someone was saying.I opened my eyes to a halo of concern. Spencer, Timby, a museum guard, and a stylish older woman knelt over me, the woman unspooling a long floral scarf from her neck. She folded the scarf in half and in half again and again until it was the size of a head. My head, it turned out. I dutifully raised it and she placed her scarf underneath. A downside of extremely fine cashmere? Despite how many times it’s folded, it has the cushioning capacity of typing paper.From a secondary arc of standing people: “I called an ambulance.”“For me?” I said. “I don’t need an ambulance.” Although I did feel a bit foggy…“Just relax and breathe,” said the lady in charge… the museum director? She must have been eighty, with her pinched skin, density of crags, and white hair, curly and flying. Giant black-rimmed glasses dwarfed her small face, defiantly free of makeup.“Do you see her pupils?” someone whispered.“Mama!” Timby threw himself across me.“Please!”
