by Jack Vance
Irena only nodded her head, as if in vindication. “They will not be too active today; I am sure of that. It is a great nuisance."
“I wonder if I should look in on them?”
“I see no benefit they could derive from your visit. They had a fitful night, and now they are sleeping.”
“I see.”
Irena moved back into the doorway. “Doctor Olivano mentioned that your time here was limited. When, exactly, will you be leaving?”
“Nothing is settled yet,” said Wayness politely. “Much depends upon the progress of my work.”
“It must be a dreary routine for you,” said Irena. “It certainly is for me. Well there, I will let you go. They may be feeling well enough tomorrow for you to resume your work.”
Irena drew back into the shadows; the door closed.
Wayness slowly turned away, and went back to the hotel.
For half an hour Wayness sat in the lobby, fidgeting, frowning, wanting to call Dr. Olivano, yet reluctant to do so, for a number of reasons. First of all, it was Sunday morning, when Dr. Olivano might not wish to be disturbed. Secondly, well, there were other reasons.
Despite all, Wayness finally felt impelled to call Olivano, only to be notified by a dispassionate voice that no one was at home. Wayness turned away in both frustration and relief, together with a new and logical flush of anger toward Irena.
On Monday evening Wayness once again called Olivano. She told him of her visit to Casa Lucasta on Sunday morning and Irena’s statements. “When I went there this morning I did not know what to expect but certainly not what I found. The children were out of bed, dressed and sitting at their breakfast. They seemed listless, almost comatose, and only barely looked at me when I greeted them. Irena was watching me from the kitchen; I pretended to notice nothing unusual, and sat with them while they finished their breakfast. Ordinarily they are anxious to go outside, but this morning they did not seem to care one way or the other.
“We went outside at last. I spoke to Lydia but she barely glanced at me; Myron sat on the edge of the sandbox, making marks in the sand with a stick. In short, they had lost what they had gained and more, and I can't understand it.
''When Irena came home, she was expecting me to comment but I only said that they still seemed to be a bit under the weather. She agreed to this, saying: ‘They are prone to peculiar moods, which I have learned to ignore.’ That is the news from Casa Lucasta."
“Curse all!" muttered Olivano. "You should have telephoned me yesterday morning."
“I did, but you were not home."
“Of course not; I was at the Institute! Sufy was with her students."
“I'm sorry. I thought that I might be disturbing you, since it was Sunday morning.”
"You have disturbed me, right enough. But still, we have learned something. What it is, I don’t know."
Olivano reflected. “I will make my usual Wednesday visit. You keep to your routine, and telephone me tomorrow night, if there is anything worth reporting. In fact, call anyway.”
“Just as you say."
Tuesday went quietly at Casa Lucasta. Wayness thought that the children seemed less leaden and dismal, but a quality which she had started to perceive in them — vitality? immediacy? — had been suppressed.
The afternoon was cool, with a lazy overcast obscuring the sun and a chilly wind blowing down from the mountains. The children sat on the couch in the sitting room, Lydia holding a rag doll, Myron twisting a length of string. Madame Clara went out to the utility room with a basket of soiled clothes; she would be occupied for at least five minutes, maybe longer. Wayness jumped to her feet and ran silently upstairs. The door to Irena's room was closed; with thudding heart Wayness opened it and peered within. She saw furnishings of no distinction: a bed, chest of drawers, a desk. Wayness went at once to the desk. She slid open a drawer, surveyed the contents, but dared make no detailed investigation; time was passing too quickly. With each second the tension grew, until it could no longer be supported. With a hiss of frustration, Wayness closed the drawer and ran back the way she had come. Myron and Lydia watched her incuriously; there was no clue as to what might be going on in their minds: perhaps no more than a colored daze. She dropped upon the couch and picked up one of their picture books, her heart still pounding and her whole being heavy with resentment. She had dared to venture into forbidden territory and it had all gone for naught.
Fifteen seconds later Madame Clara came to look into the sitting room. Wayness paid her no heed. Madame Clara, showing her wincing suspicious grin, looked sharply around the room, then turned away. Wayness drew a deep breath. Had Madame Clara heard sounds? Had she merely sensed that something was amiss? One thing was certain: no efficient search of Casa Lucasta could be accomplished with Madame Clara on the premises.
During the middle evening Wayness telephoned Dr. Olivano at his home near Montalvo. She reported that Myron and Lydia, while still apathetic, were somewhat improved. “Whatever happened to them Sunday seems to be dissipating, but very slowly."
“I will be interested to see them tomorrow."
IX.
On Wednesday morning Dr. Olivano made his routine call at Casa Lucasta, arriving an hour before noon. He found Wayness, with Myron and Lydia, in the side yard. The children were occupied with modeling clay, each molding what at first glance appeared to be an animal of some sort, using as their models pictures in books Wayness had propped in front of them.
Olivano approached. The children glanced at him and went on with their work. Lydia was modeling a horse and Myron a black panther. Olivano thought that both had performed creditably, though neither showed much zest.
Wayness greeted him. “As you see, Lydia and Myron are hard at work. I think that they feel just a bit better this morning. Am I right, Lydia?"
Lydia raised her eyes and showed the ghost of a smile, then returned to the clay. Wayness went on: “I would ask Myron the same question, but he is too busy just now, to answer. Still, I think he feels better too."
“They are doing good work,” said Olivano.
"Yes. But not as good as they are capable of doing. In the main, they are just pushing the clay back and forth. As soon as they feel better, we will see some really interesting things. Both Myron and Lydia are determined not to let themselves go all dreamy again." Wayness heaved a deep sigh. "I feel as if I have been giving them artificial respiration."
“Hmf,” said Olivano. "You should see some of the types I deal with ten times a day. These two are like flowers in the spring.” He looked toward the house. “Irena is at home, I assume.”
Wayness nodded. "She is home. To be exact, she is watching us from the window now.”
“Good. Then I will show her something worth her interest,” said Olivano. He opened his medical case and brought out a pair of small transparent envelopes. He pulled a hair from Lila’s head, to her startlement, did another from Myron, who showed only resignation. Olivano dropped the hairs into the envelopes, which he labeled.
Wayness asked: “Why are you torturing poor Myron and Lydia."
“It is not torture; it is science," said Olivano.
"I always thought that there was a difference."
"There is in this case, at least. Hairs group in layers, absorbing various materials from the blood as they do so; they become, in effect, stratigraphic records. I will have these hairs analyzed."
“Do you think you will discover anything?”
“Not necessarily. Certain types of substances are either not absorbed or make no distinct strata. Still, is worth trying." Olivano turned to look toward the house. Through the window they saw Irena’s shape move back, as if she were reluctant to be discovered.
Olivano said: “It is time for a conference with Irena.”
Wayness asked: “Shall I come?"
“I think your presence would be helpful.”
The two went to the front door and Olivano sounded the chime. After a pause Irena opened the door. "Yes?"
“May we come in?”
Irena turned and led the way into the sitting room. She remained standing. "Why were you taking hair from the children?”
Olivano explained the process and its rationale. Irena was clearly not pleased. “Do you think that such a procedure is necessary?”
"I won’t know for certain until I see the results of the analysis.”
“That is not very informative."
Olivano laughed and gave his head a rueful shake. “If I had definite information, you would be the first to know. Now then, there is another matter, related to general hygiene. You may or may not have heard that the poly-virus XNX-29 was discovered in Pombareales last week. It is not overly dangerous but may be uncomfortable if a person lacks the proper antibodies. I can easily make the determination with a blood sample. If you will permit — " Olivano brought out a small instrument. “You will feel nothing." He stepped forward and before Irena could protest or draw back, he had pressed the instrument against her forearm. “Very good,” said Olivano. “I will have results for you tomorrow. In the meantime, don’t worry, as the chances of infection are slight, but it is better to be safe than sorry."
Irena stood rubbing her arm, eyes glittering black in her wasted face.
Olivano said politely: “I think that is all for now. Marin has her instructions — essentially, more of the same."
Irena said with a sniff: “She seems to spend a great deal of time playing with the children."
“That is precisely what they need: they should not be allowed to brood and daydream and recede into their private worlds. They seem to have had something of a setback, but they are coming out of it and I want to make sure that it does not happen again."
Irena had nothing to say, and Olivano took his leave.
The week passed. On Friday evening Olivano telephoned Wayness at the hotel. “What is the news from Casa Lucasta?"
"Nothing, except that the children are almost back to where they were. Lydia is talking again and Myron gives his indescribable signals. They are both reading: Lydia goes at it casually; Myron seems to read at a glance."
“Such skill has been recorded before."
“There is something else, most curious. We went for a walk out on the pampas and Lydia found a pretty white stone. This morning she could not find it; I had packed it into a box of oddments by mistake. Lydia looked everywhere, but could not find her stone. Finally she told Myron: ‘It is my white stone: gone!’ Myron looked around, and went directly to the box and tossed the stone to Lydia. She seemed not at all surprised. I asked her: ‘How did Myron know the stone was in the box?’ She only shrugged and went back to her picture book. Later, when they had gone into the house for their lunch, I hid Myron’s red pencil under the sand in a corner of the sandbox. After lunch they came back into the yard. Myron started to draw but found that his red pencil was missing. He looked around the yard and went directly to the sandbox and found his pen. Then he looked at me with a most peculiar expression; puzzled, amused, wondering if I had lost my mind. I found it hard not to laugh. So, there you have it. Myron, who can do all manner of remarkable deeds, is also clairvoyant."
Olivano said: “That faculty is mentioned in the literature, guardedly. It is said to maximize at puberty, then dwindle away." He thought for a few seconds. "I don’t think I want to involve myself in this matter, and I would prefer that you keep your findings to yourself. We don’t want to make Myron any more of a freak than he is."
Wayness could not let Olivano’s remarks, no matter how cool and dispassionate — in fact, they were too cool and too dispassionate — go unchallenged. "Myron is in no sense of the word a freak! Despite all his odd little quirks and funny attempts at dignity, he is gentle and cooperative and really a sweet little boy!”
“Aha! I wonder who has got whom wrapped around their little finger!”
“Yes, I fear so."
“Then you may be interested to know that, while Myron and Lydia are siblings, Irena is not their mother. They have no congruent genetic material.”
“It is no more than I suspected,” said Wayness. "What do the hair samples tell you?”
“I have not had the results yet, but I should have them by Wednesday. I don’t know whether or not I deceived her about the virus, but I might as well play out the game and tell her it is no longer a threat. I will also advise her that I went you on hand Sunday, and that the next time the children show any sign of illness, no matter how trivial that I must be called, since I want no recurrence of the previous ailment which set them back psychologically.”
The weekend passed without untoward incident. On Wednesday morning Dr. Olivano arrived at Casa Lucasta as usual. It was another chilly day with wan sunlight seeping through a high overcast and a wind blowing down from the Andes. Despite the weather Wayness with Lydia and Myron were occupied as usual in the side yard. Today Myron and Lydia sat together, studying the pages of a picture book wherein were depicted many sorts of wild animals, both terrestrial and off-world.
“Good morning all!" called Olivano. “What are you doing with yourselves today?"
“We are exploring the universe, from top to bottom," said Wayness. “We look at pictures, and talk. Lydia sometimes reads from the books and Myron draws pretty pictures when he is in the mood.”
“Myron can do anything, “said Lydia”
“I don’t doubt it an instant,” said Olivano. “You are also very clever.”
"Lydia reads quite well,” said Wayness. She pointed to a picture. “What animal is that, Lydia?”
“It is a lion."
"How do you know?”
Lydia gave Wayness a puzzled look. “The letters read ‘LION’."
Wayness took the book, turned the page, covered the picture and asked: “What animal is on this page?”
“I don’t know. The word reads 'TIGER,' but we won’t know really until we see the picture."
"Quite right” said Wayness. “There might have been a mistake. But not this time! The picture shows a tiger and the letters spell ‘TIGER’. "
Olivano asked: "What of Myron? Does he read too?”
“Of course he reads — probably better than you do”
Myron, be a good boy and read something."
Myron cocked his head dubiously to the side, but said nothing.
"In that case, show me an animal that you like."
It seemed that Myron had ignored the question, then suddenly he turned a few pages and displayed the picture of a stag, with mountains in the background.
“That is a handsome beast indeed," said Olivano. Wayness put her arm around Myron’s thin shoulders and hugged him. “You are very clever, Myron.”
Myron pulled in the corners of his mouth by way of response.
Lydia looked at the picture. “"That is a 'STAG'."
"Quite right! What else can you read?”
"Anything I like."
"Really?"
Lydia opened a book and read:
'Rodney the Bad Boy.'
“Very good," said Wayness. "Now read the story."
Lydia bent her head over the book and read:
'Once there was a boy named Rodney who had learned a bad habit: he scribbled in picture books. One day he drew some foolish black lines across the face of a fine sabretooth tiger. This was a serious mistake, since a fairy owned the book. She said: “That was a naughty trick, Rodney, and now you shall have the teeth of the poor tiger whom you made so ugly.”
'Instantly two long heavy teeth grew from Rodney's mouth, so long that when he lowered his head the points rested on his chest. Rodney's father and mother were very annoyed, but the dentist said that the teeth were healthy and there were no cavities, and that probably they need not worry about braces. The main thing was for Rodney to brush the teeth well, and to wipe them with a napkin while he was eating.'
Lydia put the book down. "That is enough for now."
“And very interesting too," said Wayness. "Rodney will probably not make the same mis
take again."
Lydia nodded and returned to the pages of the picture book.
Olivano spoke to Wayness. “I am astonished. What have you done?"
“Nothing. It is already there. I gave it a chance to happen, and meanwhile I hugged them and kissed them, which they seem to like."
“Yes, of course, “said Olivano. “Who wouldn’t?"
They might have known how to read before. Myron, have you been reading for a long time and keeping it secret?”
Myron had been drawing on a sheet of paper. He looked up at Wayness from the corner of his eyes, then returned to his drawing.
“If you don’t care to talk, you can write something on this piece of nice green paper." Wayness put the paper in front of him.
Again Myron squinted up from the side of his face. When he saw that Wayness was smiling at him, he took up his pencil and wrote: “We have never read before. It is easier than chess. But there are many words I do not know.”
“We will repair that lack, perhaps even today. Now show Dr. Olivano how well you can draw."
Without enthusiasm Myron began to draw, using his pencils. Then he took up his color flow-pens and brushed here and there. On the paper appeared a great stag with spreading antlers. He stood looking from a landscape similar to the depiction in the book, but quite different in detail. If anything, the drawing was more precise and the colors more striking than those in the book.
“That is absolutely enchanting,” said Olivano. “Myron, I salute you.”
"I can draw too,” said Lydia.
“Of course you can,” said Wayness. “You are also a wonderful little creature.”
Wayness, glancing toward the house, saw Irena watching from the window. “We are being observed," she told Olivano.
“So I noticed. We must bring these matters to her attention.”
Lydia’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want arty medicine."
Olivano asked: "What medicine?”
Lydia looked off toward the loom of the mountains"
“Sometimes when the wind blows I want to run, and then they give us medicine, so that everything is dark and we are tired."
Olivano said: “I will see that they give you no more medicine. But you must not run when the wind blows."
