Anna To The Infinite Power

by Mildred Ames

  He felt the need to explain. “I figured she’d be finishing up by now, so I thought I’d walk home with her.”

  “Of course,” Michaela said.

  He followed her inside the door to find Anna hurrying toward him. “Come on, Rowan,” she said. “I’m all through.” Without a word to Michaela, Anna grabbed his hand and pulled him after her. About all he could do was wave a stunned good-bye.

  As they headed through the park, he pulled free of Anna, feeling thoroughly irritated with her. “Why the big hurry?”

  ‘“Is she still looking at us?”

  He gave a quick glance behind. “No, she’s gone inside.”

  “Rowan, I’ve got to talk to you.” She looked more disturbed than he had ever seen her, looked as if she had suddenly come to some important decision that had been hard for her to make. “I’ve just got to talk to somebody.”

  “Why not Mom?” he asked guardedly. “Or Dad?” He had never shared confidences with Anna, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to start now. Besides, ever since he’d found out about her origin, he’d felt a little uncomfortable around her. What’s more, he was now annoyed with her for cheating him out of a visit with Michaela.

  “Mom wouldn’t understand something like this. Neither would Dad. I’m not sure you will either, but I’ve just got to tell someone or I’ll go crazy. Maybe I have already.”

  That scared him. He remembered what his mother had said about how no one was sure of what would happen to the clones in puberty, the critical time of the experiment. He eyed her for some evidence of change. She might be a little taller, he thought, but that didn’t mean anything. At her age, she should be growing. Her hair looked about the same, blond and curly. The expression in her eyes seemed softer. Feeling disturbed could account for that. And for looking unusually pale. “I’m glad to hear you’ve decided to call them Mom and Dad.”

  “Oh, that -- Well, it just feels weird calling them anything else. After all, they’re the only mother and father I’ve ever known.” She added in a small voice, “Or ever will, I guess.”

  Surprised at how sensible she sounded, he studied her again. She seemed unaware of his scrutiny as she pointed to a bench that sat behind tall bushes. “Let’s sit here where she can’t see us.”

  “She? Michaela? Why do you care if she sees us?”

  “I just do.” Anna placed her carryall on the bench and sat down. When Rowan settled himself and his violin case beside her, she showed him her wrist. “Look what she did to me.”

  “What’s all that?” he asked as he examined the spots. When she told him, he spit on a finger and rubbed it over one of the lead marks. It disappeared. “It’s only a pencil mark. You act as if she’d drawn blood. It’s not too unusual for teachers to use that method to get you to hold your hands the right way.”

  “But she hurt me! My back is still sore from where she kept hitting me.” She told him again about the exercises, the jabbing, the pricking.

  He remembered how Michaela had warned him that she was going to use shock treatment. And he trusted her. If she was using a harsh training method, it was obviously to shake Anna out of her complacency, to make her feel something, even physical hurt. “She was only trying to help you.”

  “Oh, I knew you wouldn’t understand. I knew you’d stick up for her.”

  “For God’s sake, is that all you wanted to tell me?” Angry, he grabbed his violin case and started to get up.

  She clutched his jacket, pulled him back, and said urgently, “No, no. That’s not it.”

  Already, he chided himself, he was forgetting his talk with Michaela, forgetting all that kindness and understanding he was supposed to show. In a softer voice, he said, “What is it?”

  “It’s about a piece of music I heard.”

  That didn’t sound terribly important. “What music and where did you hear it?”

  “It’s a tune on a music box.” She lowered her eyes. “A music box I just bought.”

  What was she hiding? It occurred to him now that Anna, the human computer, should be drawn to music boxes. Someplace he’d read that the invention of the music box led to the invention of the computer. Very fitting, he thought.

  “I just don’t know what to think of this, Rowan,” Anna said, and went on to relate her nightmare. With every word he could tell she was living again the experience of the child in the dream. Was that what had made her behave so strangely all week? He wondered again if she could be somehow chemically disintegrating. Or had the knowledge that she was a clone somehow unhinged her? For the first time, he began to feel sorry for her.

  Anna said, “The place must have been a concentration camp.”

  “What would you know about concentration camps?”

  “That’s just it, it’s such ancient history that I haven’t even read much about them. I really shouldn’t know anything, but I seem to.”

  “Anna, it was only a dream.”

  “That’s what I told myself at first. I’d read something about Anna Zimmerman and her parents. I had to use someone else’s INAFT to get the information.”

  “You read that her mother and father died in a concentration camp.”

  She started. “How did you know?”

  “The same way you did. I figured out we’d never get the information from our machine, so I borrowed the use of someone else’s. You’re not the only one who’s curious, you know. Look, Anna, you read about the woman and you had a dream in which you imagined yourself in a concentration camp. That’s all there is to it. You knew her mother’s first name because it was in one of the articles. You shouldn’t let a dream upset you all this time.”

  “But that’s not all there is to it. I knew the name of that music, knew it in my dream. And it was the right name. Michaela said so, and she said a woman composed it.”

  “Michaela? You didn’t tell her about this, did you?”

  100

  “Of course not.”

  “Then how did she know about the music?”

  “I -- ” Anna looked at a loss. Finally she said, “It was her music box. I asked her today what it played.”

  “I don’t understand. Why did you tell me you bought it? And if it’s hers, how did you happen to have it?”

  She avoided his eyes. “She lent it to me.”

  In spite of his good intentions, Rowan was getting mad. I knew she was hiding something, he thought. Same old Anna. “You mean you stole it from her. That’s how you happened to have it.”

  “No, I didn’t -- I didn’t.”

  “Anna, when we get home, I’m going to call Michaela.”

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly, “don’t do that. I didn’t steal it, Rowan, really. I just borrowed it to hear it play. I meant to give it back.”

  His dark eyes fixed her with a glance so scornful he could almost see her wither. “Anna, it’s very simple for me to find out the truth. All I have to do is ask Michaela.”

  “But I told you -- ” She broke off. Then sounding too weary to even bother pretending, she said, “You don’t have to ask her. I took it.”

  She was full of surprises today. He had expected to hear her brazen it through to the bitter end, the way she usually did. “Why do you do things like that?”

  She stared at the ground without answering. “Anna, you’ve got to promise me you’ll give it back.”

  “How can I do that? What would I tell her?”

  “You’ll tell her the truth. And you’ll tell her you’re sorry. And what’s more, you’ll do it right now and in front of me, because I don’t trust you.”

  For a moment he was almost afraid she was going to cry. He should have known better, though. It would take more than that to make Anna cry. Instead, she chewed on a sore-looking spot on her lip. At length she said, “All right. I’ll give it back. But why do you have to be so mean to me? First, it was her. Now it’s you. You’re both trying to torture me, and I don’t know why.”

  “Oh, stop being so melodramatic.”

  “I w
ant to talk to you, and you won’t even listen.”

  “Oh, I listened all right.”

  “I thought I could tell you how I felt.”

  “I don’t think you have any feelings.”

  Anna got up and picked up her carryall. “I don’t know why I ever thought I could tell you. You can’t talk to someone who hates you.” She turned away from him and started across the park.

  He sprang to his feet, grabbed his violin case, and followed. “Now, just a minute. I never said anything about hating you.”

  “But you do.”

  “Now don’t you put words in my mouth! I don’t hate you or anyone else. There’s no point in hating people. It would only use up the energy I need for music.”

  “Well, you don’t like me. Else you would have listened.”

  “I listened. I’m listening now. What do you want to tell me?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t now.”

  He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. She was making him feel guilty, and that made him even madder. “Damn it, Anna, if you want to tell me something, tell me!” To his astonishment, he saw tears glint in her eyes. He could never remember seeing Anna cry. Now he felt thoroughly miserable. Where was all the kindness he was supposed to be showing? “What is it?” he said more gently.

  In an anguished voice, she said, “Oh Rowan, I don’t know who I am. I don’t even know if there is any me.” The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “Help me.”

  13

  The moment Michaela opened her door, Anna thrust the music box toward her and, for Rowan’s benefit, said, “I was the one who took it.”

  “I know, Anna.” Michaela calmly accepted her property. “I’m glad you saw fit to return it.”

  Anna felt Rowan poke her arm and knew what he wanted from her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I took it, but I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I dropped it and chipped it.” She was only mouthing the words. The truth was she felt nothing except relief. She was appeasing Rowan and getting rid of the music that had caused her so much pain.

  As Michaela examined the damage, Anna glanced at Rowan to see if her apology had satisfied him. His eyes, dark and brooding, were fixed on Michaela. “I’m really sorry this happened -- awfully sorry,” he said.

  The intensity in his voice struck a chord someplace deep inside Anna and evoked an unfamiliar emotion, guilt. Not because she regretted taking something that didn’t belong to her, but because she realized she had shamed Rowan. He was apologizing for what she had done, and the act was obviously more painful for him than for her. All the guilt and shame she should have felt for her crime surfaced now because of him, because he could feel what she could not. And yet, she was feeling it anyhow, feeling it through him. As she thought about it, she was suddenly aware that Michaela’s eyes were resting on her speculatively.

  To Anna’s surprise, Michaela said, “I think we’ll say no more about the matter.” Then she gave Rowan one of her dazzling smiles. “The case of the missing music box is closed.”

  As if the seriousness of the occasion would not allow him to return her smile, he stared at her solemnly and murmured, “Thank you.”

  Again Anna felt a pang of guilt for placing him in a spot that embarrassed him so deeply. As soon as Michaela’s door closed behind them, Anna, her voice almost a whisper, said, “I’m sorry, Rowan.” This time she meant the words.

  “I hope you realize how big it was of Michaela to let you off so easily.”

  They walked on in silence. At length Anna said, “I won’t do it again.”

  “Do what? Take Michaela’s music box?”

  “Take anything.”

  “Anna, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Anna opened her mouth to say that, of course, she could keep any promise she chose to make, then stopped herself. Rowan obviously believed she couldn’t control her actions. Was he right? No, he couldn’t be. She had always taken what she wanted on impulse, because she could see no good reason for not doing so. Now Rowan was giving her a reason. It had nothing to do with morals or ethics. She simply felt a need to prove to herself and to him that she could, indeed, control her actions. “Rowan, I mean it.”

  “I’ve heard that one before.”

  He had no reason to believe her, she had to admit. She’d said the same thing every time she’d been caught. And what if he was right? What if this was the kind of promise she couldn’t keep? She pondered for a time, then said, “Rowan, what I mean is I’m going to try -- hard.”

  “Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before.” He smiled wryly. “Come on now. Let’s step it up if we’re going to get this trip to the library over. I want to get home and put in some practice.”

  Anna had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. She felt that he had volunteered to help her only because her tears had made him uncomfortable. It had been his idea to try the library for evidence that would prove her dream came purely from her imagination. They both knew they would get no help from their INAFT machine.

  After they left Michaela’s, they caught the people- mover. Along the way Anna had time to think about what a relief it was to have someone with whom to share what, for her, had become a staggering burden.

  The Apollo Complex was an entity that left little need for its residents to venture into the world outside. Formed like the shape of a wheel, its hub was a domed business and shopping district, the spokes rows of apartments, public buildings, and offices with park strips between.

  When Rowan and Anna reached the library, they headed for the reference desk. Because they had always used their INAFT machine for any research they had to do for school and their school libraries for books, neither was overly familiar with the book section of the building. Rowan did know the audiovisual department, though, because he often checked out their musical tapes. Now he told the librarian what they wanted and in a short time he and Anna had a stack of books to go through, everything the library had to offer that even touched on Nazi concentration camps.

  When they’d settled themselves at a table, he said to Anna, “You take half and I’ll take half.”

  “I’d rather you did it.”

  That annoyed him because he wanted to save time. He was eager to be home and at practice. Still, he’d felt really sorry for Anna when she’d cried. It always broke him up to see anyone cry. And, in Anna’s case, he never dreamed she had that much sensitivity. He’d almost hated forcing her to take back the music box, but there was no choice. Now he decided the least he could do was show her a little of the kindness and understanding Michaela thought so important.

  He began on the first book, showing her every photo he came across that was taken inside a camp. She glanced at all of them with no sign of recognition, just as he’d guessed she would. One after another, he riffled through the books, looking for the somewhat rare photographs. She studied each and shook her head. You see, he wanted to say, I told you so. He was growing impatient and there was still a huge pile of books to check.

  He opened the next one to the first picture and flashed it briefly in front of her. Before he could pull it away, she grabbed the book and pulled it closer, her eyes riveted to the page. He glanced at the photo with her. The caption said it was the main gate to the Nazi concentration camp at Auschwitz.

  “Freedom Through Work,” Anna said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She pointed to big letters emblazoned above the gate. “That’s what it says.”

  “Anna, you can’t know what it says. That’s German. You’ve never studied German.” She looked bewildered. He took the book from her and began reading the text on the page facing the photograph. There was nothing there that bore out Anna’s translation of the sign. He turned the page and the words hopped out at him. Anna was right. “That’s what the words say, all right,” he said, puzzled but still unruffled. “I don’t know how you knew, but there has to be an explanation. You’ve probably read about it someplace.”

 
“I don’t think so.”

  She looked frightened, he thought. He noticed that the whole book was about Auschwitz and Birkenau, the women’s camp. He turned pages until he came to another photo. Feeling uneasy now, he held it up to her. The noise that issued from her throat chilled him.

  She looked up at him and said, “That’s the unloading ramp. They brought in the prisoners and turned them out there.” She pointed to the large groups of people. “You see, the commandant has just made a selection. That’s why some of the people are standing on one side and some on the other. Behind them is the building that Mama disappeared into. You can’t see the chimneys in this picture.”

  Hearing her call a strange woman Mama gave him a peculiar feeling. He moved to take the book from her, but she pushed him away, then began to read the text. She read on and on and when she finished, closed the book and laid it on the table. She said quietly, “The building Mama went into was the one where they prepared people for the gas chamber. The chimneys were crematoriums. After they gassed the people, they burned them. That’s what smelled so bad.”

  She stared into space, her eyes focusing on a world he couldn’t see, then she turned to him and in a choked voice said, “Oh, Rowan, they killed Mama. They killed all those people. And the chimneys smoked day and night.”

  For the second time that day, her eyes were brimming. He just didn’t think he could bear it if she started crying again. Whatever was happening to Anna was beyond his understanding, and that frightened him. Awkwardly, he patted her hand and said, “Try not to think about it. Maybe if you go to the restroom and splash some cold water on your face, you’ll feel better.”

  She nodded, dabbed at her eyes, and got up. He watched her head for the lobby, and wished she had never shared her strange experience with him. What was he to make of it anyhow? It had to be some kind of fantasy. Had to be. Music that could throw someone back in time and into the shoes of someone else? Impossible.

  Rowan remembered that she’d said the piece was called Reverie and that it had been written by a woman. On the off chance that someone had recorded it, he quickly made his way to the audiovisual department. He searched through the microfilm that listed every tape currently available. Several had that same title, but only one interested him. The composer’s name was Clara Muller. He seemed to recall that there was a Clara in Anna’s dream.