Brain Child

by Andrew Neiderman

  “It won’t help.”

  “Yes, it will.”

  Dorothy stared at her for a few moments. Then she nodded softly.

  “Why don’t you go lie down in my room, Mother? Take a short nap. You won’t hear his gong so much if you lie down in my room. I only hear it because I’m listening for it.”

  “Yes, maybe I will. You’re so strong, Lois, so strong. I guess that’s a good quality after all. I didn’t think so, but I see now that it is.”

  “That’s OK, Mother; I knew eventually you would.”

  Dorothy got up, steadying herself on Lois’s shoulder for a moment.

  “I’ll just take a little nap. Wake me and I’ll help with supper.”

  “It’s all arranged. Don’t worry about it.” Lois watched her walk out. Then she got up and went into the study. The large piece of oaktag paper was spread on the desk. She looked down at it. Satisfied it was done the way she wanted it done, she took the tacks out of the desk drawer, picked up the oaktag, and went upstairs. Just outside her father’s bedroom door, she pinned the chart up. Then she took out her marker and her notepad. Carefully she transferred the information onto the chart. When that was completed, she stepped back to admire her work. Billy’s shouting interrupted her.

  “What is it?”

  “I got one. I got one,” he said, proudly displaying the trap. A rather large field mouse sniffed at the bars. “So fast.”

  “Good. I knew that was a good spot.”

  “Where should I put it, Lois? In the study like you said?”

  “No.” She walked down a full step. “No, take it quietly, very quietly, and set it just inside the door of my room. But make no noise,” she warned. “Mommy’s gone in there to take a nap.”

  “She has?”

  “Just set it down quietly and leave,” she repeated. Billy nodded and practically tiptoed down the hallway.

  The sound of the gong turned Lois’s attention back to her father’s room.

  As soon as Kevin McShane entered his classroom, he searched the group of faces for Lois Wilson. She had missed the last two sessions, and he wondered if that meant some major problems at home. Perhaps Mrs. Wilson had suffered the emotional breakdown Lois had been predicting. He wondered just how much Lois had helped to prevent it.

  “Maybe she’s finally becoming a typical high-school or college kid, Kevin, and decided to cut your class to do something that’s more fun,” Sherry told him when he mentioned Lois’s absences.

  “No, it can’t be that. She’s so self-motivated, and the subjects: Mass Media and the Public Mind, Peer Pressure as a Force for Good and for Evil—they were right down her alley. It’s hard to believe she would deliberately miss them.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t call her up.”

  “I thought about it.”

  “Oh, that’s ridiculous.”

  “No, something’s cooking over there. She suggested to me that her mother was in a bad way and getting worse and worse.”

  “Why shouldn’t she with a daughter like that? Don’t be surprised if the kid’s half responsible for her mother’s problems too.”

  “What do you mean, ‘too’?”

  “Did I say ‘too’? Funny, when I think of her and the situation at that home the way you described it to me, I somehow see her as to blame. It’s not like me to be so—so suspicious.”

  He laughed, but he couldn’t put Lois out of his mind. So when he entered his class and saw her in her usual front seat, he felt relieved. She gave him a quick glance of hello and opened her notebook. Only auditing the course, and yet she was ready to get down to business. He looked over the other students: some still half asleep, others wearing totally uninterested expressions.

  Afterward, he called her aside. The rest of the class emptied out as quickly as usual, some of the students practically running over others in their haste. Well, it was summer and a beautiful day. He could sympathize somewhat.

  “Missed you. Thought you might have dropped out.”

  “No, I’ve just been busy. But I’ve done all the reading.”

  “Things working out at home?”

  “To a certain extent. It’s hard on all of us, but I’d have to agree with the doctors: the home environment has got to be more conducive to recuperation.”

  “Oh, no question. I gave you that piece about prisoner home privileges, didn’t I?”

  “Yes. I agree. The reinforcement using a tangible stimulus has got to be stronger motivation.”

  They both started out and down the corridor. He noticed that she was wearing her hair differently. She had let it grow longer but kept it tied back tightly. Her complexion was even paler than usual and her eyes were glassy.

  “You look tired, if I might say so. Keeping late hours?”

  “Trying to do a lot. I’m developing a project that I think might just be of some significance.”

  “Oh?”

  “And of course my mother is getting to be less and less of a help and more and more of a burden.”

  “I’m sorry. She did seem quite overwrought the day I met her at your graduation.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. She’s not eating right; she’s drinking too much. The worst part of it is that she is withdrawing, becoming more and more introverted. She’s closing up into a tight fist,” she added, demonstrating with her right hand.

  “You don’t have any other relatives in the area?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps you should think of professional assistance.”

  “No, I’m capable of handling it. The therapist has shown us what to do.”

  “Don’t take on too much.”

  “It’s just for the summer.”

  They stopped at the head of the stairs. He half expected her to turn with him toward his office, but she was obviously on her way out.

  “If there’s anything I can do …” He stopped, not even sure why he had made such a suggestion. Surely if the family didn’t have relatives nearby, they had close friends.

  “You know that point you were making when you spoke of television figuratively as a drug …”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I agree; and, you know, it gave me an idea, something that will help me with my project.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “It’s too complicated to discuss right now, but you’ll read about it,” she added, moving down the stairs quickly. He watched her exit through the front door and walk hurriedly down the sidewalk.

  She was going to use television like a drug in her project? What could she be doing? He thought about it as he walked on to his office. His curiosity had been very much aroused, and despite his determination to finish grading some student extracts he had assigned and collected, he found himself continually stopping to think about her statements.

  He couldn’t help but think about that gloomy house as well, situated off the road with those overpowering weeping willow trees casting it in shadows. Her little brother’s face came back to him too, and the way her mother was gripping his hand so fiercely that day.

  Into that environment Lois’s father had been deposited—a man helplessly dependent on the services of an obviously high-strung, somewhat neurotic woman—and Lois. He got chills just thinking about it. It made him even more grateful than ever for his own good health.

  He looked at one of the extracts again, but his mind kept wandering and he read the same lines over and over before he understood them. This was ridiculous. He was better off just putting the papers away and coming back to them later on in the evening. He chastised himself for having such poor concentration. He didn’t want to bring this work home. Now he would have to. He put the papers back into his briefcase, shut off the desk lamp, and started out of the office. He saw Sherry crossing the campus and chided himself for forgetting they had the same hours today. He ran to catch up.

  “You look worried.”

  “Something Lois Wilson just said.”

  “Oh, not Madam Test Tube agai
n. What did she say this time?”

  “Something about using television as a drug … part of her project. She was working on a paper about obedience, and I keep thinking about her little brother. He looked so timid, so subdued.”

  “Wouldn’t you be with a sister like that? Maybe she’s trying to turn him into a robot.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “That’s been your problem from the start. That girl has no sense of humor, and now you’re losing yours. She’s making you more like her every day.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Why worry about it? She has a mother.”

  “I told you what she’s like.”

  “Other people go there, I’m sure. What about the doctor or therapist?”

  “After early instruction, they leave therapy to the family for a time.”

  “Are you saying that family is isolated, invalid and all?”

  “I don’t know. I get that impression. I do know this: if for no other reason than just to satisfy my own curiosity, I’m going to pay a visit to the Wilsons. Somehow, some way, on some pretense, I’m going into that house.”

  “Dum, de-dum dum,” Sherry sang and put her arm through his. He welcomed her closeness.

  14

  “Hurry,” Billy said, meeting Lois at the door. “Mommy broke the dishwasher. It’s leaking all over the kitchen floor. Hurry,” he repeated as Lois continued at a normal pace. “It’s going all over the place.” He ran on ahead of her.

  When she entered the kitchen, she found her mother on her hands and knees. There was a small pile of soaked bath towels next to her and she was dipping another one into a puddle that extended nearly to the middle of the floor.

  Dorothy was, as usual, dressed in one of her housecoats; it was only on a rare occasion now that she got dressed up, or even put on an ordinary skirt and blouse. Her hair hung down the sides of her head in thick, greasy-looking strands. She wore no slippers and the bottoms of her feet were black with grime and dust.

  “What happened?” Lois remained in the doorway, her hands on her hips. Dorothy continued to dip the bath towel into the water, moving in a slow, lethargic motion. She seemed hypnotized by the activity and hadn’t heard Lois’s question. “Mother, what’s going on?”

  Dorothy turned. She was smiling weakly; her eyes were glassy, and she didn’t look directly at Lois. It was as though she were blind and could only turn toward the sound.

  “Lois, I think something happened with the dishwasher.”

  She’s into the Seconal on her own, Lois thought. She had started her with them as a sleeping pill, but now she was using them as a tranquilizer. The Valium had become insufficient. Her body had built a tolerance for it.

  “Obviously. So why don’t you shut it off? As long as it runs, it leaks,” she said and turned the control.

  “Oh. I didn’t think of that. We’ll need a plumber now,” she said, dropping the saturated towel onto the pile beside her. “Your father used to do all these minor repairs,” she added, sitting back on her own legs.

  “Maybe I can fix it,” Billy said. He got down on his knees and opened the cabinet door.

  “Now your pants are all wet,” Dorothy said and added a short, empty laugh.

  “Come on, Mother,” Lois said, scooping her under the left arm and lifting. “You’d better take a rest.”

  Dorothy cooperated enough to get to her feet. Still dazed, she looked around and shook her head. Lois squeezed her upper arm to get her to turn toward the door.

  “I just hate it when things go wrong in the house. I always hated it. Your father was so good at keeping those kinds of things unknown to me.”

  “Well, he’s unable to do that now. You’re going to have to face up to that.”

  “I don’t want to face up to that,” Dorothy said in a little girl’s voice. Lois nearly laughed.

  “Then stay in your room, Mother. Maybe that’s better for you for a while anyway. I’ll bring one of the television sets up there. I don’t need the one in my room, and the cable connection is in the wall.”

  “Yes, that would be nice.” She stopped at the foot of the stairs. “I’m so tired; I don’t even think I can make these steps.”

  “You can make them. C’mon. You’ll rest, and I’ll send Billy up with your supper later.”

  “That’s nice of you, dear. So nice of you. You’re really a considerate girl,” she said, moving up the stairs now. “I wish we’d gotten along better. I know it’s partly my fault, but I try. I try to understand your animals and your projects.” She stopped and leaned toward Lois. The aroma of the morning’s booze still lingered on Dorothy’s lips. “But I’m not as smart as you and your father.”

  “That’s all right. C’mon, keep walking.”

  When they got to the top of the stairs, Dorothy stopped again. She swayed a little and then steadied herself against the wall. Lois watched her without saying anything. Dorothy wiped her forehead and peered at the wall chart by Gregory Wilson’s door.

  “Why did you do that? I still don’t understand.”

  “It’s to keep track of things Daddy does so we can see if there’s any improvement.”

  “Is there any?”

  “It’s too early to tell. Go lie down, Mother.”

  Dorothy nodded and then walked on toward her bedroom. She stopped but turned only halfway back.

  “Don’t tell your father about the dishwasher,” she whispered. “It’ll only upset him, and it’s not good to upset him in his condition.”

  “Of course I won’t. Don’t worry.”

  “Good girl, good girl,” she said and went into the bedroom. Lois looked toward her father’s bedroom for a few moments and then went downstairs. Billy was struggling with something in the cabinet.

  “I found it, I found it,” he said as she entered. “It was simple. The hose was just disconnected.”

  Lois smiled. “My, but you are mechanically inclined, little brother.”

  He finished and stood up.

  “I wonder how it could get loose like that,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t know.” Lois picked up all the wet towels. “I’ll have to mop this up. Go change your pants and then come back. I need you to help me bring my television set upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “I’m putting it in Mother’s bedroom.”

  “Is she always going to stay in that bedroom?”

  “Not always, but probably for the rest of the summer.”

  “She was acting real funny, Lois. She made me get all those towels.”

  “It’s all right. She’s not feeling well. Later, you’ll take her supper up to her.”

  “She’s not going to get like Daddy, is she?” Lois could see how terrified he was at the thought.

  “No, it’s not that bad. It’ll pass.”

  “You can make it pass, can’t you?” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re helping Daddy; you’ll help her too. Won’t you, Lois?”

  “Of course,” she said. She felt the wetness of the towels penetrate her blouse. That cool, damp feeling brought her back to the moment and she hurried out of the kitchen to get the mop.

  She didn’t turn the field mice randomly loose in the house. She had carefully planned out feeding places so they would return to those spots regularly. It was simply a matter of reinforcement. One of those spots was just outside her mother’s bedroom door. After Dorothy saw the first one, she was terrified of walking out there in the dark. When she saw the cheese, Lois told her it was filled with poison. She was satisfied with the explanation, but the whole affair was just another thing to turn her against the house. Now that she had her own television set and her meals catered for her whenever she wanted them, she began to withdraw even more. Lois rationed out the Seconal, carefully including the narcotic in foods she prepared. The liquor supply was maintained as well.

  The Catskill resort area was well into its summer season, and all of the local business
men had most of their energies taken up with the daily pressures resulting from a swollen population. Everyone knew that Dorothy Wilson had her hands full, and no one expected she would be spending a great deal of time in town. Lois had taken to carrying out all the errands. Most who saw her doing all this complimented her on being such a great help to her family at so obvious a time of need. She thanked them and answered the questions almost automatically:

  “Yes, my mother has her hands full. We’re managing. We still think it’s the best thing we could have done under the circumstances.”

  Some people told her they would stop by as soon as they had a chance. Lois wasn’t encouraging. She always made a point of telling them her mother wasn’t anxious to see people just yet.

  “Caring for my father has taken its toll on her. She’s not up to visitors. You know she’s very self-conscious about her looks.”

  People nodded because they did know that was so. Few of them really intended to pay a visit anyway. They knew it was a depressing scene and they didn’t think Gregory Wilson wanted them gawking in at him in his condition. Summer business was a convenient and logical excuse. They would come as soon as they got a free moment. Lois was satisfied that none of them would, at least until she was finished with her work.

  Some did phone, and when they did get Dorothy to talk to them, she reinforced the impressions Lois had left in the village. She didn’t sound as though she welcomed their interest, and she hardly carried on a conversation. Once someone called and spoke to her, he or she never called again.

  Theirs was a quiet road, even in the summer. Occasionally, they could hear the mumur of voices—tourists taking an after-dinner walk from Rosenfield’s Guest House. Lois kept few lights on. The tourists would look in at the house but continue walking as though the house were a vision from the nether world they would rather ignore.

  So Lois felt little or no threat of discovery. Not that what she was doing had anything but a good connotation for her. It was just that she knew other people, less informed, ignorant people with small vision, would never understand the importance of her work and what such a project could mean to science. Romantic concepts of morality were responsible for the slow progress of science anyway. Imagine the audacity, the gross stupidity, of the people who challenged the work in genetic engineering, for example. No, she just couldn’t permit those people to interfere with her.