Thus was Billy able to take the nourishment necessary for his survival and, indeed, his growth.
While nursing Billy, his mother would gaze down at her child with a complex mixture of emotions. She would note how the bony pink ridge of his cranial crater—below which grew a smattering of fine hair like a monk’s tonsure—was hardening and changing color, from roseate to peachy. She refrained from looking inside.
The doctors had decided that no cosmetic repairs were possible for Billy’s tragically grave prenatal malformation. They admonished his parents to keep the interior of Billy’s partial skull free of foreign objects (the exposed backs of the eyes were particularly sensitive), and to wash the rim daily with a mild solution of hydrogen peroxide and water, being most careful not to allow any of the solution to come in contact with Billy’s tiny, yet hard-working brain fragment. (Truth to tell, the doctors felt that Billy would not survive for long, so they were reluctant to expend much time and energy on him, when there were so many other more curable patients demanding their skill and attention.)
Billy was supposed to wear a protective surgical cap, but his mother felt that it would do Billy’s skull good to receive fresh air, and so she soon abandoned this practice.
Indeed, Billy’s appearance quickly came to seem so natural to his parents that they almost forgot his unique condition. After supper each night they would stand by Billy’s crib, holding hands and gazing down on their silent, motionless son, speculating wordlessly about his future.
One night Billy’s father said, “I imagine that we’ll always have to care for Billy. He won’t ever be normal, will he?”
“No,” admitted Billy’s mother, “he won’t ever be special, as we had hoped. But I don’t mind. Do you?”
“No. But we must never try to have another child.”
“I agree.”
* * *
When Billy was sixteen years old, his life changed forever.
Billy had attained the normal stature of an average sixteen-year-old. His unlined, emotionless face was attractive in the manner of a well-designed mannequin. His narrow crescent of hair, kept neatly trimmed by his mother, was a common brown. His eyes remained the same empty mint-green pools.
Each morning Billy’s mother removed him from bed. She took off his pajamas, bathed him, dressed him in pants and shirt, socks but no shoes, and fed him. (Billy had progressed to solid food at the appropriate stage in his development, mastication apparently being as instinctive as suckling, and within his limited capabilities.) Then she sat him down in a comfortably padded chair and left for work. Billy’s muscles were kept well-toned by a series of exercises which his father put him through each night, and he would maintain whatever pose he was arranged in.
Billy’s mother knew she could leave her son safely alone while she worked, for he would make no movement of consequence to endanger himself. The only thing she worried about was a spontaneous fire of some sort, in which case Billy would continue to sit until consumed. (Billy’s reaction to even a pinprick was nil.) But after installation of an elaborate fire alarm system and a machine that would automatically dial 911, she managed to rest easy.
Occasionally Billy’s mother would leave the TV on for him, knowing full well that it made no difference, but somehow feeling better for doing it.
On this fateful day, the television was not on. Therefore Billy sat in complete silence. Time passed. Morning shadows lengthened into those of the early afternoon. Billy sat as his mother had left him. He did not stir, save to blink now and then. His heart beat. His lungs worked. The few neurons he owned discharged in their efficient, albeit limited fashion.
Directly above Billy’s head, a spider was attached to the ceiling by her thread. She was a rather large black spider, of a mundane household species, but about the size of a ping-pong ball. Although Billy’s mother was a good housekeeper, she had somehow missed this spider in her weekly cleaning.
The spider was very intelligent, as were most members of her species. Contemplating Billy’s gaping skull below her, the spider reached the conscious decision that the inside of Billy’s head represented a safe and attractive place to build a web.
The spider began to descend, letting out silk in her judicious way.
She paused a few inches above Billy’s open pate. From this vantage, the place still held its appeal.
The spider entered Billy’s skull.
When her legs touched Billy’s bare brain, Billy’s limbs twitched.
The spider cut her silk. She looked around. The place was pleasantly confined, yet open to passing insects.
“This is a good place to build a web,” she said aloud, to herself.
Then she began to spin a web, parallel to the base of Billy’s brain, and anchored to the sides of his skull.
Since the spider did not again touch Billy’s brain, he did not move.
When Billy’s mother returned that night, the spider’s web was complete.
Billy’s mother did not notice, since she had long ago ceased to look inside Billy’s head.
When supper was ready, Billy’s mother brought him to the table.
The spider was initially somewhat alarmed when her new home began to move. But since the movements were gentle, and her web was not threatened, she eventually accommodated herself to the notion that her web was now mobile. It seemed an advantage, in that more territory would be open to her predations.
Billy’s father, massaging and exercising his son’s limbs later that night, also failed to perceive the new occupant of his son’s skull.
Thus a new symbiosis was achieved with little difficulty.
For the next few weeks, the spider lived a pleasant life, alone in Billy’s skull. She caught bugs. She ate them. She slept.
Billy’s exterior life did not change.
One day the spider heard an unusual noise outside her home. It resembled the sound of claws digging into the fabric of Billy’s chair. The spider looked nervously up at the rim of Billy’s skull.
The next instant two pink paws appeared, followed by a whiskered snout.
A moderate-sized rat, his hind legs on Billy’s shoulders, now peered into the spider’s home. His black eyes were like twin chips of marble.
“What’re you doing in there?” asked the rat.
“This is my home,” answered the spider.
“This is a human. A strange human, for it doesn’t notice us. But it’s still a human. You can’t live inside a human.”
“But I do.”
The rat considered this reply. “No one bothers you?”
“No.”
“Is it dry in there?”
“Reasonably so.”
“Then I’m coming in to live too.”
“You’ll break my web.”
“I don’t care.”
The spider in turn considered this assertion. She doubted she could dissuade the rat. And not being poisonous, she had no defense. So she resolved to give in.
“Just let me rework my web. I’ll have the rear, and you can have the front.”
“Good enough. Hurry up though, before someone comes.”
The spider ate her web and restrung it smaller. Then the rat clambered in.
“Don’t step on that lump down there,” warned the spider. “It makes the house jump.”
“Oh, really?” said the rat. He probed Billy’s miniscule brain with a claw.
Billy stood up. The rat, growing nervous despite his bravado, retracted his claw. Billy remained standing. The rat lay down with his soft furry stomach across Billy’s brain. This caused no further response on Billy’s part.
That evening Billy’s mother returned to find her son still standing. Although puzzled, she was not overalarmed, but rather proud, as if a new milestone had been reached.
Billy’s father did not know what to make of the event either, when told. His reactions were rather similar to his wife’s.
“Perhaps Billy is changing.”
“Maybe so,” said his wife.<
br />
Neither thought to check the inside of Billy’s head, having been conditioned by years of inactivity to expect no development there.
Another week passed. The rat left on nocturnal forays, but always returned during the day. It was good that he was absent at night, for, with Billy supine, he would have rolled to the back of the skull and crushed the spider’s web.
It was a warm summer’s day. Billy’s mother had left a screenless window open. The rat and the spider were sleeping inside Billy’s skull when they were awakened by a raucous voice.
“Hello, folks! What’s up?”
Perched on the rim of Billy’s skull was a smallish parrot. This parrot had escaped from a neighbors house, and had been flying rather aimlessly, yet happily about since.
“What do you want?” the rat asked.
“You look so comfy, I was wondering if I could join you,” replied the bird.
“No,” said the rat. “Go away.”
“Come now,” said the spider. “You’re not the original owner, you know. Why can’t the parrot join us?”
“Birds are messy. He’ll leave droppings in here.”
“I would not,” the parrot proudly said. “No more than you would.”
“What can you offer us?” continued the rat.
The parrot thought a moment. “I can speak human.”
This seemed to intrigue the rat. “Say, that is a handy talent. Okay, you can move in.”
“Great!” said the parrot.
And so he did.
* * *
One morning Billy spoke.
His mother was lifting a spoon of cereal to his lips when Billy said, “I can do that myself, thank you.”
Billy’s mother dropped the spoon. After her heart stopped racing, she managed to say, “Why, Billy—you’ve learned to talk.”
“That’s obvious, isn’t it, Mother?” said Billy.
Billy’s mother was so mesmerized by the sight of his moving lips that she failed to notice that the squawky voice was emerging from the top of Billy’s head. Of course, it was the parrot speaking while the rat and the spider in concert caused Billy’s lips to move with expert probes into his primitive gray matter. The trio had been practicing for some days past while alone, and now had complete mastery over Billy’s body.
Billy now picked up the fallen spoon from the tabletop and began to feed himself. Without visual feedback, the controlling trio made a mess. Still, to his mother the achievement was miraculous.
After eating, Billy said, “I’d like to go out now, Mother, but I need a hat.”
Billy’s mother found an old fedora of her husband’s and placed it on Billy’s head, without looking in.
“Thank you. Have a good day at work, Mother.”
Billy’s mother left the house in a stupefied way.
When she was gone, the rat chewed two small holes in the hat so the parrot could look out to guide them.
“Left, right, around the chair, grab the doorknob, now straight ahead down the walk!”
The adventurers in their stolen puppet set out to explore the world.
Downtown, the trio walked Billy up and down the commercial district. They found it vastly stimulating to masquerade as a human. They felt instantly superior to all their kind, having gained entry to the world of humanity.
The two animals and the arachnid found themselves after some time outside the very hospital where Billy had been born. They stopped to contemplate the building, feeling some strange kinship with it, though they had no idea of its true significance.
At that moment the Doctor who had delivered Billy—and given him yearly examinations since—stepped out the door.
When he saw Billy standing there, he scrabbled at his chest and fell to the ground.
People began to scream and cluster around the Doctor. The parrot got nervous and said, “Quick! We must go back to the house!”
They hurried home.
When Billy’s father met his wife at the door that evening, he was soon informed of the startling change Billy had undergone. News of Billy’s delayed maturation did not seem to alarm Billy’s father as much as it had his wife. Perhaps this was because he was learning of it secondhand.
“Well,” said Billy’s father, “I guess we were mistaken when we said our son would never turn out to be anyone special.”
“It appears we were,” agreed Billy’s mother.
“Where is he now?”
“In his bedroom. He’s been there since he came back from his walk.”
“Well, let’s bring Billy out to share supper with us. We’re a real family now.”
The table was laid, steaming food was brought from the kitchen, and Billy was summoned.
The inhabitants of Billy’s skull had been hiding with Billy in his room ever since their precipitous return from their first excursion abroad. They had been rather alarmed by the human world, especially the confusion at the hospital.
Now, though, they mastered themselves enough to bring Billy’s body to the table when called.
“Hello, Father,” said the parrot from within Billy’s head. Its voice was somewhat muffled by the fedora through which it peeked.
Billy’s father did not seem to care or notice. He looked inordinately proud. “Hello, Billy. I heard you gave your mother quite a shock today. But that’s all water over the dam. Let’s eat.”
The rat and the spider manipulated Billy’s synapses, causing him to sit. With the parrot issuing directions, the trio was able to feed Billy more efficiently than earlier in the day.
(The parrot’s commands to his compatriots, of course, were uttered sotto voce in his natural language. Therefore all Billy’s movements were accompanied by a low series of trills and whistles, which Billy’s parents chose to ignore.)
After their meal, the family retired to the living room to watch television.
The animals knew all about television, from having inhabited human households all their lives, and enjoyed watching it when given a chance. Now, with Billy sitting undemandingly, they could take turns at the hat’s eyeholes. (The rat and spider were already beginning to feel a little put-upon, forced as they were to labor over Billy’s brainstem in the dark beneath the hat.)
The local news was on. The lead item was about Billy.
First, the Doctor appeared. He had survived his heart attack. He explained that he had been shocked by Billy’s appearance in public. An old photo from the hospital’s files was shown: baby Billy’s empty brainpan. The Doctor claimed that if Billy had really regenerated enough brain tissue to become aware and move about, then it promised great hope for solving all sorts of neurological disorders.
No sooner had the doctor faded from the screen than the phone began to ring in Billy’s house.
It didn’t stop all night.
Around three in the morning, Billy’s father turned to his wife and said, “Well, it seems as if our little Billy is on his way to becoming famous.”
Billy’s mother sipped some coffee. “I hope it’s for the best.”
“We’ll soon see,” replied Billy’s father. “But I’m afraid it’s out of our hands now.”
The spider, rat and parrot, at first confused by the ruckus they had caused, were soon enamored of their new status, and began to discuss how best to exploit it.
By morning, they had a plan.
The first person to arrive was the Doctor. He was barely recovered from his mild heart attack, but insisted on being the person to examine Billy.
Soon the Doctor was alone with Billy in the boy’s bedroom. Like everyone else, after the initial shock he seemed quite accepting of Billy’s new abilities.
“Now, Billy, if you’ll just let me have a look beneath your hat …”
“All right, Doctor,” squawked the parrot.
While the Doctor’s back was turned in the process of taking an instrument from his bag, the rat, spider and parrot quickly scrambled out and hid behind furniture.
The Doctor, lifting the battered fed
ora, was given pause by the unchanged poverty of Billy’s mental equipment.
“Why, there’s nothing but an old spiderweb in here! This is an even greater miracle than I suspected.”
The Doctor left the room, and the three squatters returned to Billy’s skull.
A crowd of cameramen and reporters from various media was assembled on Billy’s front lawn. The Doctor held an impromptu press conference to explain his findings. The reporters clamored for Billy, but the Doctor, being shrewd, denied them. He explained that Billy would be making his first scheduled appearance on a national morning television show that had paid a lot of money to have him.
That same day, Billy and the Doctor and Billy’s parents left for New York.
The secret inhabitants of Billy’s skull reveled in their new role. They enjoyed being the center of attention, and fooling all these dull humans who fancied themselves better than other species. The three anticipated much fun, and began to hatch many schemes.
For starters, knowing it would disconcert the humans, they made Billy drink several glasses of liquor. Naturally, this had no effect on the real masters, who maintained the semblance of a startling sobriety in their puppet. Emboldened by their success, the parrot directed the rat to have Billy insert tidbits of food under the hat when no one was looking. All in all, they had a splendid flight.
Soon they were in New York. A waiting limousine whisked everyone to a hotel. Billy’s party spent the remainder of the day sightseeing, then retired early, since they had to be up around four a.m.
Almost before they knew it, they were onstage. The talk show host was a very pleasant young woman in a pretty dress who shook hands politely with Billy. After some chitchat, the cameras came on.
The woman explained about Billy’s history, and his amazing post-pubescent changes. At one point she said, “We wish we could show you Billy’s empty head and undeveloped brain, but the network standards forbid it, since it is quite repulsive-looking.” The Doctor spoke up then, testifying to the minuteness of Billy’s brain. His air of authority was very convincing. Billy’s innocent looks—his face blank as cheese, his placid green eyes—and his unnatural voice, lent further credence to the miracle of his being.
Little Doors Page 4
