That evening Forbes began his report, but while he mentioned the strange tale of the guards, passing it off as some trick or hallucination, he omitted any mention of the stationmaster, the book and his own use of the book. The story was just too fantastic. The truth was that exposing the book was a danger. It had great powers. Yet, what would it do to the society? No one believed in magic and this book could overturn society. And then what abuses would a government be capable of, if they had the book? He would have to keep it hidden. He wondered about the Gypsy woman who had used the spell. She would be dead now, and no doubt buried in the enormous communal grave. No way of finding her, and there likely wouldn't be any clues either. She'd been Hungarian, he supposed. Why had she used the book? What benefit would it have been to her to make her enemies into women? Except that some of them died under the rigourous effects of the spell, and the lives of those that survived would be drastically altered. A small revenge, but the only one possible to her, the act of a desperate dying woman. He began thinking about returning to university after he left the army. Its quiet confines would be a drastic transition from the scenes of carnage he had seen. He had been studying German history before he was called up. He mused about how his knowledge of German had eventually led to his work with intelligence. Then, as he thought about his studies, he remembered a footnote in an old book he had read in preparation for some essay. It was an old tome on the German Thirty Years war. Where was the event about? Oh yes, somewhere in Northern Austria or Bavaria. He struggled to remember the details. So much had happened in his life since he wrote that essay. It was something about a small but influential principality that had suddenly foundered and been absorbed by its neighbours. A dismissive footnote below the page said there was a legend that a witch had changed the most important men in the society into women and the resulting chaos had destroyed it. At the time he had read it with some amusement. Mediaeval legends, like the Pied Piper of Hamelin were common, but this supposedly had happened in the the 17th century! What connection could it have with a Hungarian Gypsy? Now he was in possession of a book with the same powers. It could certainly destroy a society. How had the gypsy got hold of the book? Perhaps there could be some research on the story. Now that would be make an interesting thesis! And yet, could the research be dangerous too, or at all possible? The Russians were all over the east European countries now. No doubt they would impose their secretive suspicious regime on them all. He would think about it more when he returned to England and left the army. He snapped the book shut and put it in his kit and resumed his report. 1955 London, England. "Good afternoon, Dr. Forbes. I wonder if I could have a few minutes of your time?" Robert Forbes was taken aback. Who was this person barging into his office without an appointment? He did not look like a student or anyone from the university, dapper in his dark blue three piece suit, hat, leather gloves and a silver tipped cane. "Who are you? And how may I help you?" "My name is Aubrey Joliffe. I am with an organization, whose actual name needn't concern you, but it is concerned with national security. By the way, this conversation should remain secret. Do I have your word on that?" Robert was irritated by his visitor, but he nodded. "Yes, I can keep a secret," he said cautiously. "Yes, I thought you would. We have already investigated you. You are Dr. Robert Forbes, born in Carlisle. We can't be too careful, can we? Anyhow, I'll come right to the point. You see, we have sometimes caught spies. Apart from capturing them and trying to find what they had learned. It would be useful to break them, turn them, so that we can use them as double agents." Robert became uneasy. There were continual reports in the papers about Russian show trials, where unfortunates confessed all sorts of nonsense. He didn't have much sympathy with some of the victims. They had helped in their regimes, doing the same things to other unfortunates, until they incurred the displeasure of someone or lost out in the power struggles.They had obviously been broken by various techniques. He'd heard of terms like brainwashing. The same thing had happened in mediaeval Europe, men and women tortured, beaten or starved until they confessed witchcraft. Something about breaking people seemed immoral, yet if national security was concerned?. "I'm not sure if I can help you. I'm only a lecturer in psychology." "Yes, I know. We have investigated you. You had an uncle, Captain Roy Armstrong in military intelligence in the war. You yourself were called up to the RAF after school, but after the war you took up psychology. Why psychology?" "Oh, maybe things I had seen in the war. But maybe it is none of your business." "Yes, I daresay it was traumatic for many, but please let me continue, Dr. Forbes. You see, it's a long process with some spies. Some will do anything to save their skins. Others we have to give up on. Eventually they are either put up for trial, or if it is really sensitive stuff we quietly dispose of them. Some are eventually traded back to the Russiaans or their satellites for our own people. So we have been wondering about better ways to undermine their whole personalities.That's where we hope you can help us. Make them completely disoriented. Put them completely at our mercy, then gradually rebuild them, in a form that allows us to get the maximum information that we can use and help in our security procedures. We know the Russians use techniques they call brainwashing, but they can take a long time. We need something that utterly destroys their feelings of self much faster." "That's a tall order! How do you propose doing that?" "We wonder if it is possible to wipe their memory clean by drugs, even shock treatment, completely eliminate all previous familiar things, so they are disoriented. Failing that, at least confuse them with false information so that they think the real memory is hallucinations. " This man was immoral, perhaps a sadist, Robert decided. But Joliffe, even if he detected Robert's distaste, was not stopped by it. "One of our own people joked that it's a pity we couldn't change their sex. That would really disorientate them!" Joliffe laughed. " With men the effect of that testosterone makes them less manageable. That's partly why the ratio of men to women in prisons is so high." Robert snorted, losing patience. " You people have no idea of what makes up personalities. Even supposing you could change their sex, what then?" Joliffe was impervious to Robert's hostility and scepticism. "Oh, give them drugs to keep them off balance, slowly bring them out of the drug induced haze so that it is not a shock. Then put them in women's clothing, with make up, introduce them to a totally women's environment to learn women's behaviour and women's talk. Teach them women's work and how women carry themselves and gradually any male memories will seem like a dream or a fantasy. They'd be totally disoriented and perhaps we could get what they knew so much easier." Robert shook his head in exasperation. "But that's just not possible. Even unless there is extensive surgery, and then they wouldn't have the fully functioning bits and pieces of women. I mean the ovaries, uterus, proper breasts. They'd never be able to conceive let alone bear children. And then at some point they'd find out they had been altered. Just surgically altered men. That would be traumatic, to say the least. It would cause all sorts of problems." Holding his hands behind him, Joliffe stood and looked out of the window at the students walking across the university quadrangle. Robert noticed the manicured nails and the correct amount of shirt cuff showing at his jacket sleeves. "So you think it's just a fantasy, do you? Ah, probably wouldn't work either. Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Forbes. If anything occurs to you would you please let us know.? Here is my card." That night as Forbes lay in bed something tugged at his memory, something he had read once....... about making men into women. The question knawed at him all of that night, until in the morning he suddenly remembered. His uncle's stuff from the war! Wasn't there a scruffy old book in his uncles trunk in the attic? Lord knows where he had picked that up. Robert had been rummaging in the attic and with a teenage boy's curiousity, had opened his uncle''s trunk and looked through the contents. There was an old book with German writing. He had taken some German at school and had been able to understand some of the pages. One of them had something about making a beautiful woman. Of course, it was nonsense and he had forgotten it. Until now. He thought about his uncle, Roy Armstrong. Roy had been terribly changed by things he had seen in the war. Eventually he had joined a missionary society, and then died of some infection in the Kalihari. All of Roy's stuff was in a chest in the attic. That afternoon Robert got out a ladder, a flashlight and climbed up. He scratched his head as he looked round the clutter of years. Most of his uncle's stuff had been piled up there. His parent's stuff too, after they died. Occasionally he had thought of getting rid of it, but had always had second thoughts. Eventually he spied the trunk in a corner, under some rolls of old carpet. He opened the lid. The little book was wrapped in cloth on top of his uncle's army uniform. His nose wrinkled at the smell of the mothballs. At least the attic was free from dampness. It did not look as if there had been any invasions of mice or squirrels either. He examined the book. It was quite small, in a mildewed yellow cover. As he remembered, the words inside were mainly German. He knew some German from school, just adequate to pronounce the words and work out their meaning. He flicked through the yellowed pages and then remembered that the page he was looking for was close to the end. There it was, four pages from the end. 'To make a man into a beautiful woman.' He looked at the following pages. He remembered now, a spell to reverse that one. On the next page, there was another spell, 'To make a woman into a man', and then the reverse of that. He turned back to the first spell to read it through completely, but then he frowned. The words on the right hand side pages were not in the dictionary. Come to think of it they did not even sound German. They did not sound Russian or any of the eastern European languages, what little he knew of them. Perhaps it was just gibberish. He turned over the earlier pages. These seemed to have some medical stuff in them, curing toothaches, healing wounds, removing scars, healing club feet and hunchbacks. He grinned. Just more fairy tales. He decided to take the book downstairs to check on the translation with his German dictionary. But why would his uncle have kept the book? Perhaps some museum or library might be able to use it. He looked at the trunk and the rest of its contents. He would have to do a clearing out some day. He closed the lid of the trunk and moved to the ladder, but caught his arm on a metal strip on a tea chest. "Damn," he said. It was not serious. Just a small dressing would be needed. Yet the blood was messy. He grinned. "Well that's a way to test out the supposed spells." He turned to the right page in the book and read the German words and looked at the words on the opposite side of the page. They made no sense, but he sounded them out, as the instructions said. He looked at the cut, still oozing blood. Nothing had happened. "So much for magic spells," he thought and went to the bathroom to get a dressing then winced. The wound had taken a prickly feeling, then as he watched, the blood stopped, the edges of the cut grew together to a red scar, which soon faded to a faint line and disappeared. All of this had only taken a few minutes. He sat down on the toilet seat in mild shock and shook his head. This was magic, but magic didn't exist, did it? He'd need another test. He looked through the book for something suitable. There were cures for hunchbacks, club feet, scars, squinting eyes..... He remembered the little boy next door. He looked out of the window. There he was, playing with his brother with some toys on the other side of the hedge. Casually he went out into the small plot and sat down in his garden seat across the hedge from the boys. He began to read the words of the spell, quite loudly. Nothing happened and he relaxed. Then he winced as the child began to cry, jumped up, pounded on the door and rushed inside when his mother opened it. Hastily he retreated into his own house. God, he never meant to hurt anyone! Suppose the child was hurt! He spent a worried half hour but heard no further commotion from next door. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw both of the children come outside again and resume playing in the sand as if nothing had happened. He was working on his bicycle the next day when he saw his neighbour pull a pram out with her two boys at her side. He straightened up. "Nice day, Mrs. Thompson." "Yes, Dr. Forbes, it is." Her face broke out into a worried smile. Dr. Forbes, Robert, would you look at Jimmy? It's his eye. You're a doctor, aren't you?" He felt cold. What had happened to the child? "Well yes, but a Ph.D, not a medical doctor. But what has happened?" "It's his eye, I think that squint of his has cured itself. Can these things happen?" Robert felt unsteady. " Really? What happened?" "I don't know. He was out playing yesterday in the sand pile and came in crying, rubbing his eye. I thought he'd got some in his eye, but I couldn't see anything and when he stopped I sent him out again. Then last night as I was putting him to bed I noticed he wasn't squinting any more." Forbes felt a prickly feeling on his neck. "Oh, that's wonderful, Mrs. Thompson, but many of these things sort themselves out by themselves. I'm so glad for you and Jimmy." He looked at the book again that night, over a glass of Scotch. So another spell had worked also. That meant there was a good likelihood that the others would too. He thought about it. He could see the value of spells that performed minor cures, but what purpose could there be for spells that changed people's sexes? A headline was splashed over the front page of the Monday paper. 'Spy Ring smashed! Traitors Charged!' It described how a spy ring had been discovered and some workers arrested for selling information to 'A Certain Eastern Power'. He thought of Joliffe's visit, and, his mind made up, he called the number on the card. A secretary passed him to Joliffe, and Forbes introduced himself. "Ah, Dr. Forbes, yes, thanks for calling, old boy. So what is it? You have something that could help us?" "You remember our conversation about disorienting someone by changing their sex?" "Yes, you poohpoohed it. Have you changed your mind?" "Well, I have found something that might be of interest to you. I have to tell you, I have misgivings, but then I read in today's paper that a spy ring had been discovered. I wondered if the thing I have might help." "Oh, that in the papers, that's old stuff. So you have something? You sound very mysterious and intriguing, but come and see me, Dr. Forbes. Let us discuss it." A day or so later Robert was sitting with Joliffe and his senior, a man called Sanderson, in a nondescript grey building near Whitehall. "Well, Dr. Forbes," said Joliffe, "maybe you can help us with another case. We have a fellow who was picked up. I must say the opposition were very careless. Either that or we were lucky. He was noticed near a naval base and one of our men remembered that we had a picture of him coming out of a ministry in Moscow. We picked him up, but I must say he has been, to put it mildly, uncooperative. So perhaps this would be a suitable test for your book. A magic book, that possibly can change peoples sex." His voice was full of scepticism and even some amusement. "Well, how will we do this?" Robert looked at the floor, wondering what he had let himself in for, still wrestling with his conscience and even his wisdom in offering the book. "Trouble is, I don't know how this spell might work, even if it works at all." His tone was defensive. " I tried two others in the book and they did. I don't know if when it's read if it will it affect the person doing the speaking, the person spoken too, or both? Or all within hearing?" Joliffe smiled thinly." I certainly don't know either. So maybe we'd better get a woman to read it." "I don't like that," said Sanderson. "It's just another person in the know. I don't want this story getting out. If it works, the book is dangerous. If it doesn't, we will be laughed at." Joliffe thought for a minute. "How about my assistant Sally? She's worked with me quite a few years. She is a steady girl, and has signed the Official Secrets Act, of course." He leaned over to a file cabinet, pulled out a folder and handed it to Sanderson. Sanderson glanced at the contents." Can she keep her tongue still? I mean within our own department. This could make us laughing stock." "Yes, she has always been tight lipped about what we are doing. I trust her completely. What do you say, Dr. Forbes?" "I don't know the lady, but if you trust her, I'll go with that. But keeping it as secret as possible is a very good idea." ................ In a few days they all watched through a soundproof glass panel into a small room. "What is the spy's name? asked Robert. "What do you know about him?" "Precious little," said Joliffe. "The name is Oleg Malchenko, a Ukrainia. We got that from a contact. Apart from that, we think he is in his early twenties. Looks a healthy tough sort." The prisoner was lightly sedated and strapped on an hospital bed, dressed only in a gown. He was fair haired, with pale blue eyes. He looked at Sally briefly through glazed eyes. At Joliffe's signal, Sally began to read from the book. It only took a minute and at the end of that time nothing had happened. She waved to the watchers, and they entered the room. "Oh well, so much for supposed old spells," said Sanderson. " What now?" He looked at Robert with an expression of mild pity. Robert felt very foolish. Joliffe stared at the unconscious prisoner. "Then we try all the other options. We will keep him sedated and gradually increase the amount of suggestion in the the tapes we play. We will also start hormone therapy, with massive amounts of oestrogen, then in some weeks or so we will use extensive surgery. The Adams apple isn't prominent, so that will be one less thing." "When we are done she will have a woman's body, more or less, and will be treated as one. As you pointed out earlier, she'd never be able to have children, but then many women can't anyway, and really, all we are concerned with is breaking this spy to get information. We'll use truth drugs too." Sally made a face. "It makes me shiver." The men ignored her, but then Forbes saw Malchenko also shake slightly, as if with a shiver. "It's got cold in here, " said Sally. " I feel shivery." She folded her arms closely under her breasts, shivered slightly and sat down. Robert looked at Sally in surprise. He thought the room was too warm if anything. Then he saw the patient shake again. He pointed it out to Joliffe. "Look, there is some effect. My God, I wonder if shivering is a sign the spell beginning to work. Maybe it is working. This man and Sally are both shivering." "Bloody Hell," gasped Sally. " I hope it doesn't make me into a man." Her teeth began chattering. Robert shook his head. "No, the spell says it is to make a man into a beautiful woman." Sanderson scratched his chin. "So maybe it affects all who hear it. Damn good thing we were outside." "Is that all you can say?" cried Sally. "No concerns about me?" She shivered again, more intensely. "Sorry sir, I shouldn't have said that." "No, our fault" said Joliffe. "All right, Sally, you'd better sit down. Tell you what, the reverse spell is there, use it right away." Sally thought for a moment then shook her head. "No, let's wait and see what happens. I feel fine apart from shivering. No, wait, my skin too feels tauter." She rubbed her cheek. She grunted. "My body is beginning to feel a bit achy. It's like I had a sudden flu." They watched her intently for some minutes, but she did not appear to have any more discomfort. " Sally, why don't I take you into the nurse?" said Sanderson. " She can keep an eye on you. Just in case." "No, honestly, I think I'll be fine. I'm beginning to feel better. The shivering has stopped." Sally thought a bit. "Yes, I suppose you are right. Better to be careful." She gave a yawn. "Gosh, I actually feel like a sleep, but don't worry. I'll be fine." She gave a brave smile and allowed Sanderson to lead her out to the doctor's office. By the time Sanderson returned Malchenko's sporadic shivering had stopped, and the figure was unconscious, but now it was as if the body was undergoing a steady series of ripples, from head to toe. Robert loosened the straps on the bed. "Look at that," Joliffe breathed. As they watched the body slowly shrank. But the proportions too were changing. The shoulders narrowing, and the hips broadening. The skin too, despite the sweat covering it, seemed to be softening, and the limbs rounder. The features were becoming less craggy and more soft and gentle. The eyebrows lost their heaviness. He pulled back the hospital gown and slowly exhaled in awe. The patient's genitals were changing, almost visibly, the penis shrinking, the scrotum underneath shrinking too. Slightly embarassed, Robert felt at its contained testicles. They were now only the size of marbles, and then they seemed to retract into the body. In a few minutes the scrotum was was only a pad of skin and the penis shrunk to just a small nub. "I can hardly believe it!" said Robert. On the chest the nipples began to swell and then the underlying flesh began to bulge, first as little peaks, then swelling, growing, pushing out to a globular shape, each tipped with a rosy areola and prominent nipple, a woman's breasts, yet incongruously covered in hair. He pointed to the groin again. The pad of flesh gradually formed into a crease, which split down the middle, and rearranged into two sets of folds. In less than four hours, what was below them was the body of a woman, not a man. The rippling had stopped and the figure below them was perspiring, but breathing evenly. "What now?" asked Sanderson. Joliffe shook his head. "God, I really didn't expect this. I'm not sure we are really prepared." "Yes," said Sanderson, "and what about the rest of the people here? They will be sure to ask questions. How do we keep it quiet? And what about Sally?" Joliffe clapped his head. "Oh God, Sally, I'd forgotten about her. I'll go and check." He returned within a few minutes with Sally. They all looked at her. She seemed to be fine, even smiling, yet there was something different about her. "Sally insisted on coming with me. She didn't want to miss any more." Sanderson stared at her."Sally, you look different." She smiled at him. "Yes sir, I think the spell has affected me, but I feel fine. The shivering left me soon after I went to the doctor, and then there was a brief soreness, but the result has been great. Don't you notice anything about me?" Robert glanced at her, then startled, took a closer look. Had she always been as pretty as that? It was still the same person, yet there was something or things about her, subtle changes in her face, maybe. She had been a passably pretty girl, a little pear-shaped perhaps, but now she had become quite a beauty. He tried to decide exactly what the difference was. Perhaps her cheek bones were more prominent? Or maybe the nose more regular, her lips fuller. Certainly her skin seemed smoother and her figure was better proportioned. She raised herself and straightened. Her bust seemed higher, and more prominent, pleasantly pushing out her blouse. "Look," she put a finger in the waistband of her skirt. "See, my waist and hips are slimmer, and I can tell you too. I'll have to get a new bra. Oops, sorry, gentlemen, I don't mean to embarass you." Robert was thinking of the implications. "So the spell affected you too?" he said. " So that means it affects all within hearing. I'm glad we had you in a soundproof room." "Yes, imagine what would have happened if you men had been changed as well. Think of the problems that would have caused." "Sally, when do you want to use the reverse spell?" asked Sanderson. "Never! This is great,: she exclaimed. " What woman wouldn't be happy with changes like this? And I expect my husband will be pleasantly surprised too. Fortunately he's off to America on a trade mission." She gave a wide smile. "The trouble is I'll have to get a lot of new clothes, or be busy with the sewing machine doing a lot of alterations." "Hmm." Joliffe raised his eyes." Then what if your husband notices the differences when he returns? He is sure to start asking questions." Sally thought for a minute and grinned at Sanderson. "Well, it may cost you, or the agency some money. I'll get a new hairstyle, a special treatment at a beauty salon, some new underwear and other clothes. I'll put my appearance down to that. After all, it will be a work related expense, won't it?" Sanderson ruefully thought of his budget. "So what of our patient?" Sally asked. "He, or maybe now I should say 'she', is still unconscious," said Joliffe. "However, maybe it hasn't worked so well for her. Her body is that of a woman, but she's not a pretty sight. The face is blotchy, and there is still masculine hair over all of the body, at the groin too. It 's still in a male pattern." Sally felt at the figure's hair "What about this? It's too short for a woman." "That can't be helped. We could possibly say we had to shorten it for some tests, or just leave it. By the time we are finished it should have grown a bit. " Sally looked at the unconscious figure and grimaced. "Yes, poor .... woman, I suppose. She wouldn't like to be left with a complexion like that. Still, maybe we should wait. That must be a severe transformation for a man. She has perspired a lot and it would be bound to have an effect on the skin. The chest hair too. Let's wait a day or two and see what happens." "Of course, we now have problems," Joliffe said. "This book is a very powerful tool. We four know about it, but we don't dare let it be known to any others that we have such a thing. It's magic. I really can't think of any other description. What do we say to others? And what about our patient? How do we keep the transformation quiet?" Sanderson thought for a minute. " Yes, this is not the place to keep her. I think we will have to transfer her to another place. There is a small women's hospital in the north of the city we can use. It's army run for their nurses. The people there won't know about this operation, and we can transfer her, as a woman. I'll do the paperwork." Sally looked at her face in the mirror and pirouetted slowly to inspect her figure. She grinned. "Of course, you could make a lot of money. Every woman would pay a lot to improve her appearance. You'd make millions.I Joliffe humphed. "Yes, very tempting, i'm sure, but we don't dare let it out. It will have to remain secret. Don't you agree, Dr. Forbes?" Robert was very sure that he did. Sally looked over the unconscious figure again. "I'll help her as much as I can and make sure no one sees what we have been doing. Now we will have to build another identity and personality from scratch if you want it to work. I can give female input, but I'll need help. " Joliffe nodded. "Yes, and she'll need to be under the control of someone who can act as a nurse, yet who can keep a secret. Sally, are there any women you know who would be suitable ?" "Well, all have signed the Official Secrets Act. But Rose for instance, our nurse. She keeps a close mouth." "Yes, a good choice. I'll arrange that, " said Sanderson.. "But she needn't know about the book, only that we have a young patient, of interest to our department, who is having hallucinations. She can give us reports on the patient. " "All right, first things," said Sally. "She will have to get women's clothing. I will attend to that. But I am assuming she will be still pretty much drugged, then gradually brought out of it, so it's not urgent. She needn't be fully dressed at the beginning, I mean with outer clothes. Maybe just some nighties at first. There is another thing. We had better make sure she really is woman, internally, I mean. Perhaps she should have a thorough check with a medical exam, X-rays, a gynaecologist and so on. If all is as it should be she will start to have periods at some time, so she'll need some pads or tampons too. Sorry, gentlemen, but that's what women do. "It's when she really starts to move around that she'll need a whole lot of clothing, and stuff that fits her properly. It should be used too, to make her think it is her own. Unfortunately she may eventually develop her own taste in style or colour so it'll have to be fairly neutral colours. So, some dresses, blouses and skirts. We can leave coats until she leaves the hospital. She'll also need women's underwear and stockings and she'll need some cosmetics too eventually. "Also first, we should use a woman' name for her. Madame X, or Miss X will just not do. I know, call her Jane Hill. That's nice and plain." "All right, " said Sally, looking at Joliffe and Sanderson, "why don't you two gentlemen go off home and get some sleep. Dr. Forbes and I will look after the patient." Jane was kept in the room under heavy sedation these first days. Sally watched over her carefully, noting the male pattern hair simply falling out over a day or so. Her face lost its blotchiness and became as smooth as a model's. "Yes, I think it's time to get her transferred to the hospital, " said Joliffe, when Sally reported to him. "We will keep her well sedated during the transfer, then gradually reduce the doses until she begins to notice her surroundings. I'll call Dr. Forbes and give him a status report." ......... Jane could not remember exactly when she first began to be aware of her surroundings. A continual indistinct murmur filled the air, vaguely like voices, always female ones. She only just registered being lifted from the softness of the bed and being sat on a low pan, with words of encouragement, and approval, always female voiced. She could not think at all. She felt an incredible lassitude, then being laid back to the bed, a small prick at her arm and sinking again into oblivion. She awoke again to a pleasant drifting lethargy. The bed was soft, and her clothing loose and comfortable. She half-opened her eyes and blinked against the light. The room was painted a soft pink. Even the crisp sheets that brushed her face were pink. One of her hands was at her side and idly played with her nightwear. She was aware of her warm thighs and hips under soft fabric, but her hips were too big and in the wrong place. As she felt further up her body seemed to suddenly narrow to her waist. She felt at the curve of her hip. Something was wrong yet she could not describe it. She only had vague memories of a bare room, and men questioning her. "Ah Jane, you're awake," said a woman' voice. "All right, let's get you up. What do you say to a nice sponge bath after?" Jane tried to speak, but it was difficult to form words, let alone express her thoughts. She closed her eyes to concentrate. Jane? Who was that? That was a woman's name and she was .... not.... or was she? A woman in a nurse's uniform was shaking her gently, then easing her out of bed. She almost fell, her legs loose and her body unbalanced. "That's right, Jane, take it easy. You've been very ill. Now just sit down on this pan. That's a girl, yes, let it go." Jane shook her head again. Why was she sitting down like a woman? Shouldn't she be standing? Why was she was wearing a nightgown, a knee length style, of soft pink flanellette with blue flowers? That was surely wrong; that was women's clothing. But then the nurse was helping her back to bed. "Do you think you can sit up," she asked. Obediently Jane struggled to a sitting position. "Oh, good girl. Let me get your nightie off. Maybe a nice clean one too after I get you washed." Girl?. Who was that? Jane blinked again then screwed her eyes and looked down. Something was wrong with her chest. There were two projections on it. She raised her hand to them, feeling soft warmth, her chest feeling her own hesitant hands. But these mounds were tipped with prominent nipples and surrounds. They were women's breasts. All of this was very confusing. She felt at them again. Soft, yet firm, and the tip, the pink nipples and areolas were sensitive to her touch. They must be her own. they were attached to her own body. She had not experienced that feeling before, or had she? She could not remember. She shook her head. This was not right. She should not have breasts. Only women had breasts. Concentrating desperately, she opened her legs and looked down. Was something missing? She felt below her belly and found only folds of skin, then puckered lips surrounding a moist opening. She jerked at her own touch. The surprise made her want to sit up further but the nurse or whatever she was held her. "Yes Jane, everything is all right. You've been ill, but it hasn't affected your body. You are still as pretty as you ever were. Now, what about a nice wash? Maybe tomorrow you can get up and sit on a chair." Finally Jane managed to concentrate enough to speak. "What. ... has.... happ...ened? Why am I h....here?" "You've been ill. Jane. This is a special hospital. You got an infection that affected your mind. You had hallucinations. You imagined things, but you are now on the mend." Jane struggled to find the words. "But my body is wrong. I'm not really a woman, am I? I'm a man." Rose shook her head with a patient smile. "No, no, that must be another hallucination. You are a woman, a pretty one too. Now shhh, just relax and I'll wash you." "W.. who are y.. you?"" "I'm Rose, Rose Wilson, and I am your nurse." Jane shook her head again but allowed herself to be washed. The nurse's hands were small yet firm and strong. Jane felt herself lifted and turned deftly. She felt a slight, not unpleasant shock as the woman's hands gently wiped the cloth over her breasts and nipples. "Lie back, Jane, and open your legs. I'll wash you down there" Obediently she spread her legs as the warm soapy cloth wiped her, then allowed herself to be turned to her stomach and the nurse washed her back. At last her nightgown was pulled back over her head again and she sat back in the bed. "Here Jane, some water." Gratefully she drank it. "Now a pill too. This will help you relax." Jane swallowed obediently. "Now something to eat? A little soup?" It was in a cup and she sipped at it, trying to gather her memories. "There must be some... " she hesitated. Her voice did not sound right. It was much too high pitched. ".....Mistake," she croaked. "Mistake, you were trying to say?" said Rose. "What about? No, I don't think so. I think its just your bad hallucinations again but just relax and all will be fine." Nurse Rose was quiet, firm and matter of fact. Jane tried to relax but she could not, with the continual troubled uncertain feeling. "Tell you what, tomorrow we'll get you up and try on your clothes. Won't that be nice? You must be getting fed up lying in bed." Jane looked round the room. It was plain, just her bed with two hospital chairs and a small table.The pictures on the walls were of flowers, or ladies in elegant long dresses. She picked up a magazine and turned through the articles on makeup, clothing and hairstyles. She could understand the language of the articles, yet it was as if it was not quite familiar. She looked idly through them, feeling more and more bored. An article on cooking was a little more interest. An advice column left her feeling irritated. She tried toread one of the short stories, but she could not relate to the heroine's feelings or actions. ........ Joliffe, Robert, Sanderson and Sally sat around the table, Rose Facing them. Joliffe looked up from the papers in front of him. "All right, first reports, Mrs. Wilson. What has been happening?" "Mentally, she appears very confused, says she is a man. She keeps examining and touching her body. Poor thing, her being so pretty too. But now I have been getting her on her feet, and we'll soon get her into ordinary clothes. It will be better when she is on her feet and walking around. "She's been reading some of the magazines too, but she's not really interested. I'm not sure about the background noise, like women chattering all the time. I must say I'm getting fed up with it. "Could you tell me more about her background, so I can help her better, sir?" Sanderson shook his head. "Sorry, Mrs. Wilson, we can only tell you that she has been ill from some malady. Anything you cannot handle, please call us." "There is another thing we should discuss, "said Robert, after Rose had left. "It's partly connected to filling out a fictional background. After you are done with her, and she leaves the hospital, what then? We will need someplace to go, and where we can still check on her." "I know"said Sally, "my mother, Hilda Wright. She has space, and knows about intelligence. She will be close mouthed. My father used to work here too, remember." "Good idea," said Joliffe. "Then Aunt Hilda it is." ........ Next morning Jane was awake before the nurse came in. She raised herself on her elbows then threw back the bed sheet and blanket. She pulled her flowered pink nightdress up to her neck and squinted again at her body. She shook her head briefly. She had not been mistaken; in her gaze were two well formed breasts. She felt at them, pulling and squeezing, but they were part of her. This was no hallucination. She looked at her arms and hands. The arms were slim, smooth and rounded, with fine blonde hairs. She lifted her hands to examine them. They were narrow, small, with long graceful fingers. Her nails were short, but rounded in a female style. She parted her legs and looked down as much as she could. Under a small tuft of springy hair she could only see some folds of flesh. Tentatively she felt at herself. All was as it had been the day before. She lay back and tried to remember. Surely this was wrong? The door rattled briefly and she hurriedly pulled the nightdress back down. "And how are you this morning?" asked Rose breezily, but without waiting for an answer, " Now why don't you sit up, Jane?" she suggested. "I have a nice boiled egg and marmalade on toast for your breakfast." Jane slowly began to eat, examining her narrow hands as they gripped the knife and spoon, as if they were not part of her. "Finished now? Do you want to get out of bed and I tell you, why don't you try the proper toilet? You are well enough now. I think you'll be able to manage all right. I'll help you to it." There was a small room with a toilet off her room. She staggered at first, but soon found her balance. "That's very good. Now how about having a walk along the corridor here? There's a pair of your slippers. Just lean on me." Jane felt herself manouevred across the room, through the door and into a corridor with pale green painted walls and brown linoleum on the floor. She shuffled along, her legs feeling stiff, and her body ungainly. When they finally reached the end the nurse opened a door "Look in there, Jane. That's the lounge. Some of the other women patients meet here. Maybe you can meet them sometime." At last Rose got back to her own room. "Now, how about getting your own clothing on for a bit? Now, off with your nightie and here's a pair of your knickers. Just step into them. You will be a bit stiff and I'll pull them up. That's right." The action brought back memories, but yet something about the feel was wrong. The fabric seemed too flimsy, slippery and soft. Snug too. She could not remember feeling anything like that ever before. "Now, do you want to try putting on your bra?" Jane looked at the garment being held out to her. She was too mystified. She had no memories of putting one on. She held it limply in her hands. "Hold out your arms and I'll help you do it up," said Rose. "Maybe you'll be a bit stiff to reach behind." Jane felt it sli