Lucy

by Laurence Gonzales

  Harry reached across the table and covered her hand with his. She was reminded of how rough and strong his hands were. Carpentry was his hobby. He liked to work with things that were physical. “I’m sorry to be so abrupt. I’d like to be there for you when the time comes. You’re going to try to do it all on your own.”

  She wiped her eyes with her napkin and looked at him.

  “Listen, kiddo, forgive me for bringing all this up. But I watched my sister die of cancer. I learned what it means to love someone so much that you can hardly stand every day that passes as you watch that person go, by such small increments, and then pass on into …” He opened his hands as if releasing a bird. “Nothing. And I feel somehow that I’m losing you now. I don’t know how or why. It’s just a feeling.”

  As she listened, watching his kindly face, she began to understand what was happening: Harry was experiencing the same sense of dread that had driven Jenny to see Donna. And he didn’t know why. They were both picking up the same signals, but Harry didn’t know what they were. And his response was to try to pull Jenny closer. He interpreted his impulse to protect her as love, the only explanation that he could come up with to satisfy his logical mind.

  Jenny no longer felt like weeping. She felt a sudden strength course through her. She looked up at Harry and saw the goodness of his heart. She wondered why he’d never found someone else. He was certainly a catch. “I love you, too, Harry. I do. And I’m so touched by your gesture. But I think it might just be too late for us.” The way he looked at Jenny pierced her heart. Then he dropped his eyes, and it was her turn to reach across and place her hand over his. “You will always be my dearest friend.” And it felt good. Good and true.

  30

  “ONE OF MY EARLIEST MEMORIES,” Lucy wrote, “was riding on my mother’s back, clinging to her fur as she flew across the forest. She would leap, almost as if she could fly, and at the top of her arc I could feel my stomach drop as she descended. Then she’d grab a branch and swing hard to gain momentum for her next move. I had to hold on tight or risk being thrown off. Sometimes on those trips, we were traveling for a specific purpose, such as getting to a tree where the fruit was ripe. Sometimes we were escaping from a big cat. But at other times, it seemed, we did it just for fun. Sometimes the whole family moved through the trees like that, screeching and laughing and just relishing the feeling of being alive in the beautiful jungle.”

  “Hey, you’re fast.” It was late at night, some weeks after they had visited the Milwaukee Zoo. Amanda was leaning over Lucy’s shoulder watching the screen as she typed.

  Lucy studied the paragraph. “What do you think?”

  “Awesome. Just a few hundred more paragraphs like that and you’re done.”

  “Shut up. Come on, help me.”

  “How can I help you? I don’t know what happened.”

  “You said you’d help.”

  “Well, you write stuff down, and then I’ll read it. I’ll pretend to be your editor. You want me to leave you alone so you can concentrate?”

  “No, you be my muse. Rub my neck.”

  “Sure. I give a mean massage.”

  Amanda’s strong fingers dug into Lucy’s shoulders, and Lucy let herself relax into a sort of trance. In that state, she let her fingers tell the stories, her eyes nearly closed. She wrote about nursing at her mother’s breasts and how Leda would toss her into the air like a doll and gently catch her before she fell. She wrote about how she would wrestle and tickle and play with the other children for hours at a time on the aromatic forest floor. “When we were a little older,” she wrote,

  we’d all go screeching into the trees, up and down and around, chasing one another for the sheer physical joy of moving. There were dangers, to be sure, but the jungle really was a sort of paradise for us. We lived naked in the pleasure of our flesh and knew no shame or guilt. We simply lived, embracing both our pleasures and our pains with all the heart we had.

  But at the same time, something was very different about me, and I knew it from the earliest age. I knew it in that intense way that children know things before words have come to circumscribe and define their knowing. For I was the child of man. I was hairless and walked upright and I spoke in words and I loved the man.

  Soon the man put an instrument in my hand, and I began to draw. It was no more than scribbling at first, and some of my brothers and sisters did it, too. But then something happened. The man taught me letters, and the other children could never make letters, only scribbles. Then the letters became words, and it was clear that the other children would never ever be like me. I was no longer like them, either. I was alone, apart in some essential way. At last the words became thoughts, and a great gulf had opened between me and my siblings that could never be crossed again. My gift came with a terrible cost, for it closed me off from the ones I loved. Yet I had effected a magical transformation. I could put my thoughts into the man’s brain by symbols alone, without speaking and without The Stream. Another cost: Language let humans forget The Stream. And even as a small child I was struck by both the magic and the sadness of that mysterious process. But the price of that gift was that I was cast out of Eden, out of the deep communion of my family.

  I remember one day when I was sitting in the sun writing. Papa was nearby, working on the generator. I looked out across the clearing where our little hut was and saw several of the bonobos sunning and playing. And I looked over at Papa bent over the machine with a screwdriver in his hand. Then I looked down at my own hand with the pencil in it, the words on the page. And for the first time that I can remember I had this thought: I’m human.

  Lucy stopped writing and let Amanda sit in the chair. Lucy stood and rubbed Amanda’s neck as she read. After a time, Amanda turned with tears in her eyes. “Lucy, it’s so beautiful. This is going to be a great book, I just know it is.”

  And seeing her tears, Lucy thought, To make a mark that can move someone to tears is to be human. Maybe I really am human. And she felt her own eyes fill with tears. Amanda stood, and then they were in each other’s arms, a warmth against the world, a place where language fell away.

  Amanda led Lucy to the bed, and they held each other in the dark. Lucy recalled how unhappy she had been in this very room when she first arrived. It was all so different now. Amanda’s hair was in her face. She smelled like the sea.

  “I love you, Lucy.”

  Lucy felt a thrill rush through her. “I know. I love you, too. You don’t think I’m too weird?”

  “You are the absolute weirdest, my little turnip.”

  “Shut up.”

  And Lucy fell fast asleep with her heart thumping in her neck. That night she dreamed of Figan and Melissa, Flo, all of her old family. But included in the group were the bonobos she’d met in Milwaukee. They had just discovered a stand of towering fig trees where the fruit had ripened perfectly, and they sat in the branches laughing and talking and eating. The sweet nectar dripped down their chins. A mist was rising. When they had had their fill, they all held hands in the trees, celebrating their good fortune. Then they scrambled down so gracefully and made a big circle on the ground. They all hugged one another in one great pile of fur, slapping backs and laughing. In the dream Lucy had fur, too, and she caressed it, reveling in its softness and warmth, while Miff and Olly groomed her. Gone was the human Lucy. She was pure bonobo now. She had returned to Eden and was happy at last.

  Then somehow the dream changed and snow began to fall right there in the rain forest. All at once, Lucy was the only one with fur. The others had become inexplicably human, and they were naked. They talked among themselves, saying that they were going to freeze if they didn’t have fur like Lucy’s. They were talking calmly like any group of humans. Then one of them suggested that they could simply take Lucy’s fur and wear it to keep warm. One of them had a knife. Lucy tried to tell them not to do it, but she found that she could no longer talk. She could only make shrieking and barking sounds. The others held her down as the one
with the knife began slitting the skin right up her belly. Her dark fur was covered with blood. Lucy began screeching and shrieking and lashing out at them. She woke with Amanda shaking her shoulder saying, “Luce, Luce, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

  Lucy sat up in bed, gasping for breath. Gradually her heart slowed and she and Amanda looked at each other. After a time, Lucy said, “Amanda, why have you stayed? You had all those friends in high school. Don’t you miss them?”

  Amanda thought for a long time and then said, “It was you. It was you, Lucy. The first time I met you I knew you were something special.” The two girls stared into each other’s eyes and felt a warm energy flow back and forth between them. “What did you dream?”

  “I was in the forest playing with other bonobos. They turned into people and started attacking me.”

  “That fits. All our talk about having to be on the run.”

  “Sometimes I hate being me.”

  “It’s tough being human.”

  Then they both fell into a fit of laughter, which they tried to stifle because it was three in the morning and they didn’t want to wake Jenny. Their laughter gradually faded, and they sat for a moment with downcast eyes. They both looked up at the same time. Their eyes met once more.

  “Listen,” Lucy whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “The crickets stopped.” Lucy listened through The Stream. Beneath the city sounds she could sense the signals. “Someone’s here,” she said.

  They both listened for a time and then Lucy stood and began to dress.

  “What are you doing,” Amanda asked.

  “I have to go.”

  “Is this for real?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is. Amanda, listen to me. I want you to go back home to your mother or father. I want you to go to college and have a good life.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m having a good life. Growing up with my mother, I always dreamed of having a real family, and now I feel like I have one. Lucy, we can figure this out. Please.”

  “No, no, listen to me. I’m trouble, Amanda. I’m real serious trouble. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “Luce, I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “You don’t understand!” Lucy shouted. “I know things that you don’t know. I have an animal mind. I know what’s coming before it comes. And I see you getting hurt. I mean hurt that you don’t walk away from. I see myself hurting people, too, Amanda. I see myself maybe even killing, and I was taught not to kill. I don’t want you hurt, and I don’t want you to see me that way.”

  “See you what way?”

  “The way I’m going to have to be to get through this.”

  “Are you really going through the trees like Donna said?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m going to have to move fast now. I’ll be on the run.” Lucy took Amanda in her arms. “Goodbye, Amanda. I love you. I’ll always love you.” Lucy could feel Amanda begin to sob.

  “You’re not really going. Tell me you’re not really going. Lucy, this is so mean.”

  With her heart aching, Lucy let go of Amanda and went down the hall to Jenny’s room. As Lucy entered, Jenny said, “I heard.”

  “They’re out there. Maybe only watching, I don’t know.”

  Jenny was up now, standing bleary-eyed before Lucy. She took Lucy’s wrist and looked her in the eye. Jenny’s face was so loving and fierce that it almost hurt Lucy to look at her. “Lucy. Some people care about us. Don’t you think there might be another way?”

  “No, Mom, no. You planned it. And anyway, you know now. You’re in The Stream.”

  “Yes, I know.” Jenny relaxed her grip on Lucy’s wrist. “You’re right. I just don’t want to believe it.”

  “Mom, every day I stay in here I get weaker and they get stronger.”

  “I’m just not ready for this. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

  Jenny’s face was so sad. Lucy grabbed her, and they held each other for a long time. “Mom. Mom. I love you. I’m so grateful for all you’ve done for me. But you’ve got to trust The Stream.”

  Jenny let go and sat on the bed in silence. Lucy slipped across the room. She could sense that Amanda had come to the door but she didn’t look back. She unlatched the window screen and leaned it against the wall. Then she reached out, took hold of a branch of the maple tree outside, and was gone.

  Jenny sat on the bed in shock. Cool air with a hint of early autumn lifted the curtains as she listened to the rustling in the trees fade away. Jenny waited to see if she would wake once more and recognize that it was all just a nightmare. Amanda stood framed by the doorway with tears in her eyes. She crossed the room and sat beside Jenny. Then she collapsed against her, tears soaking into Jenny’s T-shirt. Jenny said, “Shh, shh,” and held her tight. “Come,” Jenny said. “Come look with me.”

  She led Amanda down the hall. The window of Lucy’s room faced the street. Jenny parted the curtain and looked down. A dented blue utility van sat at the curb. The streetlights were reflected in the windows. The words “Miles Electric” were painted in fading letters on the side. Jenny strained to see but couldn’t tell if anyone was inside.

  Amanda came up beside her. “What is it?”

  “Just a van. But what’s it doing here?”

  “What do we do?”

  “Wait.”

  “Will we ever see her again?”

  “I don’t know.” Jenny caught herself. “Of course we will.”

  They waited an hour in silence. When they checked the street again, the van was gone. There was no way to know what it meant. All they had was Lucy’s intuition. Jenny had sensed it, too, but maybe it was nothing. Maybe Lucy had panicked after the visit with Donna. Maybe she was running from nothing. It was a horrible thought.

  Jenny and Amanda tried to sleep. At about eight in the morning the doorbell rang, sending a chill through Jenny. She threw on her robe and went to the girls’ room. Amanda was peeking through the curtains.

  “Who is it?” Jenny whispered.

  “A car. I can’t see anybody.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “This is ridiculous. I’m going down.” Jenny ran down the stairs and jerked the door open.

  Dr. Ruth Mayer said, “Good morning.”

  “Dr. Mayer. What are you doing here?”

  “I knew I was right about that girl all along. I knew there was something wrong with her. I couldn’t have imagined how serious it was. I have enlisted the Department of Children and Family Services to look into her case, and I felt I should warn you that I will be doing the evaluation and subsequent counseling. I have to work with the entire family, so I wanted to give you and her a fair chance to meet with me first, even though her ultimate placement may not be with you.”

  The woman herself, as well as what she said, struck Jenny as so preposterous that she couldn’t help laughing.

  “I assure you, Dr. Lowe, this is no laughing matter.”

  But Jenny couldn’t stop herself now. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for you.” She closed the door and leaned against it, laughing high and weak, covering her mouth with her hand, and then sobbing. Amanda came to the head of the stairs and looked down at her.

  “Jenny? Are you all right?”

  31

  LUCY SWUNG EASILY through the night sky, her way lit by a moon torn ragged in the shadow of the earth. As she went, the woods grew more dense, and she saw how much like her old home this forest really was. Except for the biggest ones, almost all the old creatures were still there. They merely remained hidden most of the time. As she progressed from branch to branch, she settled into The Stream. She picked up signals of coyote and fox and even an old female cougar. Who knew that she still kept her vigil here? They know me, Lucy thought. These creatures know what I am, like the dogs who were never fooled.

  She migrated west with the setting moon and she reached the edge of the Forest Preserve just before dawn. She reached a dense growth of oak over the old river. As
the first light was coming up in the east, she made herself a nest and fell asleep to the sound of a cardinal standing high in a tree and telling his lover one of those tall tales that redbirds like to tell. They’re such liars, Lucy thought. She laughed to think how proud of himself he was.

  She slept through the day and descended at dusk to drink from the puddles. She didn’t dare drink from the river, which smelled of chemicals and sewage. She sat on the ground and ate a few grubs. A rabbit came to inspect her.

  “We’re in the same boat now, aren’t we, Rab?”

  Rabbits, Lucy knew, weren’t much for conversation. Some creatures were just plain blabbermouths, like those crickets and that redbird. But rabbits will let you know what they think. Rab wrinkled his nose at Lucy, scratched at a flea, and said, “We’re all prey here in the end.”

  “Yeah,” Lucy said, “we’re both sitting on the forest floor scratching for something to eat, watching out for the hawk.” Rab stretched like a cat and then chewed on a low-hanging leaf. “Night’s falling, Rab. I’d better make my way north.”

  “Mind how you go.”

  Then Lucy flowed up into the trees and was off again.

  She went carefully in the dark until moonrise. Then she stopped to drink and continued at full speed. After a time she came to a swampy area where the trees grew farther apart. Many of them were topped by the sprawling nests of great blue herons. A few of the birds were standing down below in the water, talking in a throaty bark and speculating excitedly about Lucy. As she made great leaps from tree to tree to bridge the gaps, they took off in a running ascent and began circling out over the treetops and off to the east against the rising yellow moon.

  Lucy heard the helicopter sometime before dawn. At first she didn’t think that it concerned her as it flew past. But then it turned and came back. It passed over her once again, turned and slowed. Then its searchlight came blazing over the tops of the trees. Lucy dropped from branch to branch with her heart hammering. The bright beam shattered in the branches and filtered down across the forest litter as the engine’s thunder shook the earth. Lucy thought, How did they find me? She had to calm herself and think. She reminded herself of what Jenny and Donna had said: Her advantage was that she could think. I’m human, she told herself. I have logic and reason. Think. Think.