“Then I’ll tell you a secret,” he said with an odd sort of smile. “You already have the thing you want from him. It’s a trick; all he’ll do is switch around some of your numbers. This will change the way you feel and the way you think, but it won’t change what you are. We’re already the same thing they are, the way a draft horse is the same thing as a wild stallion.”
“I’m tired of watching stallions.”
“So was I,” he said, “but I couldn’t be one, no matter how much I thought I could.”
“You went to the Soul Man? But . . .”
“I went all right. It was a mistake. For a long time I didn’t know what to do; the Soul Man never undoes his work. I finally went to the grandfather to get changed back. I was afraid I would get into trouble . . .” He stopped smiling.
“I still want to go,” I said.
“All right.” He handed me a slip of paper. “Show this at the door. If anybody but the person at the door sees it, tell them it’s your grocery list. I can’t write down his location, but he’ll be there until Thursday. Go to Thirtieth Street Station and take the R7 . . .”
That night I was very nice to Bruno because I had a strange feeling that I would be leaving him the next day. I didn’t know what it would be like after I went to the Soul Man, but I knew it would be different. Maybe a different person couldn’t stay with Bruno. Maybe a different person could stay but not be happy.
Maybe Bruno wouldn’t like a different person.
I made a pot of oatmeal because he thinks it’s a treat to have breakfast for dinner and oatmeal is his favorite. Lately he’s been acting careful around me, like he’s afraid to do something I might not like. He picks up after himself and doesn’t pretend to know all about the people on TV. This makes things more convenient. I should like it this way, but I don’t. I just wanted things to be the way they were before they changed again, maybe forever.
When we got into bed, he said it had been a long day. I know he works hard on the docks and they’d been making him work overtime; he was falling asleep at dinner but I also had the strangest thought. I could stop an irresistible force, but I could not move an immovable object. I didn’t know what this thought could really mean, but as he lay there snoring, I touched the scar on his cheek and wondered; could Bruno ever be a wild stallion?
What Could Be in That House?
It was a blustery wet Saturday when I found the Soul Man’s house. I assumed it would be in some dangerous, rundown neighborhood like in a crime show, but it wasn’t. It was a nice old place in a row of old houses on a little hill. The slate walk was lined with hyacinths and crocuses and there was a big dogwood tree waiting to flower.
I thought Sam had made a mistake when a nice old lady answered the door, but she took my “grocery list” and showed me to a little room that smelled like flowers and old books. All the windows were stained glass and the walls were covered with all kinds of symbols. I recognized the cross, the six-pointed star and the yin/yang, but most of the symbols were strange. There was a kind of relaxing music playing softly; it sounded a little like wind and birds and a tumbling brook.
I don’t know what I expected, but when a sharply dressed young man came into the room, I had no idea he was the Soul Man. He reminded me of a grandfather; I trusted him immediately. I noticed he was handsome and this made me feel strange.
“Don’t get up,” he said as I started to rise. He sat on a delicate-looking chair in front of me and stared at my face.
“They say the eyes are the window to the soul,” he said. He was quiet as he looked into my eyes, then he held out his hand and said, “Angela, my name is David. Pleased to meet you.”
I shook his hand.
“What makes you think you want a soul?”
“I . . . I’m not sure,” I said. We don’t always think of reasons for what we want, especially the things we want most. “I think it started with a dream I keep having.” I explained about the truck and the rain. I was sure this was nonsense to him and I began to wonder if I belonged there at all, but he just smiled and nodded as if he heard the story every day.
“What does Bruno think?” he asked.
“How do you know about Bruno?”
“Remember what I told you about eyes,” he said. “Bruno doesn’t know, does he? You don’t plan to tell him.”
I shook my head.
“Good. I don’t like doing this for people who just want to be looked up to. Those people don’t understand what they’re getting into.”
“Sam told me I shouldn’t come,” I said.
“Sam? Oh, yes, the custodian. Sam is a good friend. Now, there are a few things you should know before we begin. First of all, this is against the law. We can stop now if you like and you won’t get into trouble.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“All right. Now this is important. You see the symbols all around us? Those symbols remind us that only God makes souls. Some argue that it doesn’t matter if you’re born or made; all people have souls regardless. Others say that men make bodies, but men can’t make souls so ‘made’ people are soulless. I don’t know which thing is true. All I know is that at the end of the ritual you will know you have a soul. That means you will be responsible for your life, your thoughts and your actions and you will be accountable to God. Do you understand?”
“As much as I’m able to,” I said.
“It’s a big step, Angela. The biggest. This is your last chance. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. Sit back and relax. Close your eyes . . .”
I knew I was crying before I woke up.
“. . . the matter? Angela, wake up. Open your eyes.” I opened my eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. I think he was trying to look into my eyes again, but couldn’t see because of the tears. He looked really concerned; maybe this wasn’t what usually happened.
“It’s Bruno,” I sniffed. My heart was pounding. I felt like some kind of power was flowing through me, almost like electricity. “How could I do that? What kind of person does what I did to him?”
The Soul Man seemed to relax a little. “You feel ashamed of something you did to Bruno?”
“Is that what this is? It feels terrible, like I have to straighten something I bent, only I don’t know how.”
“Well,” he sighed, “that’s what it’s like to have a soul. You may not understand it now, Angela, but you’re having a very healthy reaction.”
“But what do I do?” I said. “How do I fix what I did?”
“If you really want to fix it, you’ll find a way.”
So many things were happening in my mind as I gave my money to the old lady and left the house. There was a storm outside. Before, my only thought would’ve been how to stay dry, but now I noticed that the lightning was beautiful and terrifying. I couldn’t take my eyes from the clouds as they were stretched and shredded by the wind and every little piece of the sky was like some bottomless kaleidoscope of gray and silver. There was a connection between the wonderful freshness of the air, the watery purity of the clouds and the sharp edges of the lightning and thunder. Then there were the trees sweeping back and forth, some still struggling to push sleepy leaves from their tightly wound buds so they could connect with the air waiting to flow in as carbon dioxide, energize the tree and flow out again as oxygen to energize animals and people . . .
All the data that had been put in my head by the grandfathers was waking up like the leaves, not just lying in storage waiting to be used for a moment and then put away again. I felt like a dazzling swarm of bees searching for a queen to bring them to order. I felt like clouds with eyes and ears and noses, blowing swiftly and surely, in a direction I couldn’t recognize. I felt like the wet earth and the yellow sun in the dry blue sky above the rain . . .
I felt alive.
“I was right!” I said this to myself over and over as I watched the dripping city rush past the grimy train window. There really was a place greater than the messy, tangled world. I was right!
As the train sped around a bend deeper into the city, a great big church with a golden dome came into view. I stopped thinking about being right and wondered about a Person who could exist outside of all we could see or know.
Bruno was watching wrestling when I got home. Right away, I noticed that he was built like one of the wrestlers, broad, sharply defined and full of strength. Of course, I’ve always noticed, ever since that day at the regional office when we sat across from each other in the waiting room, but this was different. There was something admirable about this big strong man, something that made my heart beat a little faster just because I was near him.
I sat on the sofa and snuggled against him, pulling his arm across my shoulders. I was still a little chilly from my walk in the rain.
“Hi, Angela. I’m watching wrestling. See that guy in the blue trunks? They call him The Butcher . . . I mean the one in the red cape . . . He fought the Jade Blaster. I mean the one in the blue trunks; he’s the one . . . definitely the Jade Blaster . . . Oh, forget it! I know you don’t like wrestling!”
“Who says? Maybe I’m starting to get interested.”
He looked at me like a puppy that’d just been scratched behind the ears. I know that sounds like I’m talking down about him, but I’m really not. I put my arms around him and squeezed. “Who’s that?” I asked, pointing to a masked man at ringside getting ready to throw a chair.
“That’s, um, Slappy Joe. Yeah. He fought the Jade Blaster. You see that guy in the red cape . . . ?”
When I woke up crying at the Soul Man’s house, it was the worst I’ve ever felt, but that rainy afternoon with Bruno was the happiest I’ve ever felt.
Sunday
The next morning I woke up thinking about church. I’d dreamed about the truck again, only it was mixed up with the big church from the train ride. Instead of bringing us out into the world, the truck was taking us all to the mysterious place under the shining golden dome. Bruno was there with friends and flowers. There was a man in white and gold standing at the altar holding a book and everybody knew him and trusted him the way we do the grandfathers.
I don’t know anything about going to church so I put one of the religious programs on the radio while I made breakfast. I couldn’t understand everything that was said, but I didn’t put it on to get sense out of it. The music made the morning feel quiet and special and I imagined that the preacher looked just like the man from my dream, dressed in white and gold.
Bruno always worked on Sunday. When he kissed me on his way out I got happy all over again. I felt like I was standing in a clear stream on a beautiful sunny day with my toes squishing in the cool mud. The sparkling water rose, lifting me and carrying me under shady trees and I closed my eyes as my hair spread around me like jeweled black ferns waving in the watery breeze.
Sunday was my day to mark homework and tests. Math was easy; I’m good at math and all the problems are solved in the teacher’s guide, but this week I also had book reports. The rules were simple and I knew every word of every book, but each child explained things differently. I had to use all my concentration and compare each section of the student’s report with some piece of the book that seemed to match it. This was one of the reasons why I could never teach higher than fourth grade; the older the students, the more individualized they became. By the time they reached sixth grade they had to be taught by the “regulars.”
I was reading Ashley’s report about Call It Courage, an older book about a brave and resourceful young Polynesian boy. My mind started drifting. I wondered if I could build a dugout canoe and what breadfruit tasted like. The radio was still on in the kitchen, but the religious program was over. Now there were people talking. It was another “for” and “against” discussion, only this time, it caught my attention.
“. . . Spokesman for Ultimate Aim Inc., the company producing the clones and Winston Mothersbaugh from the Coalition for Human Dignity. Let’s start with you, Dr. Monroe. Where do things stand now with Ultimate Aim’s test program?”
“We’re in the third phase of our social integration pilot program,” said a man. I could not imagine a face for him. “A substantial population of our people have been introduced into three east coast urban environments, where they are going about the business they’re made for. They’re under close supervision.”
“How are they doing?”
“Splendidly,” said the man. “They’re doing their jobs flawlessly and our evaluations show they are well adjusted and satisfied.”
“Is that why half of the Philly P.D. is out hunting for the Soul Man,” asked Mr. Mothersbaugh, “because they’re well adjusted and satisfied?”
“What about the Soul Man phenomenon?” asked the woman. I could tell she wanted to sound like she was curious about the Soul Man, but she really wanted to talk about something else. “Does Ultimate Aim have any comment?”
“This person, if he even exists, is really not our concern,” said Dr. Monroe. “Of course, if an arrest is made, we will prosecute vigorously. Our people are the property of Ultimate Aim and must not be tampered with.”
“Voids the warranty, I guess,” said Mr. Mothersbaugh. “Do you even hear yourself, Doctor?”
I turned it off.
I finished marking the papers. I cleaned the apartment. When there was nothing left to do inside, I went for a walk.
The list of things I noticed for the first time could fill a book so I won’t list them. Every piece of the world seemed new, like I’d been living in the twilight of an overcast winter day and now the sun was out, but it was like a million suns. It was getting exhausting. I was already beginning to understand a character like Ebenezer Scrooge and his compulsion to insulate himself from all the good things of life.
Scrooge reminded me of books. There was an old bookstore a few blocks from the apartment. I’d never been there. If I needed to know a book, I just went to the library and memorized it, but my head was starting to hurt and I imagined the bookstore would be quiet and still.
Did you ever see a scary old movie? I watched one with Bruno once, a long time ago. Some people went to an old house, kind of like the house where I met the Soul Man. It was a fine old house, nice and clean, with lots of architectural detail, but it gave everybody a scary, lonely feeling. The bookstore reminded me of that creepy old imaginary house. It made me feel the way the people in the movie must’ve felt. People in the little aisles drifted away from me like sleepy ghosts. Some looked at me like I came from someplace scary.
“Can I help you?”
“Oh, I’m looking for . . .”
“Not you.” A man with white whiskers pushed past me to help a young man at the end of the aisle.
Eventually I found my way to the religious section. I giggled to myself as I imagined finding a book called Care and Feeding of Your Soul. There were lots of books to choose from, many bearing the same symbols I’d seen at the Soul Man’s house. I would read all of them, but I decided to start with the Bible because of the church that had joined my dreams.
“Must be a gift,” mumbled the man at the cash register as I handed him the Bible. People in line behind me stood back to wait till I was finished. This wasn’t unusual, but today it gave me a hard, icy feeling. I was glad to get away from those people.
As I walked back to the apartment, I thought about that feeling. The bookstore was the first time I’d noticed, but not the first time I’d felt that way. When Dr. Monroe said we were the property of Ultimate Aim, I had the same feeling, only it was covered up somehow. Maybe I’d had it even before I went to the Soul Man. I couldn’t be sure.
I thought that having a soul would add things to my life. Instead, it was starting to take things away, like insulation b
eing stripped from an electrical wire. I was becoming sensitive to everything, good and bad, and it was strange how even good things could be too much to take.
I decided to spend the rest of the day in the apartment with the shades drawn. Maybe I would memorize the Bible.
To School
Getting to school was hard. It was a lovely Monday morning with birds and sunshine and flowers. People might not expect those things in a neighborhood like this, but they’re really not hard to find. The ugliness of trash and disintegrating buildings is the easiest thing to see, but some people try to brighten things up with great big colorful words painted on the buildings. I know it’s illegal and usually has to do with gangs, but it’s nicer than filthy old bricks and concrete.
Getting to school was hard because I couldn’t stop noticing everything around me, especially people. For the first time I noticed what a problem the bus can be. Nobody will sit near us and everybody gets mad about the wasted seats. Before, I only thought about getting places; now I was starting to realize what it felt like to be stared at and complained about, as if . . .
Something told me not to think about “as if.” I stopped looking at angry people and reviewed the day’s lesson plan.
My kids were unruly when they entered the classroom. Was this unusual, or had I simply not noticed before? “Jerry, put that down,” I called. “Give Claudette her book back.” Jerry ignored me at first, but suddenly his eyes got big and round. So did Claudette’s. So did everybody’s, except Jamal’s. He just smiled and took his seat.
“That’s right!” I said, trying to sound mischievous instead of scary. I was a little scared myself. “I know who you are.”
They all got quiet and still.
“Miss Angela?”
“Raise your hand, Joseph. Yes?”
“Are you a monster?”
Some of the kids looked nervous, as if Joseph had spoken the unspeakable. “Do you think I’m a monster?” I asked.
“My dad says you’re like a . . . a Frankenstein,” said Joseph.
Writers of the Future Volume 28: The Best New Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year Page 27
