Telekinetic

by Laurence E. Dahners

  Eva helped Jacob slowly sit and swing his feet down to the floor. Tarc didn’t feel anything happen to the clot on the spleen during this maneuver, but when it was over Eva paused. Tarc suspected her ghost was checking Jacob’s spleen itself. She said, “Tarc, Jacob’s going to be very weak still from the blood loss. You sit down on the other side of him and we’ll put his arms over both of our shoulders. We’ll all slowly stand up together.”

  They did so; Tarc constantly monitoring Jacob’s wound. Jacob winced as he moved, but Tarc thought that the pain came more from the stab wound in the wall of his abdomen than it did from the spleen injury. Eva had them stop and just stand for a moment when it looked like Jacob felt a little dizzy. Bored with just standing, and eager to determine whether he was right about the pain coming from Jacob’s abdominal wall, Tarc used his ghost to gently poke at Jacob’s spleen. As he’d surmised, Jacob didn’t react much to that. When Tarc tugged on Jacob’s abdominal wall, however, Jacob winced and sucked in a hissing breath.

  Excited about what he’d learned, Tarc looked at Eva thinking about how he wanted to tell her. He realized however, that she was glaring at him which suggested that she already knew what he had done. Looking sheepish, he mouthed “sorry” at her.

  Eva had them walk Jacob slowly downstairs and seat him at her treatment table. “Daussie,” she said, “bring Jacob a bowl of the soup and a link of the sausage.” Eyeing Tarc, she said, “You go bring in some wood. We’re getting low.”

  When Tarc had brought in enough wood for the kitchen, he brought in a strap for the great room’s fireplace. After he’d stacked it, he headed back towards the kitchen and saw Daussie cutting up the sausage and feeding it to Jacob. Tarc’s friend looked gobsmacked!

  Tarc’s stride faltered a moment as he once again confronted the possibility that his little sister attracted men like moths to a flame. Apparently noticing the falter, Jacob glanced guiltily at Tarc, but then turned his eyes back to Tarc’s sister—like a miser’s eyes, drawn to a pile of gold.

  ***

  Three days later, Eva decided that Jacob could return home.

  When the Calder’s came to pick him up, Mr. Calder brought new boots for all four members of the Hyllis family. “I know… I know these can’t repay the saving of Jacob’s life. Nothin’ can… But somehow it feels right to repay you for something that you are really good at with something that I’m good at. Though…” He said embarrassedly, “I’m knowin’ that makin’ shoes ain’t nearly so important as savin’ lives, it is what I do.”

  The boots were excellent quality, sturdy, with soft leather. Eva and Daum’s boots were made of cow skin, Daum’s in black and Eva’s in sharp red leather. Tarc’s eyes widened as Mr. Calder handed him a pair covered in alligator skin. He’d admired a pair like them once when he’d been over visiting Jacob, but couldn’t believe Jacob’s father had remembered his interest.

  He pulled them on, not expecting them to fit. He’d wondered whether the Calders would have anything even approximating the same quality in a size he could actually wear that he could trade for. Then he’d thought to himself that it would be very rude to try to find an expensive pair like these in his size. He would have to trade them for something much blander he thought sadly. However, when the boots slid into place, they fit almost perfectly. Goggle eyed, he looked up at Mr. Calder, “They fit!”

  Calder just smiled and nodded, “I made them just for you. Over all the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve gotten pretty good at judging the size of people’s feet.”

  Tarc looked over at Daussie. Her boots were made of a dark blue doe skin, so soft that it rumpled going up her calves. She’d bloused her pants into them to show them off. As she turned this way and that for Eva to exclaim over them, Tarc realized their heels were nearly 2 inches high. They made her legs look even longer and more slender.

  Tarc hoped she didn’t wear them while serving the tables. He had a feeling they would result in even more unwanted attention.

  The Hyllises expressed their deep appreciation of the high quality boots. Mr. Calder repeatedly expressed his feeling that the boots weren’t sufficient compensation and that he still owed Eva for her services. Tarc had the impression that Mrs. Calder thought they were overpaying, but at least she had the grace not to say so.

  As Jacob left, he expressed near pathetic gratitude to Eva and Daussie.

  Afterward, Eva came to Tarc and said, “Remember, Jacob doesn’t have any idea what you did for him. You and I know that it was what you did that actually saved his life.” She paused, then said with a twinge of sadness, “You’re going to find, working as a healer, that sometimes you get appreciation all out of proportion for little things that really didn’t matter… and sometimes you get no thanks at all when you’ve actually done something tremendous.” She put a hand on Tarc’s shoulder, “This time, they’re not thanking you because they don’t know what you’ve done. Other times it will be because they don’t understand what you’ve done. You’ll just have to know for yourself that you saved your friend’s life and that will have to be thanks enough.”

  Tarc nodded curtly.

  Eva gave him a sad smile, “I can tell you think it’s not fair. You’re almost certainly wondering why we can’t tell them what you did?”

  Tarc shrugged minutely.

  “I have a feeling that someday…” she trailed off, then said, “you may be very glad that people don’t know about your talent.”

  ***

  Ten days had passed since Jacob had been injured. During that time there didn’t seem to be any of the strangers in town. But then one afternoon Tarc returned from the store with a load of supplies. As he parked the wagon by the kitchen, Daussie came out of the kitchen and started helping him unload it. “What’s gotten into you?” Tarc asked

  “I’ll finish unloading the wagon and put Shogun back in the stable if you’ll wait the tables,” she said in a subdued tone.

  Tarc immediately knew what was wrong. “Strangers?” he asked.

  Eyes downcast, Daussie nodded, seeming ashamed, as if somehow the strangers were her fault.

  Tarc’s stomach roiled, and he thought to himself that the deputies shouldn’t have let strangers back into Walterston after what had happened to Jacob. He knew however, that strangers brought business and news. The town needed them, even if some brought trouble. He eyed Daussie, “What did they say?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I saw him as I came out of the kitchen. I’m pretty sure I came back out here before he saw me.”

  “Him? You mean that big guy?” Tarc said, putting a sack of potatoes down on the kitchen counter.

  Daussie nodded again, but only whispered, “Will you wait the tables? Please?”

  Tarc unclenched his jaw. He didn’t want to go out there either. But, much as he didn’t want to see that man again himself, he didn’t want his sister to even get near the guy. Tarc gave a little nod. Daussie went back out to the wagon. He glanced at Eva, but she was chopping up chickens. She didn’t appear to be aware of the presence of the strangers.

  Tarc went out into the great room. Mr. Benson sat at his usual table. Tarc noticed that he didn’t have a beer, evidence that he was at least following some of Eva’s instructions. The big stranger and his companion sat at the same table they had before, over near the fireplace.

  Tarc went to Benson first. “What can I get you Mr. Benson?”

  Benson smiled up at him, “Tarc! My foot is much better. Tell your mother ‘thank you’ for me.” He blinked, “What are you doing waiting tables?” He winked, “I was hoping to see that pretty sister of yours.”

  Tarc felt surprised to realize that, even though Benson essentially had the same feelings about Daussie as the strangers, somehow it seemed harmless in the jovial storekeeper. He grinned and answered, “She’s doing some other chores. You’ll just have to come back another day if you want service from the good-looking sibling.”

  “No, no,” Benson grinned up at him, “you’re handsome
enough,” he twinkled, “just not my type. You tell your mother I’ll eat whatever she thinks is best for my gout.”

  “Oh, Mr. Benson, you’re really asking for it, saying something like that.” He leaned down and said conspiratorially, “You place an order like that, and she’s gonna feed you nothing but vegetables!”

  Benson grimaced, but said resignedly, “If that’s what she says, that’s probably what I should be eating.”

  “Okay, it’s your funeral.”

  Tarc stood, for a moment having completely forgotten about the strangers. He’d been thinking that he’d be going back to talk to Eva about Mr. Benson, but then his eyes caught on the big stranger. The man had his eyes on Tarc. His stomach knotted again, but he started that way.

  Before he reached the strangers’ table, the big man rumbled, “Not you again! Where’s the good-lookin’ lass?”

  Tarc stopped a good distance from the man’s table, remembering with a shiver the almost instantaneous appearance of the big knife at Tarc’s breastbone. “She’s busy with some… other stuff. Can I take your order?”

  The man eyed Tarc as if he were some particularly undesirable form of insect. “I’ll pay double your usual charges to be waited on by the girl.”

  Tarc shrugged, “Like I said, she’s busy.”

  The man chewed his lip for a moment and Tarc braced himself to run if the men started to stand. Then the stranger grinned unpleasantly but only said, “You still have the sausage and fried potatoes?”

  Tarc nodded.

  The stranger said, “Bring me a big helping.” He glanced at the man with him.

  The other man hardly turned. “I’ll have the same.”

  “And some beers,” the big man said.

  Tarc turned back for the kitchen, wondering how he could deliver the plates without getting near the men’s table. Just before he went through the door into the kitchen, Ms. Gates came into the tavern.

  Back in the kitchen, Tarc said to Eva, “Two plates of sausage and fried potatoes. Also, Mr. Benson is here and says his foot is much better. He sends his thanks and wants to order whatever you think is best for his gout.”

  Eva smiled, then got a distant look as she pondered Benson’s order. “I think… roasted chicken breast, whole-grain rice and a cabbage salad.” She looked at Tarc, “He should avoid red meat, liver, and beer. So, if he’s already ordered himself a beer, go take it away from him.” Then Eva blinked, as if suddenly realizing something. She frowned, “Where’s Daussie?”

  Tarc jerked his head toward the great room. “Strangers. One of them’s the big one that scared Daussie the first time. She’s putting away the wagon and hiding.”

  Eva’s eyes widened, “The one that held a knife to you?”

  Tarc nodded.

  Eva sighed. “You go tell your dad that I’ll have the strangers’ food ready in about five minutes. He can come get it for them. You shouldn’t be getting near them.”

  Tarc felt a sensation of relief, then felt guilty. His father shouldn’t have to get near those men either. “Okay. Ms. Gates was coming into the big room just before I got back to the kitchen.”

  Eva nodded, “Tell her to take a seat at the treatment table.” She gave Tarc a knowing look, “While you’re talking to her check to see what happened to the two tumors in her lungs.”

  Tarc went back out into the great room. Ms. Gates had already seated herself at the treatment table so he went first to the bar, stepping inside.

  Daum looked upset. He turned to Tarc and said quietly, “I was tapping the keg and didn’t notice the two strangers until you were already taking their orders. You shouldn’t have had to take their orders. In fact, I should’ve told them they weren’t welcome here.”

  Tarc shrugged, “I’d hate to try to throw them out of here.”

  Daum’s eyes went back to the strangers. “Yeah,” he muttered.

  “Just like before, they want Daussie to wait on them. She’s hiding out, and I told them she was busy.”

  Daum nodded, “Thanks.”

  “They ordered a couple of beers. Mom thinks you should take them their food. She’ll have it ready in about five minutes.” He shrugged, “I’m not sure it’s any safer for you to wait on them than me.”

  Daum sighed, “You’re probably right, but if one of us is going to do this dangerous thing, it’s not going to be you. Tell Eva I’ll be back to get their food in a little bit.” He turned and began drawing a couple of beers.

  Tarc went to Benson next. “Chicken breast, rice, and cabbage salad.”

  Benson sighed, “I guess it could’ve been worse.”

  Tarc grinned at him, knowing how much Benson liked sausage. He went to sit across from Mrs. Gates. Sitting down across the table from her, he sent his ghost into her chest while saying, “How are you doing Ms. Gates? Do you think the new treatment made any difference for you?”

  “Yeah. It made me cough up blood for days! I don’t know what the hell good your mother thought that was going to do me?!”

  The tumors in Gates’ lungs had shrunk. Their centers were smaller and cooler. Tarc had the impression that the material in the center of each tumor was dead. The tissue around the surface of the tumor felt like scar to him, though he didn’t know how he could be sure that that was what it was. “Um, if it hasn’t helped you, why are you coming back?”

  “Because…” She seemed a little nonplussed, “otherwise I’m going to die. Even a damned fool kid like you should be able to tell that!”

  Tarc wondered whether he should banter with her about her crotchety nature like his mother had, but decided not. With a sigh, he stood, “Okay, I’ll tell Eva.”

  A little later, Tarc sat holding the beaker of cotton balls doused with moonshine over Ms. Gates’ liver. Even though he was ostensibly treating the tumors in her liver, the first one Eva had told him to treat was the lump in her brain. Eva said that holding the beaker on Ms. Gates head might get her upset thinking about a tumor in there. After all, the beaker was merely a distraction.

  Tarc thought the tumor in her head felt a little bit bigger. He wondered whether it was doing something to her brain that made her so ill-tempered. Eva had been concerned that perhaps Tarc shouldn’t kill too much of the tumor in her brain at once for fear that the reaction to a large lump of dead tissue in her brain might cause serious problems. In the old days, apparently, they had killed areas of tumor in the brain with radiation. The body resorbed the dead material somehow, but Tarc agreed that it would be better to kill too little than too much in this first treatment. He heated an area about one third the size of the whole tumor in her brain. He’d been worried that she would feel the heating. However, Eva had said that surprisingly the brain, even though it was full of nerve cells, had no sensory nerve endings inside of it. So the brain, which felt everything that there was to feel in other parts the body, could feel nothing inside of itself.

  Sure enough, Tarc heated the tumor in the brain without any reaction from Ms. Gates. When he heated the tumor in her liver, she grimaced a little but otherwise had little reaction. Most tumors apparently don’t grow many new nerve endings inside of themselves either. The pain that the tumors cause comes from the nerve endings in the tissue around them so Tarc tried not to heat the surrounding tissue very much.

  Finished, Tarc lifted the beaker off and started to stand.

  Ms. Gates said, “What the hell are you doing boy?”

  “Um, the treatment’s done.”

  “How the hell would you know? You hold it there ‘til your Mama comes back and says it’s done.”

  Tarc gritted his teeth, settled back into his seat, and waited.

  After the lunch rush, things predictably slowed down. Tarc went up to his room and started reading about the ear. Although the textbook’s description was pretty dry, Tarc was fascinated to learn about the little waves in the air that made up sound. Even more interesting than the way those waves traveled into the ear canal to strike the eardrum and activate the cochlea, there was a
brief description of a device that made sound. The device had been called a speaker in the old days. It vibrated a membrane that created waves in the molecules of the air.

  Tarc gazed off into the distance as he thought about the diagram of the speaker and the ear in the old book. Suddenly he wondered…

  He reached out with his ghost, used it to grip some air molecules in the middle of the room, and shook them. To his disappointment, he heard nothing. He turned back to the book and looked to see how fast these airwaves were shaking the molecules. Hundreds of times per second!

  It sounded impossible, but then he realized that when he was shaking molecules to create heat, he was vibrating them much faster than hundreds of times per second. He reached out for some air molecules again and started vibrating them faster and faster. First he heard a low hum, then it increased in pitch until it became a piercing squeal then disappeared. He knew he was still vibrating the molecules, but didn’t know why he couldn’t hear it until he looked back at the book and saw that the human ear couldn’t detect vibrations above and below certain frequencies.

  Tarc sat in stunned wonderment, contemplating the mysteries of sound. Somehow he felt that his ability to create sound should be useful, but found himself wondering if it was no better than his father’s knife balancing.

  He wondered if, rather than simply vibrating molecules at a certain frequency to create a tone, whether he might be able to re-create a sound he’d heard. He said “hello” to the empty room. Then he tried to replicate it with his ghost. He didn’t try to shake the molecules like he’d felt them vibrating at his own word, he just imagined the word being made out there in the room.

  To Tarc’s profound astonishment, he heard someone say, “Hello,” right there in the room with him. It didn’t really sound like his own voice to him, but it was clearly and recognizably the word, “hello.”