nothing aroundat all but a spreading carpet of gray-green moss, years deep, and asilence that feels as old as time itself. There's nothing to frightenme, but I am frightened ... and lonesome, not so much for people, butfor a sound ... any sound. I turn to run back toward town, but there'snothing behind me now but the same gray moss and gray sky and deadsilence."
* * * * *
By the time she reached the last word, her throat had tightened untilspeaking was difficult. She reached out blindly for something to clingto. Her groping hand met Dr. Andrews' and his warm fingers closedreassuringly around hers. Gradually the panic drained away, but shecould think of nothing to say at all, although she longed to have thesilence broken. As if he sensed her longing, Dr. Andrews said, "Youstarted having the dream more often just after you told Paul youwouldn't marry him, is that right?"
"No. It was the other way around. I hadn't had it for months, notsince I fell in love with him, then he got assigned to that "WhichTomorrow?" show and he started calling me "Lucky," the way everybodydoes, and the dream came back...." She stopped short, and turned onthe couch to stare at the psychiatrist with startled eyes. "But thatcan't be how it was," she said. "The lonesomeness must have startedafter I decided not to marry him, not before."
"I wonder why the dream stopped when you fell in love with him."
"That's easy," Lucilla said promptly, grasping at the chance to evadeher own more disturbing question. "I felt close to him, whether he waswith me or not, the way I used to feel close to people back when I wasa little girl, before ... well, before that day in the mountains ...when Mother said...."
"That was when you started having the dream, wasn't it?"
"How'd you know? I didn't--not until just now. But, yes, that's whenit started. I'd never minded the dark or being alone, but I wasfrightened when Mother shut the door that night, because the wallsseemed so ... so solid, now that I knew all the thoughts I used tothink were with me there were just pretend. When I finally went tosleep, I dreamed, and I went on having the same dream, night afternight after night, until finally they called a doctor and he gave mesomething to make me sleep."
"I wish they'd called me," Dr. Andrews said.
"What could you have done? The sleeping pills worked, anyway, andafter a while I didn't need them any more, because I'd heard otherkids talking about having hunches and lucky streaks and I stoppedfeeling different from the rest of them, except once in a while, whenI was so lucky it ... bothered me."
"And after you met Paul, you stopped being ... too lucky ... and thedream stopped?"
"No!" Lucilla was startled at her own vehemence. "No, it wasn't likethat at all, and you'd know it, if you'd been listening. With Paul, Ifelt close to him all the time, no matter how many miles or walls oranything else there were between us. We hardly had to talk at all,because we seemed to know just what the other one was thinking all thetime, listening to music, or watching the waves pound in or justworking together at the office. Instead of feeling ... odd ... when Iknew what he was thinking or what he was going to say, I felt goodabout it, because I was so sure it was the same way with him and whatI was thinking. We didn't talk about it. There just wasn't any needto." She lapsed into silence again. Dr. Andrews straightened herclenched hand out and stroked the fingers gently. After a moment, shewent on.
"He hadn't asked me to marry him, but I knew he would, and there wasn'tany hurry, because everything was so perfect, anyway. Then one of thecompany's clients decided to sponsor a series of fantasy shows on TV andwanted us to tie in the ads for next year with the fantasy theme. Paul wasassigned to the account, and G.G. let him borrow me to work on it, becauseit was such a rush project. I'd always liked fairy stories when I waslittle and when I discovered there were grown-up ones, too, like those in_Unknown Worlds_ and the old _Weird Tales_, I read them, too.But I hadn't any idea how much there was, until we started buying copiesof everything there was on the news-stands, and then ransacking mustylittle stores for back issues and ones that had gone out of publication,until Paul's office was just full of teetery piles of gaudy magazines andeverywhere you looked there were pictures of strange stars andeight-legged monsters and men in space suits."
"So what do the magazines have to do with you and Paul?"
"The way he felt about them changed everything. He just laughed at theones about space ships and other planets and robots and things, but hedidn't laugh when came across stories about ... well, mutants, andpeople with talents...."
"Talents? Like reading minds, you mean?"
She nodded, not looking at him. "He didn't laugh at those. He acted asif they were ... well, indecent. The sort of thing you wouldn't becaught dead reading in public. And he thought that way, too,especially about the stories that even mentioned telepathy. At first,when he brought them to my attention in that disapproving way, Ithought he was just pretending to sneer, to tease me, becausehe--we--knew they could be true. Only his thoughts matched hisremarks. He hated the stories, Dr. Andrews, and was just determined tohave me hate them, too. All at once I began to feel as if I didn'tknow him at all and I began to wonder if I'd just imagined everythingall those months I felt so close to him. And then I began to dreamagain, and to think about that lonesome silent world even when I waswide awake."
"Go on, Lucilla," Dr. Andrews said, as she hesitated.
"That's all, just about. We finished the job and got rid of themagazines and for a little while it was almost as if those two weekshad never been, except I couldn't forget that he didn't know what Iwas thinking at all, even when everything he did, almost, made it seemas if he did. It began to seem wrong for me to know what he wasthinking. Crazy, like Mother had said, and worse, somehow. Not well,not even nice, if you know what I mean."
"Then he asked you to marry him."
"And I said no, even when I wanted, oh, so terribly, to say yes andyes and yes." She squeezed her eyes tight shut to hold back a rush oftears.
* * * * *
Time folded back on itself. Once again, the hands of her wristwatchpointed to 4:30 and the white-clad receptionist said briskly, "Doctorwill see you now." Once again, from some remote vantage point, Lucillawatched herself brush past Dr. Andrews and cross to the familiarcouch, heard herself say, "It's getting worse," watched herself movethrough a flickering montage of scenes from childhood to womanhood,from past to present.
She opened he eyes to meet those of the man who sat patiently besideher. "You see," he said, "telling me wasn't so difficult, after all."And then, before she had decided on a response, "What do you knowabout Darwin's theory of evolution, Lucilla?"
His habit of ending a tense moment by making an irrelevant query nolonger even startled her. Obediently, she fumbled for an answer. "Notmuch. Just that he thought all the different kinds of life on earthtoday evolved from a few blobs of protoplasm that sprouted wings orgrew fur or developed teeth, depending on when they lived, and where."She paused hopefully, but met with only silence. "Sometimes whatseemed like a step forward wasn't," she said, ransacking her brain forscattered bits of information. "Then the species died out, like thesaber-tooth tiger, with those tusks that kept right on growing untilthey locked his jaws shut, so he starved to death." As she spoke, sheremembered the huge beast as he had been pictured in one of hercollege textbooks. The recollection grew more and more vivid, untilshe could see both the picture and the facing page of text. There wasan irregularly shaped inkblot in the upper corner and several heavilyunderlined sentences that stood out so distinctly she could actuallyread the words. "According to Darwin, variations in general are notinfinitesimal, but in the nature of specific mutations. Thousands ofthese occur, but only the fittest survive the climate, the times,natural enemies, and their own kind, who strive to perpetuatethemselves unchanged." Taken one by one, the words were allfamiliar--taken as a whole, they made no sense at all. She let thebook slip unheeded from her mind and stared at Dr. Andrews inbewilderment.
"Try saying it in a different way."
&n
bsp; "You sound like a school teacher humoring a stupid child." And then,because of the habit of obedience was strong, "I guess he meant thattails didn't grow an inch at a time, the way the dog's got cut off,but all at once ... like a fish being born with legs as well as fins,or a baby saber-tooth showing up among tigers with regular teeth, orone ape in a tribe discovering he could swing down out of the treetopsand stand erect and walk alone."
He echoed her last words. "And walk alone...." A premonitory chilltraced its icy way down Lucilla's
The Sound of Silence Page 2
