“James,” he said, “would you like some orange ice? Here.” He proffered a spoonful. James engulfed it. “Good. Would you like some more? Then tell me what this is.” Dr. Rapp held up a striped ball. “It’s a ball, James. Repeat after me. Ball.”
“Da,” James said.
“No more orange ice, James, until you’ve spoken. Ball. Ball. Ball. And then the goody.”
“Da.”
“Perhaps he prefers the lemon flavor,” Dr. Rapp said next week. He buzzed the intercom. “Lemon sherbet, please.” He was served. “James, would you like some lemon ice?” He proffered a spoonful which was absorbed. “Good. Would you like some more? Then tell me what this is. It’s a ball, James. Repeat after me. Ball. Ball. Ball.”
“Da,” James said.
“We’ll try ice cream,” Dr. Rapp said a week later. “We can’t permit him to fall into a pattern of familiarized societal behavior. He must be challenged.” He buzzed the intercom. “Chocolate ice cream, please.”
James relished the chocolate ice cream but refused to identify the striped ball by name.
“Da,” he said.
“I’m beginning to dream that confounded expression,” Dr. Rapp complained. “A Roman centurion comes at me, draws his sword and says, ‘Da.’ Stop. An idea. Is it a phallic symbol? Sexuality begins with conception. Is the child rejecting the facts of life?”
He buzzed the intercom.
“James, here is a banana. Would you like a bite? Feel free. Good. Good. Would you like another? Then tell me what this is. A ball. Ball. Ball. Ball.”
“Da.”
“I am failing,” Dr. Rapp said despondently. “Perhaps I had better go back to Dr. Da for a refresher— What am I saying? It’s Dr. Damon. Stop. An idea. Damon and Pythias. A friendship. Can it be that I have been too clinical with James? I shall establish fraternality.
“Good morning, James. It’s a beautiful October day. The autumn leaves are glorious. Would you like to go for a drive with me?”
“Da,” James said.
“Good. Good. Where would you like to go?”
“To Rutgers,” James said, quite distinctly.
“What did you say?”
“I said I would like to go to Rutgers.”
“But—good gracious—you’re talking.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why haven’t you talked before?”
“Because I damn well didn’t want to.”
“Why are you talking now?”
“Because I want to see the banks of the Old Raritan.”
“Yes, yes. I see. Or do I?” Dr. Rapp buzzed the intercom.
“Please get me Dr. Da, I mean Dr. Damon, on the phone. Tell him I think I’ve made an important discovery.”
“Discovery,” James said, “is seeing what everybody else sees but thinking what no one else has thought. What’s your opinion? Shall we discuss it on the way to Rutgers?”
So the second summer came. James and his father were strolling the lawns in a hot debate over the bearded irises which, alas, James pronounced Iritheth. He had developed a human lisp.
The issue was whether they should be picked and vased or left alone. James took the position that they were delicate ladies who should not be molested. His father, always pragmatic, declared that flowers had to justify their existence by decorating the house.
Father and son parted on a note of exasperation, and the senior Dupree went to inspect the peach trees. James James Morrison Morrison stood quietly on the lawn and looked around. Presently he heard a familiar Kaff Kaff, and the Chairman appeared from under the lilac bush.
“Well, if it isn’t my old friend, the Sex Maniac. How are you, sir?”
The cock pheasant glared at him.
“And how are Phyllis and Frances and Felice and all the rest, Mr. Chairman?”
“Their names are, I say, the nomenclature is, Kaff Kaff, Gloria, Glenda, Gertrude, Godiva and—” Here the Chairman stopped short and looked hard at James. “But you’re the monster.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My, how you’ve grown.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Have you learned how to speak Them?”
“Not very well, sir.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve got a lisp. They say it’s because I have a lazy tongue.”
“But you still speak Us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Amazing! I say, unheard of!”
“Did you all think I’d ever forget? I’m the Professor’s best pupil, and I’d die for dear old Rutgers. Can we have an emergency meeting right away in the Big Red Schoolhouse, Mr. Chairman? I’ve got a lot to tell you about the crazy, mixed-up human creatures.”
The meeting was attended by most of the regulars plus a few newcomers. There was a Plymouth Rock hen who had become close friends with Miss Leghorn, perhaps because her only reply to the Chaldean harangues was, “Ayeh.” The hold-out Mockingbird had at last joined up now that Jack Johnson seemed to be remaining in the Florida Keys… his (the Mockingbird’s) name was Milton. There was one most exotic new member, a little Barbary ape who was very friendly but extremely shy. James shook hands and asked his name.
“They called me… Well, they called me The Great Zunia. Knows All. Does All.”
“Who’s ‘they,’ Zunia?”
“The Reeson & Tickel Circus.”
“You were in the circus?”
“Well… yes. I… I did tricks. Knows All. Does All. I was what they… what they call a headliner. You know. Rode a motorcycle with the lights on. But I… I…”
“Yes?”
“But I cracked up when we… when we were playing Princeton. Totaled the bike. I got… well… I split when they were picking up the pieces.”
“Why did you run away, Zunia?”
“I… I hate to say this… Never blow the whistle on another man’s act… But… well… I hate show business.”
“Zunia, we’re all delighted that you’re here, and you know you’re more than welcome, but there’s a problem.”
“Well… gee… Just a little fruit now and then, apples and—”
“Not food. The weather. Winters can be damn cold on Red Hill farm. Don’t you think you might be more comfortable farther south?”
“Well… If it’s all the same to… Well, I’d rather stay here. Nice folks.”
“If that’s what you want, great for us. My parents are going to have fits if they ever see you, so stay under cover.”
“I’m a night-type anyway.”
“Good. Now stand up, please. All the way up and we’ll stand back to back. Professor, are we the same size?”
No answer.
“Professor?”
Moe Mole said, “The Professor is indisposed.”
“What?”
“He couldn’t come.”
“Why not?”
“He’s not feeling so good.”
“Where is he?”
“Up in his study.”
“I’d better go and— No, wait. Are we the same size, Zunia and me? Anybody? Everybody.”
It was agreed that James and Zunia were an approximate match. James promised to pinch some of his sweaters and woolly underwear for Zunia to wear during the winter months.
“If you… Well, I’m not asking… But I’d love a sweater with Boston on it.”
“Boston! Why Boston?”
“Because they hate show business.”
James shinnied up one of the rough oak columns that supported the barn roof, walked across the heavy beam above the empty hay loft as casually as a steelworker (his mother would have screamed at the sight), came to a small break in the loft wall and knocked politely.
A faint voice said, “Who is it?”
“It’s the Monster, sir. I’ve come back.”
“No! Really? Come in. Come in.”
James poked his head through the break. The Professor’s study was lined with moss. There were fronds of dried grass and mint leaves on the floor on
which the Professor lay. He looked very ill and weak, but his albino red eyes were as fierce as ever.
“Well, James, you’ve come back,” he panted. “I never thought— Do you speak Them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you still speak Us. I would never— Phi Beta Kappa and cum laude for you. No doubt of it.”
“I visited Rutgers, sir.”
“Did you? Did you, now? And?”
“It’s beautiful, just like you said,” James lied. “And they still remember you.”
“No!”
“Yes, sir. They can’t understand how you escaped. They think you probably bribed the lab attendant, but a few claim you had something on him. Blackmail.”
The Professor chuckled, but it turned into a painful hacking.
After the spasm subsided James asked, “What’s wrong, sir?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Probably a touch of the Asiatic flu. Nothing serious.”
“Please tell me.”
The Professor looked at him. “Science is devotion to truth,” he said. “I’ll be truthful. I’m badly wounded.”
“Oh, sir! How?”
“An air-rifle. A couple of farm boys.”
“Who are they? From the Rich place? I’ll—”
“James! James! There is no room for revenge in science. Did Darwin retaliate when he was ridiculed?”
“No, sir.”
“Did Pasteur?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Will you be true to what I’ve taught you?”
“I’ll try, sir, b-but those damn boys…”
“No anger. Reason always; anger never. And no crying, James. I need your courage now.”
“If I have any, sir.”
“You have it. I remember George. Now I want you to take my place and continue my classes.”
“Oh, Professor, you’ll be—”
“I take it you’re on speaking terms with your father now. Learn all you can from him and pass it on to Us. That’s an order, James.”
“Yes, sir. It won’t be easy.”
“Nothing is ever easy. Now I’m going to ask for an act of great courage.”
“Sir?”
“I can’t linger like this. It’s too painful and it’s useless.”
“Professor, maybe we can—”
“No, no. I’m hopeless. If you hadn’t cut my anatomy classes when you fell in love with Paula, you’d—” He hacked again, even more painfully. At last he said, “James, end this for me, as quickly as possible. You know what I mean.”
James was stupefied. At last he managed to whisper, “S-sir…”
“Yes. I see you understand me.”
“Sir, I c-couldn’t.”
“Yes you can.”
“B-But I wouldn’t know how.”
“Science always finds a way.”
“At least let me ask my—”
“You will ask no one. You will tell no one.”
“But you leave me all alone with this.”
“Yes, I do. That’s how we grow up.”
“Sir, I have to refuse. I can’t do it.”
“No. You just need time to make up your mind. Isn’t there a meeting on the floor?”
“Yes, sir. I asked for it.”
“Then go to your meeting. Give them my best. Come back quickly. Quickly.” The Professor began to tremble and rustle on the dried grass.
“Have you had anything to eat, sir? I’ll bring you something, and then we’ll talk it over. You have to advise me.”
“No dependence,” the White Rat said. “You must decide for yourself.”
The Chairman was in the full flood of oratory when James climbed down from the loft and seated himself with his friends, the birds and the beasts, but he came to a close fairly promptly and gave the floor to James James who stood up and looked around.
“I’m going to tell you about Them,” James began quietly.
“I’ve met Them and lived with Them and I’m beginning to understand Them. We must, too. Many of Them are damned destroyers—we all know that—but what we don’t know is that a new breed of Them is rising in revolt against destruction. They’re our kind. They live in peace and harmony with the earth, whatever they take from it they return, they do not kill and they fight those who do. But they’re young and weak and outnumbered and they need our help. We must help them. We must!
“Now up to now we’ve done nothing. We hide from the destroyers and use our intelligence to outwit them. We’ve just been passive victims. Now we must become activists, militant activists. The Professor won’t like this; the great scholar still believes in reason and light. So do I, but I reserve reason and light only for those who also are guided by reason and light. For the rest, militant action. Militant!
“I heard my father once tell a story about Confucius, a very wise sage of many years ago. Although he was one of Them he was much like our Professor and may have been almost as wise. One of his students came to him and said, ‘Master, a new wise man named Christ has appeared in the west. He teaches that we must return good for evil. What is your opinion?’ Confucius thought and answered, ‘No. If we return good for evil what then will we return for good? Return good for good; for evil return justice.’”
James’ voice began to shake. “They shot the Professor. You knew that, didn’t you. They shot him. He’s not indisposed. He’s up there and he’s hurting. They— We must learn to return militant justice for evil. We can’t use this barn as a sanctuary anymore. We must leave it when we graduate and travel and teach. There is a desperate battle being fought for what little remains of our earth. We must all join the fight.”
“But how?” Moe Mole asked reasonably.
“That will be the subject of my first lesson tomorrow,” James answered. “And now, with the permission of our distinguished chairman, I would like to move that this meeting be adjourned. I have the Professor to look after.”
“So moved,” the cock pheasant said. “Seconded? Thank you, Miss Plymouth. Moved and seconded. This meeting is adjourned.”
“Zunia,” James said, “wait here for me, please. I’ll need your help. Back in a little while.”
James walked to the nearest apple tree, began picking up fallen apples and hurling them into space. His mother glanced out of the kitchen window and smiled at the sight of a small boy happily lazing away a summer afternoon.
“If I do what the Professor asks it’ll be murder,” James thought. “They call it mercy killing but I’ve heard my father say it’s murder all the same. He says some doctors do it by deliberately neglecting to give certain medicines. He says that’s murder all the same and he doesn’t approve. He says religion is against it and if you do it you go to hell, wherever that is. He says life is sacred.
“But the Professor hurts. He hurts bad and he says there’s no hope. I don’t want him to hurt anymore. I want the boys who shot him to hurt, but not the Professor. I could just bring him a little milk and let him die all by himself, but that could take a long time. It wouldn’t be fair to him. So— All right— I’ll go to hell.”
James returned to the house, lisped courteously to his mother and asked for a small cup of warm milk to hold him until dinnertime. He received it, climbed upstairs to his room and put the cup down. Then he went to his parents’ bathroom. He climbed up on the washstand, opened the medicine cabinet which had been declared off-limits for him on pain of frightful punishment, and took a small vial off one of the shelves. It was labeled “Seconal” and was filled with bright orange capsules. James James removed a capsule, returned the vial, closed the cabinet and climbed down from the sink.
“What are you stealing?” the Burmese princess asked.
“Medicine,” James answered shortly and returned to his room. He pulled the capsule open and shook its contents into the cup of milk. He stirred gently with his forefinger.
“If that’s for me, James, forget it,” the Princess said. “I’m not sick and I hate milk. Whatever gave people the idea that cats adore m
ilk? I loathe and execrate it.”
“I suppose because you were raised on caviar and champagne.”
“Mercy, James, you’ll have to put your humor on a diet. It’s gaining weight.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling funny right now, Princess. In fact I feel damn rotten lousy.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anybody. Excuse me.”
He carried the cup of milk to the Big Red Barn where the Great Zunia was patiently awaiting. “Thanks,” James said. “Now look, I’ve got to shinny up that column and I can’t do it and carry this cup. You can, easy. Go up with the cup. Don’t spill it. I’ll meet you on the beam.”
They met on the beam and James received the cup.
“It looks like milk but it tastes funny,” Zunia said.
“You didn’t drink any!”
“Well, no… Just stuck my tongue in… You know. Curious. It’s… well, traditional with us.”
“Oh. That’s all right. It’s medicine for the Professor.”
“Sure. Tell him… Tell him get well soon.”
“He’ll be well soon,” James promised. Zunia flip-flopped and catapulted himself to another empty loft. James crossed the beam and knocked at the Professor’s study. “It’s James again, sir.”
He could barely hear the “Come in.” He poked his head in.
The Professor was trembling. “I brought you a little something, sir. Warm milk.” James placed the cup close to the Professor’s head.
“Please drink a little. It’ll give you strength.”
“Impossible.”
“For me, sir. You owe that much to your best pupil. And then we’ll discuss your proposal.” James waited until he saw the White Rat begin to drink. He withdrew his head, sat down on the beam with his legs dangling and began to chat lightly while tears blurred his eyes.
“Your proposal, Professor, raises an interesting dilemma in the relationship between teacher and pupil. Let me tell you about my lunatic teacher at the remedial school, Dr. Rapp, and my relations with him. I’d value your opinion. How is the milk, sir?”
“Terrible. Did you say lunatic?”
“Drink it anyway. Yes, lunatic. He’s a psychiatrist, excessively educated, and—”
“There is no such thing.”
“Not for a genius like yourself, sir, but in lesser people too much education produces alienation from reality. That was Dr. Rapp.”
Selected Stories of Alfred Bester Page 42
