Mind Over Psyche

by Karina L. Fabian

  “Vegan,” Deryl said.

  Joshua gave a start—had he been thinking that loudly?—but devoted his attention to his meal. He couldn’t do much else, really. The telepathic conversation excluded him more effectively than that of Rique’s relatives before he’d learned Spanish. At least then, he had the chance of picking up a word or two. Here, he heard some laughter—apparently, some things were universal, literally—and he might be able to guess at the emotions playing across people’s faces, but he didn’t know who was speaking when. He concentrated on his delicious, if unfamiliar, food.

  When Tasmae spoke to him, he almost jumped again. “Pardon?”

  “I asked if you are all right.” She spoke English with a New England accent, which made sense, since she would have picked it up from Deryl. She seemed to be asking about his well-being in general, so he replied in kind.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Be better if I knew I was going back home to Earth soon, though.”

  She nodded seriously, her head tilting first one way, then the other. “The ways of God are not always known to us.”

  Joshua snorted. “Tell me about it.”

  She apparently understood the idiom—or the sarcasm. “It is so for your people, too? I do not know why God has chosen to bring the Ydrel to us now, nor why you have been sent as well.” She glanced quickly across the table at a scowling man in russet robes, and Joshua sensed that Tasmae may not have things under as much control as Deryl wanted to believe. Oh, yeah. Really great.

  “Your people don’t believe in dumb luck?” He asked Tasmae.

  She looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  Even better. “Really? So what are you saying? That you’re going to keep us here until you figure out what God wants with us?”

  Tasmae frowned, and for a moment Joshua worried that he’d stuck his foot in his mouth. She didn’t seem upset, however; rather, she looked more like she was searching for the right words.

  Deryl jumped in. “What she’s trying to say is that it’s not really in her control so much as God’s.”

  “Yes. We will not purposely detain you.” Again, she glanced at the man in brown. “But it may not be possible for you to leave until your purpose on our world has been fulfilled.”

  “Really? Ooo-kay. Well, I know what to pray for.”

  “As do we all,” Tasmae concluded. “Until then, once you have finished eating, you will want to bathe.” It was as much an order as a question.

  “That’s a great idea. I’d like to shave, too, if you can get me a razor.” Seeing how both Deryl and Tasmae hesitated, he added, “I don’t need anything fancy. I can even use one of those old-fashioned blade razors. But I’d really like to get rid of this fuzz. It’s not like I’m going to run amok with so many armed guards around.”

  Some silent consultation, then Deryl turned back to Joshua. “Here’s the deal. They don’t have razors. They don’t need them.”

  Joshua stole a look at the faces of the men around him. All of them were clean-shaven, but he’d thought it was just the fashion or military regulation. Deryl, he realized, always bore a baby-smooth face, and he’d never seen him shave nor seen a razor in his bathroom. Deryl had once told him he thought his father was an alien. Could he be right? Would explain a lot.

  He could not believe he was even thinking that. Nonetheless, the geek part of him wanted to squeal with excitement.

  Deryl was saying the metalsmith wasn’t very busy. “So it’ll only take a couple of hours, but it’d have to be simple.” He hesitated, then added, “You’d have to let me into your mind so I can describe it.”

  “I thought you didn’t like to do that. Made you dizzy or something.” For that matter, he didn’t like the idea much himself.

  “It does. But you want to shave, don’t you? And before you ask, drawing a picture isn’t going to work unless you know the right dimensions or want to keep cutting yourself on prototypes until you get it right. This isn’t going to be like that healer picking up English, either. To get that specific, someone’s going to have to get into your personal memory. Tasmae’s people won’t do it. Humans have too much…contamination, she says. Like emotional baggage. But if I do it, I can telep Tasmae just the information she needs. So?”

  Joshua sighed and scratched his chin thoughtfully. Maybe he shouldn’t shave; after all, he was supposed to be a kidnap victim. How would he explain it to the authorities if he showed up clean-shaven and unaffected by the experience?

  Deryl misread his hesitation and huffed. “Fine. Be scruffy, or try shaving with a dagger for all I care. But I don’t know what you’re so uptight about. It’s not like you ever really noticed the other times I’d read your mind.”

  “It’s not that. I was just thinking how it’d look if I—What do you mean, ‘the other times?’”

  “Well, you know,” Deryl hedged. “When we first met, and I was trying to prove to you I was psychic…”

  With everyone at the table watching them, Deryl maintained a steady, guiltless gaze, but Joshua could see that he’d said more than he’d intended. It occurred to him that they probably shouldn’t discuss this now, but he couldn’t bring himself to let Deryl off the hook. “You said times. Plural.”

  “Fine. It was that same evening. We’d just met, and I was mad and suspicious because you were gawking at Sachiko.”

  “Was not!”

  Deryl just rolled his eyes. “She was the closest thing to a friend I had. Did you think I was going to trust you after a few minutes’ conversation? I just sort of let you daydream about her for an hour or so while I probed your mind and found out what kind of a person you are. Oh, and I drank all that Scotch my uncle smuggled in for my birthday,” he added, turning his smile to Tasmae. “Remember that day?”

  Joshua watched Tasmae frown and guessed that that must have been when she and Deryl had met face-to-face for the first time in the Netherworld. Which started the chain of events that led to us being here now. Bet she can’t decide whether to be happy or annoyed about it.

  Joshua, however, had no doubts concerning how he felt about Deryl’s invasion into his private thoughts. “How many times?” He demanded quietly.

  “That fully? Just that evening, promise. Any other time was very surface and not really intentional—kind of reflex. Like how you sometimes change the way you talk to match the person you’re talking to. Joshua, I was desperate. I, I had to make sure you wouldn’t do anything to hurt Sachiko. Or me. I really did need a friend. I had to know I could trust you, too.”

  “Yeah, all right.” With a long breath, Joshua released his anger. He rubbed his face with his hands. As he brushed over the growth on his cheeks, he remembered why he’d objected in the first place. “I’m still not sure it’s a good idea that I shave, though. I probably should look like I’ve been a hostage for a few days. Otherwise, what do I tell the cops?”

  “I was ‘teleping’ with Tasmae about that,” Deryl smiled. “Time is both relative and irrelevant—”

  “Wrinkle in Time?”

  Deryl nodded. “My mom’s favorite. Anyway, I’m pretty sure it’s true as far as teleportation goes. I think once I’ve figured out what I did and we can leave, I can get you home within a couple of hours after we’d left.”

  “Really? I’d better shave, then. So what do I do?”

  *

  Tasmae watched, fascinated, as Joshua calmed and Deryl instructed him to think about the curious blade. Only a few Kanaan had the talent of reaching into alien minds on purpose. Was there anything the Ydrel could not do?

  They’re dangerous. Leinad’s assertion slipped into her mind.

  Tasmae brushed it off as if an irritating insect. He was the Ydrel.

  The Ydrel is dangerous. You are not meant to interact with him like this. No one is. The Remembrance was quite clear—

  Tasmae cut off his assertion with a mental snort. When had
a Remembrance ever been clear about anything?

  All the more reason to experience the Remembrance, learn the fullness of its warning, Leinad pressed. Ydrel or not, they should both be imprisoned.

  The compound knows where they are allowed and where not. Besides, do you truly think two unarmed aliens are a danger to us here? She shared her thoughts—and her amusement—with Salgoud.

  The general projected his confidence that, with a thousand soldiers in the Maze and here, they could handle the two.

  Tasmae teased him with the memory of her dashing in just in time to keep him from “handling” the aliens by lopping their heads off. Her mirth cut short when she felt a stirring in her gut that had nothing to do with digestion or fear.

  I did not know it was the Ydrel, he shrugged laconically, a hint of a smile showing on his scarred face. He rose and left.

  If he is the Ydrel, Leinad persisted.

  His comment barely registered. Her own talent had alerted her to a disturbance in the earth. She had to find it, contain it if necessary before the earthquake grew to harm others. She pulled deep into herself, sought the shifting plates…

  She hardly registered Leinad rising to follow Salgoud.

  *

  Deryl and Josh had not noticed the discussion going on around them. Deryl said, “Relax and just remember the razor. It has to be a memory, not imagining, though. I can get the details from there. I promise I won’t go searching about for deep dark secrets.”

  “Better not,” Josh warned as he shut his eyes. He rested his chin on one hand and thought about his grandfather’s razor.

  It was definitely simple: a straight, long blade that folded out of the handle. For a moment, he saw it, shining and suspended against a black backdrop, then the scene filled in, and it was held in the strong hand of his grandfather, and Joshua was six years old, sitting on the edge of the counter, watching in fascination as his grandfather brought the sharp blade up to his neck and scraped off the hair and shaving cream with deft strokes. It had been one of the happiest days in his life when Grandpa moved in with them.

  “This is how real men shave,” he said. “Not with that sissy thing your dad uses.” He rinsed the blade under the steaming tap and pointed it at his dad’s electric razor before bringing the blade to his face again. Joshua snickered at the thought of his dad having a sissy anything. “Told me he has to buy one every couple of years. Throwing good money away on a fancy piece of technology when this is all you need. Now, my pa gave me this blade back in...” He paused to scrape his lip and never did tell Joshua the exact year. He hadn’t known it then, but his grandfather’s memory was starting to go, the first symptom of the disease that would take his life. “I was going to war. Lied about my age. Had to—hard enough for a Black to get into the army those days. Not like it is now. You learning your ciphering?”

  “Yes, sir. And I can read Curious George all by myself.”

  “Good.” He pulled his cheek long and flat, making his words slur. “Your color ain’t never gonna be a hindrance, and don’t you ever use it as an excuse. Understan’?”

  “No.”

  His grandfather glanced at him, shrugged. “You will. You better, if you want to be a man. You get old enough, I’ll teach you to shave like a man.”

  That time had come far sooner than either had expected. Joshua was only eight years old when the disease that baffled physicians had stolen his grandfather’s strength, and he insisted Joshua shave him. He’d been letting Joshua play for months, scraping the fluffy mint-scented shaving cream off his face, first with a covered blade, then with the blunt side, and he had flatly announced to Joshua’s mother that the boy was the only one he’d trust with his special blade.

  “I’m not using one of those pretty disposables like you ladies use on your legs. I had my first shave with this razor and by God, I’ll have my last by this razor. Now you get on out of here, little girl, so’s he can take care of me right,” he ordered, and Joshua’s mother, who had always been the ultimate authority in her home, lowered her eyes and left.

  “All right now, Joshua,” he said as the door closed behind her. He settled back in his chair and closed his eyes.

  Joshua stared at the door. “She didn’t even argue!”

  “’Course not. I’m her pa. Besides, we both know I’m right. Now go to it, boy.”

  So Joshua had shaved him, and nearly dropped the blade the first time he nicked the old man’s skin. “I’msorryI’msorrryI’msorry,” he whispered as he brought a clean towel up to his grandfather’s chin. He was so sure his mother would come in, see what he’d done, and take the razor away, never mind what her pa wanted, but his grandfather just pressed the back of one hand against the nick and said calmly, “Ain’t nothing I haven’t done. You’re doing fine. Just trust yourself.”

  Afterward, he’d looked himself over in the mirror Joshua held up for him, his too-thin and trembling hands running over each cheek. “Not bad, boy. I’m going to expect you to do this for me every couple of days or so, but that blade’s yours now. You’ve earned it. You take care of it like I taught you and you use it. Remember what I told you. Trust yourself and don’t be afraid of the nicks.”

  He’d died not long after that, and the razor went on a shelf in Josh’s room beside a photo of him and his grandfather. The day Joshua decided he was ready to shave, he’d pulled it down, cleaned it up and used it like he’d promised. For a few minutes, it was like his grandfather stood beside him, instructing him on how to angle it, telling him that was how a man shaved. He’d gone downstairs feeling like a man, despite the many band-aids plastered on his face.

  His parents had exchanged quick looks, and his mother shrunk behind the book she was reading.

  “With all due respect to your grandfather, there are less painful ways,” his father remarked blandly while his mother suppressed her snickers.

  He’d eventually gotten a “sissy high-technology” Shaver, but he kept in practice with his grandfather’s old one. It was useful (and kind of impressive) on camping trips, and good for whenever he just wanted to feel close to his grandfather.

  He stood by his grandfather’s gravesite in Oklahoma, his car, packed to the gills, on the gravel road not too far off. He’d made the side trip on the way to Rhode Island from Colorado, and he brought the blade just to show his grandpa that he still had it. He’d played with it while he talked, feeling the weight, the smoothness of the wooden handle. He’d pulled it open, and ran his finger along the flat of the blade. He tested its sharpness. All the time he talked about his new adventure, his horrible last year, how he wished he’d been around to talk to.

  The memory vanished. He blinked at the sudden brightness of the room. “Whoa,” he whispered.

  Deryl and Tasmae were looking at each other, conversing, he supposed. Everyone else had left. He took the opportunity to breathe in and out slowly, letting the emotions of the memories flow over and away. So much for surface impressions.

  Tasmae stood. “I’ll see about the razor. It seems simple enough to fashion. The baths should not be busy for another couple of hours.”

  After she left, they picked at their food in silence. Finally, Joshua ventured, “I haven’t remembered him that vividly in a long time.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I was kind of…helping. But I didn’t direct your memory. I mean, you remembered what you wanted to—and I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. You’ve got strong memories. I sort of got caught in the current.”

  “Yeah, well…Thanks.” Joshua shifted position, then stabbed at his food lightly. “You know, I’d forgotten how much I worshiped him.”

  Deryl toyed with his food. “You’re lucky. He was cool. My grandfather—the one I know of, mother and Aunt Kate’s father—he barely acknowledged I existed. The first time I met him was at my mother’s funeral, and he told Aunt Kate to send me away. Said I was an aberration. That I never should have been
allowed to be born.”

  Joshua nearly dropped his fork. “You’re kidding. That’s whacked! How could anybody—” He stopped as he noticed Deryl’s shocked expression. “Listen, I’m sorry to dis your family, but that’s really heinous.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Deryl stammered. “It’s just—it’s in my file. First thing, practically. Edith seemed to find it was particularly enlightening.”

  Joshua stifled a groan. “I never read your file. Edith wanted me to treat you like a friend. Do you go reading dossiers on your friends?”

  Suddenly, Deryl shoved his plate of food away. He thumped his elbows in its place and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

  “You okay?”

  “Don’t be nice to me!” Deryl snapped. “You’ve tried to be nice to me from the very beginning, gave me your trust, tried to take me for who I am and not who everyone said I am. Look how I’ve repaid you! No, I don’t read dossiers on my friends. I just read their minds. You ought to be agreeing with my grandfather.”

  “Well, you’re not easy to love,” Joshua agreed with a twist of irony in his voice, and Deryl dropped his hands away from his eyes to gape at him. “Not everybody is. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have been born, or that we aren’t friends. Besides, I’ve kind of enjoyed being around you. I’ve learned a lot, about myself. About the universe.” Again, his voice took on an ironic twist, and he turned his head to take in the alien cafeteria, making Deryl laugh. “Hey, how many friends take their buddy road-tripping to another planet? How phat is that?”

  “‘Fat’?” As Joshua had intended, the word distracted him.

  “Phat, with a P-H. Means cool, but it’s kind of old now. When we get back to Earth, you’ve got some slang to catch up on. Listen, I’ll make you a deal.” Joshua glanced at the date feature on his watch. “I’ve got ten days until Chipotle auditions in New York. I miss that, my music career ends before it’s begun. Figure on two days to handle the fallout of our disappearance. Get us home in a week and things are cool between us. And if you can time-tesser, get us home the day we left, and things are totally phat. Deal?”