The Best From Fantasy and Science Fiction Fifth Series

by Edited by Anthony Boucher

  Startled, he jerked around and saw the forbidding group at the door. With a disappointed cry, as though a loved toy had been snatched from him, he stopped there in midair, his fists clenched. And then, realizing, he screamed, a terrified panic-stricken cry, and slanted sharply upward, trying to escape, and ran full tilt into the corner of the high old map case, sideswiping it with his head, and, reeling backward, fell!

  I tried to catch him. I did! I did! But I caught only one small hand as he plunged down onto the old woodburning heater beneath him. And the crack of his skull against the ornate edge of the cast iron lid was loud in the silence.

  I straightened the crumpled little body carefully, not daring to touch the quiet little head. Mr. Diemus and I looked at each other as we knelt on opposite sides of the child. His lips opened, but I plunged before he could get started.

  "If he dies," I bit my words off viciously, "you killed him!"

  His mouth opened again, mainly from astonishment. "I—" he began.

  "Barging in on my classroom!" I raged. "Interrupting classwork! Frightening my children! It's all your fault, your fault!" I couldn't bear the burden of guilt alone. I just had to have someone share it with me. But the fire died and I smoothed Abie's hand, trembling.

  "Please call a doctor. He might be dying."

  "Nearest one is in Tortura Pass," Mr. Diemus said. "Sixty miles by road."

  "Cross country?" I asked.

  "Two mountain ranges and an alkali plateau."

  "Then—then—" Abie's hand was so still in mine.

  "There's a doctor at the Tumble A Ranch," Joel said faintly. "He's taking a vacation."

  "Go get him." I held Joel with my eyes. "Go as fast as you know how!"

  Joel gulped miserably. "Okay."

  "They'll probably have horses to come back on," I said. "Don't be too obvious."

  "Okay," and he ran out the door. We heard the thud of his running feet until he was halfway across the schoolyard, then silence. Faintly, seconds later, creek gravel crunched below the hill. I could only guess at what he was doing—that he couldn't lift all the way and was going in jumps whose length was beyond all reasonable measuring.

  ~ * ~

  The children had gone home, quietly, anxiously. And after the doctor arrived we had improvised a stretcher and carried Abie to the Peterses' home. I walked along close beside him watching his pinched little face, my hand touching his chest occasionally just to be sure he was still breathing.

  And now—the waiting…

  I looked at my watch again. A minute past the last time I looked. Sixty seconds by the hands, but hours and hours by anxiety.

  "He'll be all right," I whispered, mostly to comfort myself. "The doctor will know what to do."

  Mr. Diemus turned his dark empty eyes to me. "Why did you do it?" he asked. "We almost had it stamped out. We were almost free."

  "Free of what?" I took a deep breath. "Why did you do it? Why did you deny your children their inheritance?"

  "It isn't your concern—"

  "Anything that hampers my children is my concern. Anything that turns children into creeping frightened mice is wrong. Maybe I went at the whole deal the wrong way, but you told me to teach them what I had to—and I did."

  "Disobedience, rebellion, flouting authority—"

  "They obeyed me," I retorted. "They accepted my authority!" Then I softened. "I can't blame them," I confessed. "They were troubled. They told me it was wrong— that they had been taught it was wrong. I argued them into it. But, oh, Mr. Diemus! It took so little argument, such a tiny breach in the dam to loose the flood. They never even questioned my knowledge—any more than you have, Mr. Diemus! All this—this wonder was beating against their minds, fighting to be set free. The rebellion was there long before I came. I didn't incite them to something new. I'll bet there's not a one, except maybe Esther, who hasn't practiced and practiced, furtively and ashamed, the things I permitted—demanded that they do for me.

  "It wasn't fair—not fair at all—to hold them back."

  "You don't understand." Mr. Diemus' face was stony. "You haven't all the facts—"

  "I have enough," I replied. "So you have a frightened memory of an unfortunate period in your history. But what people doesn't have such a memory in larger or lesser degree? That you and your children have it more vividly should have helped, not hindered. You should have been able to figure out ways of adjusting. But leave that for the moment. Take the other side of the picture. What possible thing could all this suppression and denial yield you more precious than what you gave up?"

  "It's the only way," Mr. Diemus said. "We are unacceptable to Earth but we have to stay. We have to conform—"

  "Of course you had to conform," I cried. "Anyone has to when they change societies. At least enough to get them by until others can adjust to them. But to crawl in a hole and pull it in after you! Why, the other Group—"

  "Other Group!" Mr. Diemus whitened, his eyes widening.

  "Other Group? There are others? There are others?" He leaned tensely forward in his chair. "Where? Where?" And his voice broke shrilly on the last word. He closed his eyes and his mouth trembled as he fought for control. The bedroom door opened. Dr. Curtis came out, his shoulders weary.

  He looked from Mr. Diemus to me and back. "He should be in a hospital. There's a depressed fracture and I don't know what all else. Probably extensive brain involvement. We need X rays and—and—" He rubbed his hand slowly over his weary young face. "Frankly, I'm not experienced to handle cases like this. We need specialists. If you can scare up some kind of transportation that won't jostle—" He shook his head, seeing the kind of country that lay between us and anyplace, and went back into the bedroom.

  "He's dying," Mr. Diemus said. "Whether you're right or we're right, he's dying."

  "Wait! Wait!" I said, catching at the tag end of a sudden idea. "Let me think." Urgently I willed myself back through the years to the old dorm room. Intently I listened and listened and remembered.

  "Have you a—a—Sorter in this Group?" I asked, fumbling for unfamiliar terms.

  "No," said Mr. Diemus. "One who could have been, but isn't."

  "Or any Communicator? Anyone who can send or receive?"

  "No," Mr. Diemus said, sweat starting on his forehead. "One who could have been, but—"

  "See?" I accused. "See what you've traded for—for what? Who are the could-but-can'ts? Who are they?"

  "I am," Mr. Diemus said, the words a bitterness in his mouth. "And my wife."

  I stared at him, wondering confusedly. How far did training decide? What could we do with what we had?

  "Look," I said quickly. "There is another Group. And they—they have all the persuasions and designs. Karen's been trying to find you—to find any of the People. She told me—oh, Lord, it's been years ago, I hope it's still so— every evening they send out calls for the People. If we can catch it—if you can catch the call and answer it, they can help. I know they can. Faster than cars, faster than planes, more surely than specialists—"

  "But if the doctor finds out—" Mr. Diemus wavered fearfully.

  I stood up abruptly. "Good night, Mr. Diemus," I said, turning to the door. "Let me know when Abie dies."

  His cold hand shook on my arm.

  "Can't you see!" he cried. "I've been taught, too—longer and stronger than the children! We never even dared think of rebellion! Help me, help me!"

  "Get your wife," I said. "Get her and Abie's mother and father. Bring them down to the grove. We can't do anything here in the house. It's too heavy with denial."

  I hurried on ahead and sank on my knees in the evening shadows among the trees.

  "I don't know what I'm doing," I cried into the bend of my arm. "I have an idea but I don't know! Help us! Guide us!"

  I opened my eyes to the arrival of the four.

  "We told him we were going out to pray," said Mr. Diemus.

  And we all did.

  Then Mr. Diemus began the call I worded for hi
m, silently, but with such intensity that sweat started again on his face. Karen, Karen, come to the People, come to the People. And the other three sat around him bolstering his effort, supporting his cry. I watched their tense faces, my own twisting in sympathy, and time was lost as we labored.

  Then slowly his breathing calmed and his face relaxed and I felt a stirring as though something brushed past my mind. Mrs. Diemus whispered, "He remembers now. He's found the way."

  And as the last spark of sun caught mica highlights on the hilltop above us, Mr. Diemus stretched his hands out slowly and said with infinite relief, "There they are."

  I looked around startled, half expecting to see Karen coming through the trees. But Mr. Diemus spoke again.

  "Karen, we need help. One of our Group is dying. We have a doctor, an Outsider, but he hasn't the equipment or the know-how to help. What shall we do?"

  In the pause that followed I became slowly conscious of a new feeling. I couldn't tell you exactly what it was—a kind of unfolding—an opening—a relaxation. The ugly tight defensiveness that was so characteristic of the grownups of Bendo was slipping away.

  "Yes, Valancy," said Mr. Diemus. "He's in a bad way. We can't help because—" His voice faltered and his words died. I felt a resurgence of fear and unhappiness as his communication went beyond words and then ebbed back to speech again.

  "We'll expect you then. You know the way."

  I could see the pale blur of his face in the dusk under the trees as he turned back to us.

  "They're coming," he said, wonderingly. "Karen and Valancy. They're so pleased to find us—" His voice broke. "We're not alone—"

  And I turned away as the two couples merged in the darkness. I had pushed them somewhere way beyond me.

  It was a lonely, lonely walk back to the house for me— alone.

  ~ * ~

  They dropped down through the half darkness—four of them. For a fleeting second I wondered at myself that I could stand there matter-of-factly watching four adults slant calmly down out of the sky. Not a hair ruffled, not a stain of travel on them, knowing that only a short time before they had been hundreds of miles away—not even aware that Bendo existed.

  But all strangeness was swept away as Karen hugged me delightedly.

  "Oh, Melodye," she cried, "it is you! He said it was, but I wasn't sure! Oh, it's so good to see you again! Who owes who a letter?"

  She laughed and turned to the smiling three. "Valancy, the Old One of our Group." Valancy's radiant face proved the Old One didn't mean age. "Bethie, our Sensitive." The slender fair-haired young girl ducked her head shyly. "And my brother Jemmy. Valancy's his wife."

  "This is Mr. and Mrs. Diemus," I said. "And Mr. and Mrs. Peters, Abie's parents. It's Abie, you know. My second grade." I was suddenly overwhelmed by how long ago and far away school felt. How far I'd gone from my accustomed pattern!

  "What shall we do about the doctor?" I asked. "Will he have to know?"

  "Yes," said Valancy. "We can help him but we can't do the actual work. Can we trust him?"

  I hesitated, remembering the few scanty glimpses I'd had of him. "I—," I began.

  "Pardon me," Karen said. "I wanted to save time. I went in to you. We know now what you know of him. We'll trust Dr. Curtis."

  I felt an eerie creeping up my spine. To have my thoughts taken so casually! Even to the doctor's name!

  Bethie stirred restlessly and looked at Valancy. "He'll be in convulsions soon. We'd better hurry."

  "You're sure you have the knowledge?" Valancy asked.

  "Yes," Bethie murmured. "If I can make the doctor see— if he's willing to follow."

  "Follow what?"

  The heavy tones of the doctor's voice startled us all as he stepped out on the porch.

  I stood aghast at the impossibility of the task ahead of us and looked at Karen and Valancy to see how they would make the doctor understand. They said nothing. They just looked at him. There was a breathless pause. The doctor's startled face caught the glint of light from the open door as he turned to Valancy. He rubbed his hand across his face in bewilderment and, after a moment, turned to me.

  "Do you hear her?"

  "No," I admitted. "She isn't talking to me."

  "Do you know these people?"

  "Oh, yes!" I cried, wishing passionately it were true. "Oh, yes!"

  "And believe them?"

  "Implicitly."

  "But she says that Bethie—who's Bethie?" He glanced around.

  "She is," Karen said, nodding at Bethie.

  "She is?" Dr. Curtis looked intently at the shy lovely face. He shook his head wonderingly and turned back to me.

  "Anyway this one, Valancy, says Bethie can sense every condition in the child's body and that she will be able to tell all the injuries, their location and extent without X rays! Without equipment?"

  "Yes," I said. "If they say so."

  "You would be willing to risk a child's life—?"

  "Yes. They know. They really do." And I swallowed hard to keep down the fist of doubt that clenched in my chest.

  "You believe they can see through flesh and bone?"

  "Maybe not see," I said, wondering at my own words. "But know with a knowledge that is sure and complete." I glanced, startled, at Karen. Her nod was very small but it told me where my words came from.

  "Are you willing to trust these people?" The doctor turned to Abie's parents.

  "They're our People," Mr. Peters said with quiet pride. "I'd operate on him myself with a pickax if they said so."

  "Of all the screwball deals—!" The doctor's hand rubbed across his face again. "I know I needed this vacation, but this is ridiculous!"

  We all listened to the silence of the night and—at least I—to the drumming of anxious pulses until Dr. Curtis sighed heavily.

  "Okay, Valancy. I don't believe a word of it. At least I wouldn't if I were in my right mind, but you've got the terminology down pat as if you knew something—. Well,

  I'll do it. It's either that or let him die. And God have mercy on our souls!"

  ~ * ~

  I couldn't bear the thought of shutting myself in with my own dark fears, so I walked back toward the school, hugging myself in my inadequate coat against the sudden sharp chill of the night. I wandered down to the grove, praying wordlessly, and on up to the school. But I couldn't go in. I shuddered away from the blank glint of the windows and turned back to the grove. There wasn't any more time or direction or light or anything familiar, only a confused cloud of anxiety and a final icy weariness that drove me back to Abie's house.

  I stumbled into the kitchen, my stiff hands fumbling at the doorknob. I huddled in a chair, gratefully leaning over the hot wood stove that flicked the semidarkness of the big homey room with warm red light, trying to coax some feeling back into my fingers.

  I drowsed as the warmth began to penetrate, and then the door was flung open and slammed shut. The doctor leaned back against it his hand still clutching the knob.

  "Do you know what they did?" he cried, not so much to me as to himself. "What they made me do? Oh, Lord!" He staggered over to the stove, stumbling over my feet. He collapsed by my chair, rocking his head between his hands. "They made me operate on his brain! Repair it. Trace circuits and rebuild them. You can't do that! It can't be done! Brain cells damaged can't be repaired. No one can restore circuits that are destroyed! It can't be done. But I did it! I did it!"

  I knelt beside him and tried to comfort him in the circle of my arms.

  "There, there, there," I soothed.

  He clung like a terrified child. "No anesthetics!" he cried. "She kept him asleep. And no bleeding when I went through the scalp! They stopped it. And the impossible things I did with the few instruments I have with me! And the brain starting to mend right before my eyes! Nothing was right!"

  "But nothing was wrong," I murmured. "Abie will be all right, won't he?"

  "How do I know?" he shouted suddenly, pushing away from me.

  "I don
't know anything about a thing like this. I put his brain back together and he's still breathing, but how do I know!"

  "There, there," I soothed. "It's over now."

  "It'll never be over!" With an effort he calmed himself, and we helped each other up from the floor. "You can't forget a thing like this in a lifetime."

  "We can give you forgetting," Valancy said softly from the door. "If you want to forget. We can send you back to the Tumble A with no memory of tonight except a pleasant visit to Bendo."