“Right now, they need reassurance, interaction: music, smells, kindness, encouragement, gentle exercise. As normal a routine as we can manage. Talk to them, about anything and everything: help them reestablish themselves. Where we know the name, repeat it often. When we know something of their background, refer to that as frequently as possible. Help them reacquaint themselves with themselves.”
Kris had three women, all in their late fifties: two had been research physicians in a drug company—Peggy Ihde and Marjorie Flax; the third they called Sophie because Sarah McDouall said she thought she looked like a Sophie. Kris was to supervise their meals. Just putting a spoon or a fork in their hands stimulated self-feeding. She read to them from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, which they might even have read in their younger days. She took them on quiet walks in the lodge-pole copse, or sat with them above the bay where benches had been placed for meditation.
“Pleasant surroundings are extremely important after the holding pens they’ve been in,” Dorothy said. “Soft, kind voices, gentle handling will reassure even the most damaged.”
There were a few whose condition was clearly catatonic but Dorothy was serenely confident that, in time, even these would recover.
“There’s something about this place,” she said, spreading both arms out to include the entire subcontinent, “that will generate healing. The smells are good, the food is fresh and tasty, and the vibes…” she smiled at using the vernacular description, “are good because we’ve made them so. Beauty is a natural stress-absorber, you know. It reassures on a nonverbal level that they are now safe.
“You see,” she went on in her soft voice, “we’ve decided to use a multi-modal treatment of this stress. The right hemisphere—which thinks in pictures—can’t tell time: therefore it needs pictures to counteract the negative images of the trauma. The left hemisphere stores rational thought processes in thought and ideas. The two hemispheres interact and each approach can help the other side. We need to maximize good input and involve as much as possible in terms of brain resource utilization. Many of our friends here may never recall exactly what happened. That would truly be a blessing.”
“But won’t we have to explain something of how they got here?” Sarah McDouall asked.
“Oh, yes,” Dorothy said with a smile, “and by then we’ll probably have a coherent answer for them. They are, to all intents and purposes, on a holiday from their own minds right now.”
“We could always tell them they’re in Oz,” someone at the back of the room quipped.
“And no red slippers in sight,” someone added.
Dorothy’s expression was droll. “We’re all in Oz.”
“The Eosi are the wicked witches…”
“Let’s leave the analogy there, shall we?” Dorothy said in the firm tone of she-who-must-be-obeyed.
Kris felt her shoulder muscles relax. She had been readying herself to protect Zainal. Really, she had to stop doing that. He had made his own position here on Botany and was firmly entrenched. She didn’t need to fret over possible snide remarks and animosity. She devoutly hoped!
• • •
THAT EVENING WHEN ZAINAL CAME HOME from the construction site of the new units for the Victims, he very carefully put a book down on the table.
“That’s for kindergartners,” she said in surprise, recognizing the title.
“Kindergartners? It is for learning to read,” Zainal said and gave it a little shove with one large and very dirty thumb.
“Please wash up, dinner’s nearly ready,” she said, because she really couldn’t tell Zainal not to handle the book—which might be the only one of its kind—with his dirty hands.
“I learn to read,” he said and gave it another, almost angry push.
“You?”
Zainal scowled and Zane, who was seated in the high-seated chair his adoptive father had made for him, began to whimper in apprehension. He was very quick to sense moods. Immediately Zainal turned a smiling face and diverted the child by tickling his feet until he was hilarious with tickle laughter.
“I need to read to use computers.”
Kris blinked in surprise, having forgotten for the moment that Botany now possessed working computers…which were being put to all kinds of good use. There had been several uninterrupted sessions to develop adapters for the units to run on solar power.
“Oh, yes, of course you would,” Kris said. “Dead easy for a man with your smarts.”
Zainal turned his smiling face from Zane and gave the little book a dark scowl. “Not when all those…squiggles…make no sense at all.”
“Are there many—” and Kris thought swiftly for a less insulting description than “kids’ books”—“primer books in what we got?” She hadn’t had occasion to look in that section of the hastily assembled “library.”
“This was given me. I wash my hands…and Zane’s feet…” he added pointing to the oily smears now marking the child’s bare feet.
• • •
ONCE ZANE WAS IN BED, SHE TOOK, NOT THE book, but a pad and pencil and wrote out the alphabet in upper and lower case, as large as she could lengthwise across the page.
“But I brought the book to read…” he said, pulling it toward him with now clean hands.
“First you must know the…squiggles that spell the words we use. Too bad we didn’t have a book on English for second-language speakers…although come to think of it, that wouldn’t do you much good. Now, this is the first letter of the alphabet…‘ay.’ Which can also be pronounced ‘ah’…just to confuse you. It is a vowel. B, which is usually just ‘bee’ is the second letter and a consonant.”
He had repeated “vowel” and now spoke “consonant.” Zainal had no trouble committing the sequence of the alphabet to memory—nor of naming any of them when Kris drilled him. His concentration was incredible. He kept her going until even such words as “Spot” and “Jane” were blurring her eyes. He had also read through the book nine times and had it memorized.
“No Spot and Jane on the computers,” he said.
“We’ll work on computer language tomorrow,” she said, rising stiffly from the chair in which his need to learn had pinned her for hours. She yawned.
“I work more now,” he said, looking at her expectantly.
“Okay, see how many words you already know that rhyme with Spot…like dot, and tot, and Scott…or with Jane, like mane…no not drain…ah, try run, fun, gun, stun…”
“Oh,” he said, delighted at such an exercise.
She went to bed. When Zane woke her in false dark, hungry, Zainal had filled pages of similarly sounding words, not all of which were spelled properly but she had to give him an A for effort. Spelling would come later. What did astonish her as she fed Zane by candlelight was the computer manual she found under a pile of his laboriously hand-printed sheets. He had underlined all the un-words…ctrl, del, esc, Pgdn, Pgup, num, menu.
“He can’t have read the manual,” she murmured and smothered a laugh. “He may be one of the few who ever did before they turned on a computer.”
She and Zane had gone back to sleep again before full daylight and, by then, Zainal had gone off to work. In a neat pile on the mantel he had left all but the primer. Doubtless that had gone back to the library shelves for something more challenging. The manual was still there but then, there had been plenty of those in the packing cases they’d brought back from the marketplace at Barevi. But why this sudden need to understand computers…ah, yes. It probably had something to do with Zainal’s master plan. Maybe it was plans since he intended not only to free Earth but destroy the Eosi and release Catten from slavery. Did he also plan to use the mind stimulator on everyone? To equalize the Catten race? Oops, she sort of thought that might be a bad idea. Zainal was a most unusual Catteni. Still, there might well be similarly motivated Emassi among those whom he was going to enlist to help. But the Drassi…and the Rassi…though she despised herself for generalizing…were different: especially sinc
e they were such big people with lots of muscles and not much common sense.
She had an early shift this morning so she and Zane started off in the fresh morning air to the day care center. He was crawling around everywhere, even trying to climb, and spent more time falling down. But she let him fall…and let him get up. He rarely hurt himself. On the advice of other mothers, she had put extra padding on the knees of his trousers, saving him scratches if not bruises. Actually, Kris thought, Botany’s new generation was generally sturdy and few mothers had the time to pamper their children. With the notable exception of Janet and Anna Bollinger. Their kids, however, had enough rough and tumble at the day care center to have developed allergies to maternal fussiness.
No television, no Coke, or chocolate—though sometimes Kris’ craving for a chocolate bar was almost overwhelming—was all to the good. She did miss caffeine and, while the experiments with beer and other spiritous liquors had been successful, there was as yet no tobacco substitute. As soon as the children were able, they were put to little tasks and chores that would make them as self-sufficient as their parents had learned to be.
Raisha Simonova was checking in the children at the day care center this morning. Zane toddled firmly off to the room that catered to his age group. One of the Deski children, Fil, was on its way (gender in Deskis developed later) so he waited for Fil. Another plus for Botany—no racism. Well, not to fret over, because the few who had trouble assimilating with the Rugarians and Deskis were gradually losing their sense of Human superiority: difficult to maintain when a Deski walked up a wall to carry slates to the roof. Or a Rugarian easily hefted weights that took two or three Humans to manage. Both races were also becoming more and more fluent in English, though they had trouble with past tenses of verbs. Who didn’t? And a good couple of dozen Humans were attempting to master their languages.
Almost, Kris thought, as she stopped by the library to pick up the day’s reading, it would be a shame to have to open Botany up. It could easily ruin the harmony that had been achieved. And yet…
All three of her charges were sitting in their bedside chairs, an aura of anticipation about them.
“They know to the minute when you’re due, Kris,” Mavis Belton said.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“You don’t know how good,” Mavis said with a deep sigh, slightly turning her head toward one of the “difficult wards” where the worst of the Victims were kept.
“Good morning, Marjorie,” Kris began, initiating her morning routine by touching the arm of each in turn, “Good morning, Peggy. Good morning, Sophie.”
“Why do you call me Sophie? That’s my middle name. My Christian name is Norma,” the woman said with a hint of petulance. “Norma Sophie Barrow. Miss Barrow.”
“I do apologize, Miss Barrow,” Kris said sincerely, holding her hand now for the woman to shake. “I’m Kris Bjornsen, the nurse’s aide.”
“Of course, you are. We’ve been expecting you,” Miss Barrow said almost tartly. “Aren’t we?”
Marjorie and Peggy nodded.
“In that case, let us walk up to the dining hall,” Kris said.
Behind the newly restored Miss Barrow, Mavis was almost in tears with joy at the breakthrough. It was a very mixed blessing. Miss Barrow was stunned to find herself in such rural, primitive surroundings.
“Rustic, I should say,” she remarked as they entered the log-built main hall. “I would certainly never take my vacation in such a setting.” She wanted coffee and refused to drink the herbal tea which was all that was served. She wanted white bread toast and butter and did not like the berry preserve, which did service as a spread. Nor would she eat the hot oatmeal. Porridge was for children or invalids. She wanted an egg, boiled, three minutes.
Although Marjorie and Peggy were hungry enough to eat what Kris served them, they began to falter as Miss Barrow’s complaints jarred their own memories of breakfasts or homes or what they had once been accustomed to.
Just as Kris was beginning to think she wouldn’t be able to cope with this sort of insurrection, Dorothy Dwardie slid in beside Miss Barrow.
“I am so glad to see you looking so well, today, Miss Barrow.”
Miss Barrow recoiled from Dorothy, a hint of fear contorting her features.
“Surely, you remember me, Doctor Dwardie?”
“Doctor?” Miss Barrow was only slightly reassured while Kris admired the friendly but not intimate tone Dorothy used.
“Yes, Doctor Dwardie, I’m in charge of your case.”
“I’ve not been well?” As Miss Barrow’s fragile hand went to her chest and her expression became even more confused, Dorothy nodded, still smiling with great reassurance.
“Yes, but nothing life-threatening, I’m happy to report. The tests have all come back negative. You may not remember things in the detail you used to but we’re positive that you will make a complete recovery.”
“I was working very hard,” Miss Barrow said, running one nervous finger along the edge of the table and watching its progress, “the merger, you know.”
“Yes, exactly, the merger. One of the elements of your convalescence has actually been a change of diet to a very bland one. A change to flush the toxins of fatigue out of your system. If you just look at Marjorie and Peggy, you’ll see how healthy and fine they are. And you’re very much improved.”
“Toxins…yes, there were toxins,” Miss Barrow said. “Some of them…” She closed her lips and gave a weak smile. “I’m not allowed to talk about my work, you understand.”
“Yes, yes, Miss Barrow, we do. Miss Bjornsen is the soul of discretion but as I have a top security clearance, perhaps if we had a quiet little chat in my office, I could relieve your mind, and we can figure out just what other therapy will speed your recovery.”
Gently Dorothy got Miss Barrow to her feet and led her out of the dining room and toward her putative office.
“She’ll be all right, won’t she?” Marjorie said, her eyes wide with fright. It was also the first time Marjorie had said more than yes, no, and maybe. Peggy stared from one to another and then back to Kris for reassurance.
“She’ll be fine,” Kris said firmly, smiling and nodding her head. “But I think we’d better finish our breakfasts. Then we’ll find a quiet spot for me to finish reading Pride and Prejudice.”
“I read that once,” Peggy said in a vague tone, frowning slightly.
“I like Kris reading,” Marjorie said.
“Why, thank you, Marjorie.”
“You know you don’t have to be so formal, Kris. I don’t mind if you call me Marge like everyone else.”
Then she grimaced, looking down at the table and, with furtive glances, gradually looked around the room. Peggy, however, held up her cup for more tea, which Kris instantly supplied.
“Some of your friends aren’t here with you, Marge,” Kris said, thinking some explanation should be offered before Marjorie’s returning awareness caused her dismay.
“They aren’t?”
“More tea?” Kris offered and Marge shook her head.
“Doesn’t really taste like tea to me.”
“It’s part of the bland diet to reduce the dose of toxicity you had,” Kris said.
“But you’re drinking it, too. Did you get a dose?”
“No,” Kris replied, “but we aides thought it wasn’t fair for us to drink something you aren’t yet allowed.”
“Oh!” Marge accepted that.
Kris tried not to wonder what else would happen today or who would have a breakthrough but the rest of her eight-hour shift went without any further incident, other than Marge making comments about beautiful scenery and the lovely fresh air. Peggy said nothing more and seemed to be deep in her own thoughts. And Kris certainly hoped she was having some. She got her two charges back for their afternoon nap and, for once, they lay down in their beds immediately and were asleep in moments.
Mavis beckoned her into the nurse’s office.
“
That Miss Barrow’s a pisswhistler,” she murmured in rather unprofessional language. “And that’s exactly what brought her around.”
“How so?”
“She ran a huge lab for Erkind Pharmaceuticals and everything, but everything had to be precisely in place and exactly done.”
“Oh! And suddenly her neurones meshed and nothing here was as it should be in her neat little mind?”
“Exactly.”
“Has she realized where she is now?”
Mavis cocked her. “She’s fighting it but with every twitch of disagreement, she’s remembering more. She’s more than halfway back to sanity.”
Kris grimaced. “If precision and order are her sort of sanity, she could be a real pain in the arse.”
Mavis shook her head this time. “No, we’ll let her manage our lab when she’s fully recovered. It’ll be the envy of…” Then Mavis giggled. “We couldn’t actually ask for someone with a better background.”
Kris thought of Leon Dane, of Thor Mayock’s hooch, and the easy, if effective, way the hospital facilities had been run, and wondered.
“You’ll see,” Mavis said. “How’re the other two?”
“Some speech from Marge…she prefers that…and one sentence from Peggy but that one’s been thinking hard all day long.”
“Good,” and Mavis made notes on the day pad. “We’ll see if we can improve on your start. You’re mid-shift tomorrow?”
Kris nodded and then another group returned to the dormitory and Mavis went to help settle them for their rest.
• • •
ON HER WAY TO COLLECT ZANE, SHE WONDERED just how the prim and proper Miss Barrow would view the Deski and Rugarians with whom they shared the planet. And how she could react to Zainal’s presence when she saw him. Once the Victims started being people again, they would have to see, and become accustomed to, the one Catteni since he was the one who had organized their rescue.
Zane was having a late nap and Kris looked rather enviously at all the small bodies, all curled up under their blankets on the mats that had been woven for the purpose.
“Go grab some zzz’s yourself,” murmured Sheila, who was in charge. She was also working on a detailed map of the eastern coast of this continent, from measurements Kris’ exploratory team had brought back. “I’ll never get used to the long days here. Not to mention the long nights. I’ll wake you when Zane’s up. I allus say, leave sleeping dogs and chilluns lie.”
Freedom's Challenge Page 4
