He squatted down at a tidal pool and rinsed gritty dust off his hands. This was the right place. It was always interesting and complex and alive here, more so with every visit. He scrambled along the shingle just beyond the reach of the waves. It could have been any northern California beach.
But here was something different. Between a pair of huge boulders was a
large tidal pool. Its water teemed with little fish, billions of shiny
silver creatures the size of a thumbnail. There were so many of them the
water quivered and boiled as they swam. Rob wondered how they could survive
in such a chowder of their fellows, but the little fish seemed perfectly
happy.
He lay down on the rock on his stomach and dipped a hand in. There was almost more fish than water, their tiny cold bodies pouring between his fingers like BB shot. Touching, skin to skin, he recognized them instantly.
These were the flowers and the crystals from before. These were people.
Every person in the hemisphere must be represented here. Rob found he couldn’t remember the current population of the New “World, but it must be a good few billions. There were surely that many fish here.
With both hands he tried to isolate just one specimen. It was difficult to catch one, and then even harder to keep the fish under water and yet separate for more than a few seconds. There were so many! Finally he imprisoned one in his cupped hands for a minute and peered at it. They weren’t really fish, more like tadpoles, so delicate that he could see the internal organs through the thin silvery skin. This particular little thing was a schoolteacher near Sao Paulo in Brazil. He relaxed his fingers and let it go, trailing his hands through the water again. A fisherman in the Barbados. An old lady in Montreal. A Chicago street sweeper. He had the entire population of the hemisphere flowing through his hands.
His original game plan now seemed foolish and petty. Edwin was here, of course, but it would take hours of paddling to find him. On such a pretty day it was more energy than it was worth. Rob got up and wiped his hands dry on his pants.
By climbing and jumping from rock to rock, Rob gradually worked his way out to sea, farther from the main shoreline. Had he somehow traveled to a real place, or was this amazingly detailed landscape still a construct, like the jewel or the garden? He didn’t recognize the coast, though it had such a familiar air. He might not even be on Earth at all. Those had definitely not been regular fish. Wouldn’t Edwin be envious if he knew!
The coast shelved steeply into the water and very soon Rob could go no farther. Was there any way to tell where he was? When he looked back at the coastal mountains the sun still hadn’t risen above them. Backlit, any houses or roads were invisible. He turned and scanned the ocean horizon. No boats, no contrails in the sky.
Then, a couple of hundred yards away, a long gray back rose wetly above the waves. A whale! Delighted, Rob watched as the magnificent animal undulated in and out. He tried to remember what he had learned on the whale-watching field trip in high school. Did a humpback have such a very long tail?
The creature vanished, then suddenly reappeared much closer. It had seen him. Scenes from Jaws came fleetingly to mind, but Rob dismissed them. This is my place, my image, he told himself. Nothing can hurt me here—I think.
About ten yards away the whale turned and cruised past. For a breathless moment Rob stared into a mild black eye the size of a soccer ball. “Hey, pal,” he called. It almost looked like a human eye—definitely not a whale! With a ponderous flick of the overlong tail, the glorious thing turned away. When it rose again, spouting, it was far down the shore.
An unreasoning joy filled him. Rob clambered back to the beach, bounding along over the rocks like a goat. At the foot of an enormous boulder he announced, “I bet I can jump right up to the top!” A standing high jump! He leaped it easily, though it was at least ten or twelve feet. Was this not his realm? But then he bungled the landing and fell on his nose onto something smooth: a sofa.
He lay breathing deep and staring into the dimness. The fur store seemed to be closed now. That was wonderful! he thought. If all these images and places are ways for me to handle the power, I may be getting somewhere. Then he thought, if everybody on earth was imaged as the tadpoles, then what was the whale?
Rob sat up. His clothes and shoes had dried nicely on him. Consulting his watch he saw with surprise that it was past six in the evening, on Saturday. Another day gone—amazing.
He pottered around the empty and locked store, using the bathroom, exploring the little refrigerator, rescuing yesterday’s paper from a trash can. He felt almost sociable. Well, Edwin had urged him to phone. He dug the card out of the duffel bag. There was a phone conveniently right by the sofa.
Hard to believe that anyone would still be at work at this hour. Sure enough, Rob got the voice-mail system. “Hi, you’ve reached Edwin Barbarossa’s extension. If you want to leave a message, wait for the tone.
If you’re calling because of freezer failure, or if this is Rob Lewis, press one. Thanks!”
Considerably surprised, Rob pressed one. A new message kicked in: “I can be reached at home, at 432-1059. Rob, this means you!” “Good gosh!” Rob exclaimed mildly. To alter a voice-mail message was no big deal, but still he was impressed that Edwin had gone to the trouble. He dialed the new number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Edwin, this is Rob.”
“Rob! Good grief, where are you? It’s been pouring rain all weekend!”
“Has it really?” Rob leaned over to look out into the main showroom. Sure enough, rain was scouring down outside the big front windows.
“You shouldn’t have just vanished like that the other day. We could’ve found you someplace! Look, I’m going out tonight anyway, to a pot-luck.
I’ll swing by and pick you up. Where are you?”
Rob hesitated. “Don’t bother, Ed. I’m in good shape.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Rob, they’re predicting a freeze tonight!”
“I’m not wet. I’m not in the rain at all. I’m stretched out on a very comfortable sofa. It’s upholstered in green velveteen.”
“The dickens with the velveteen! Where is it?”
“Well …” Rob was pretty sure Edwin wouldn’t approve. “It’s in a back lounge at Gartenhouse Furs on Wisconsin Avenue.”
“What?” A clatter as the receiver on the other end fell down, and very distantly Rob heard Edwin roaring with laughter. It was impossible not to smile when Edwin laughed. “I’m wasting my worry on you, buddy!” he said when he came back.
“I’m not your usual homeless person,” Rob agreed. “Besides, the store is closed. They have security gates locked down over all the windows and doors. I don’t think anyone can get in or out until they open up tomorrow.
I’m not even going to try to step into the main showroom. I bet they have cameras and motion alarms.”
“Couldn’t your, uh, vanishing trick fool them?”
“I don’t really vanish, Ed. I only make people not see me. I probably show up on videotape just fine.”
“Hmm, and mirrors too, I’d think. Listen, can you come to the lab tomorrow? I have some ideas.”
“Sure. After noon—they open the store then.”
“Right, see you then.”
Rob hung up and lay back on the sofa. Maybe he really had a chance to get
out from under this. If there was any other case like it, a treatment, even
just a name for what he had become, someone at NIH would know. With Edwin
as an ally, there was hope. Suddenly he felt ravenously hungry. When had he
eaten yesterday? A fur saleswoman had left some lunch in the little
fridge—half a ham sandwich and a banana yogurt. He went to investigate.
CHAPTER 2
The research buildings were relatively empty on Sundays. Only an occasional light showed through the windows in the lab doors. In the outer room, the monster microscope
rested under a plastic dustcover the size of a bedspread. From Edwin’s nook came the sounds of Cole Porter and conversation.
Rob peered in warily, but Edwin was only talking into a machine. He pointed at a chair and mouthed, “Hello.” Then he said, “Carina, you know any sweater’s fine with me. I have no objection to llamas. But no hat. I’m convinced that wearing a hat causes premature hair loss, and I’m already getting too thin on top …” While he spoke he unzipped his briefcase and took out a box of Girl Scout cookies. He handed them to Rob and made silent opening gestures.
Rob opened the box and ripped open one of the cellophane inner packets.
Edwin took a cookie, still talking. He was using a ham radio rig, Rob decided. He ate a cookie himself. When had he last tasted a Do-Si-Do? It must have been in Pacific Grove when his sister was a Girl Scout. He could vividly remember Angie’s splendid Girl Scout uniform. How many memories he had cut himself off from this summer!
“All right!” Edwin was snapping switches off and unplugging things. “Sorry, Rob, but Carina doesn’t surface often, so I have to catch her when I can.”
“Who is Carina?”
“My fiancee.” Edwin pointed at a blurry Polaroid on the wall, of a dark girl in a cowboy hat. “An archaeologist. She’s in Peru, so we use the radio—no reliable phone service at the dig in Cuzco.”
“From Peru to Mars? You’re going for a Guinness record for long-distance relationships, right? I’m sorry, Ed, I just noticed I’ve wolfed half the box.”
Edwin laughed. “I brought them for you—finish them! Or leave them till after lunch. I was thinking we should go out. The cafeteria’s too pricey.”
An active man, Edwin apparently never used the elevator. Halfway down the staircase Rob said, “You know, Ed, I’m not dressed for restaurant dining.”
“Neither am I. You don’t think we’re going to Eion d’Or? Bob’s Big Boy is more my speed.”
As they walked Rob noticed that Edwin wore not the lab coat but gray jeans with paint stains and a three-cornered hole at one knee. And he’d chosen the budget restaurant with its all-you-can-eat Sunday buffet to make sure Rob got enough to eat. The subtlety of Edwin’s courtesy made Rob think. He would never catch Edwin performing wholesale mental renovations at Eorton Reformatory.
At the restaurant, Edwin zoomed down the buffet heaping his plate with bacon, eggs, biscuit, and pancakes, while Rob followed more slowly. He had got out of the habit of big meals. They sat at a corner booth furnished with a large jug of coffee and some dessert cards, and ate in companionable silence.
After Edwin refilled his plate with three kinds of salad, he sat down and said, “I’ve been thinking your problem over, Rob. In a theoretical mode, you understand—trying to lay out a game plan. We know your goal now: to go home. We established that last week, right? And what is preventing you? Not the weirdness per se, but the possibility of inadvertently endangering people around you.”
Rob said, “You know, I never thought about it that way.” How long had he been wandering, lost and alone, in the heart-freezing jungle of his own fear and bewilderment? Now he might find a way out of the tangled midnight
forest by the glimmer of a lamp in Edwin’s hand: the light of reason.
Edwin frowned thoughtfully at his lettuce-laden fork. “Suppose you had some dangerous disease, AIDS or Lassa fever. How would we achieve your goal then? Putting aside the question of whether you’d die of the bug yourself, there’d be two logical ways to go on it. One would be that we cure you.
Drive the virus out of your body and make you a healthy human being again.”
“That’s what I’ve been hoping for! How would you do it with the weirdness?”
Edwin shook his head as he sliced a tomato into pieces. “I told you this was theoretical. I’ll have no idea at all how to implement without data.
The other possibility is, you learn to contain and control your problem.
Here the analogy to AIDS would be using condoms and being careful about sharing your body fluids. You got into trouble at home when the power leaked out without your knowing it, am I right? And began doing stuff you hadn’t intended?”
Thinking about the twins made Rob lose his appetite. He pushed his plate away. “You hit it on the head. So, we either cure or contain.”
“No reason we couldn’t do both. AIDS research is double-pronged too. Some people concentrate on finding a cure, while other researchers specialize in figuring out how HIV spreads and finding ways to prevent that. In your case, we’d think about ways to permanently remove the weirdness, and in the meantime work on containing your ‘leak.’ ” “Okay, I’m in. Let’s do both. You have no idea, Ed, how good it is to talk to someone who has a systematic outlook.”
“Don’t start throwing bouquets yet. Like I said, I have no idea how to actually accomplish either. I’m just applying the common sense of a microbiologist! What would really help, on both fronts, is to know how you do this stuff. Data! That’s what I need. Where does this thing come from?
Is it contagious? Is it genetic, hormonal, neurological, or what?”
Rob set his cup down slowly. “Would there be any other cases in the NIH files? I’m tired of making up my own terminology.”
Edwin’s eyes gleamed. “Rob, if there’d been anyone like you, ever, in the past hundred years, I would’ve heard of it. We all would. Heck, they’d have his or her body pickled in a jar on display down at the Smithsonian.”
Rob grinned at him. “Tell you what. When I make my will, I’ll leave my body to science.”
“Don’t laugh, Rob,” Edwin said, laughing. “It might be the most important thing you could ever do. Finding out what makes you tick is a Nobel Prize-caliber project! In fact, in the interests of future research, I’m going to start keeping notes.”
“Well, in the meantime get that wistful look off your face— I’m not nearly done with my remains yet!”
Edwin topped off his coffee cup and took a gulp. “I can’t believe you’ve had this thing for so long without trying any experiments.”
“I have,” Rob said. “But not like you mean. In New York.”
“You could say a lot about your actions in New York, but nobody would call them systematic. Like that remote control trick you pulled on me Thursday. You’ve always used the remote on unsuspecting people, am I right? What happens when you try it on someone who’s ready for you—like right now? Give me some data!” Without the slightest warning or transition Edwin startled Rob by bursting into one of the Cole Porter songs he had been playing in his office:
Experiment!
Make it your motto day and night Experiment,
And it will lead you to the light!
As the tuneful voice rang through the room, the other diners turned and stared, smiling. Rob eyed Edwin’s unselfconscious grin with some envy. He had never met a man who was so together, in whom mind and heart moved in such concord. “The idea doesn’t frighten you?” “Well sure, it gets on my nerves a little. But don’t you see, Rob? That’s precisely the attraction. That’s why I want you to try it again.”
Rob shook his head at this folly. To repeat a nerve-wracking experience until it became old hat? Rob himself would never confront a fear in that way. But it might be a useful trait in an astronaut candidate. He couldn’t help smiling at Edwin’s expression. A terrier watching the progress of a dog biscuit out of the box could not have been more eager. “Okay, Ed,” he said. “You’re on. You take your coffee black, right?”
“Yeah, but—oh come on, Rob! Not sugar! At least make it Sweet ‘N Low!”
They both watched as Edwin’s hands tore the white paper packet of sugar open over his half-full cup. “Saccharin causes cancer,” Rob remarked.
Unfaltering, Edwin’s clever fingers picked up another sugar packet. “Only if you eat saccharin by the carload,” Edwin objected. “No more—I absolutely refuse to do it … Darn, it’s not working. That’s number three. I’m kind of disconnected from my hands, is that it? This is
like when I was eight, and got the chicken pox. Four. My fever hit a hundred and three degrees, and I could watch my hands shake, and listen to my voice mumbling about the World Series, out of my control. Five.”
The sugar in Edwin’s cup now rose in a soggy brown atoll above the surface of the coffee. “Had enough?” Rob suggested.
“Could be … So you’re manipulating my hands and fingers, and in addition to that you’re short-circuiting my willpower. That’s six. My volition is totally out of the loop. Am I right?”
“Oh, yeah. Shall I prove it?”
Edwin’s hand picked up a spoon. The coffee was so sludgy now, stirring it was slow work. Rob made Edwin lift the spoon. Undissolved sugar coated the bowl like wet sand. Edwin yelped, “Hey, no! This is disgusting!”
“I can be very precise, Ed,” Rob said softly. “Open your lips, insert the spoon, force your tongue and throat to swallow something that revolts you.
It’s not absolutely necessary, but it helps to be close to you, even more to touch you. Helps me focus.”
With clinical interest Rob watched Edwin struggle in his grip. Possibly because he was a scientist, Edwin had a very different mode of thinking, precise and analytical. His mind was like a brand-new surgical instrument, supple but shiny-sharp, a scissors or a scalpel perhaps. Even as the repulsive spoon rose inexorably to his mouth, Edwin was coping, the scissors snipping the problem into smaller and hopefully more solvable bits that floated on a larger restless surface. It took Rob a second to recognize this increasing turmoil as fear. Instantly he let Edwin go.
“I—I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s one of the things I was going to quit doing.”
Edwin dropped the sugary spoon into the cup again, slumping in his seat. “Wow. So that’s what a fruit fly on the dissecting tray feels like. The way you were staring at me …” He rubbed his eyes with both hands, knuckling them like a boy.
“I’ll keep out of your head from now on, Ed,” Rob said, alarmed.
How Like A God Page 12
