“If you didn’t know it was the same person—how could anyone change so completely?”
“The odd distribution of weight is glandular,” Dr. O’Keefe said, “but I don’t think it’s as simple as all that. He also reflects all the choices he has made all his life long.”
“Why,” Adam asked, with the abruptness with which he had asked it of Typhon Cutter, “why did Canon Tallis lose his eyebrows?”
For a moment the strained look tightened Dr. O’Keefe’s face again. “It was in Korea. He not only withstood torture himself, but he helped the men with him to stand up against it. This was what left the greatest mark on him, not his own suffering, but the pain of others.”
“Adam,” Joshua said, “when we didn’t know where Poly was, and then when we didn’t know where you were—if he’d had any hair left it would have turned white.”
“Stop, Joshua,” the doctor said quietly. “Don’t make this any harder for Adam than it is already. Go on, boy.”
“Yes, sir.” He sighed deeply, unconsciously, talking in a voice so low that several times he was asked to repeat himself. Finally he said, “I think that’s about it. I’m glad I’ve told you. But I think I have to tell you that I’m still confused. I’m still not certain or secure about anything.”
Again Joshua patted Adam’s horse, saying softly, “That’s all right, Adam. Who is?”
“So of course I won’t have dinner with Kali tomorrow night. I don’t ever want to see her again.”
Dr. O’Keefe spoke quietly but firmly. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to. When you opened that door to her you started a chain of events for yourself that you can’t end quite this easily.”
Ahead of them Poly called out, “There’s the plane!”
Charles’s clear voice came, “Race you!” and his little pony tore across the sand. Poly’s bay broke into a resigned trot.
The plane lay on the beach ahead of them like a strange, prehistoric bird in the shadows. Again Adam felt a sense of irrational panic at the idea that Joshua was going to leave. Charles reached the plane the pony’s length ahead of Poly. They dismounted and walked their horses over to the softer sand where there was an old barnacled pile that could be used as a hitching post. Dr. O’Keefe turned to the children, leaving Joshua and Adam side by side.
“Adam—”
“Yes, Josh?”
“Feel better?”
“I don’t really know.”
“You will.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“Not if I say so. But you will. Even though it’s not going to be easy.”
Adam set his jaw stubbornly. “I will not have dinner with Kali tomorrow night. I will not have anything more to do with the Cutters.”
Joshua spoke tranquilly. “Oh, yes, you will.”
“I will not.”
“Listen,” Joshua said, “I’ll bet you anything you like that you will.”
“I wouldn’t put money on it if I were you.”
“I’d put more than that on it. When I whistled the Tallis canon you said you’d sung it in choir.”
“Till my voice changed.”
“I was going to say something, but I’m not. Instead—did you ever hear Tom Tallis use a kind of password phrase?”
“Yes. In Madrid. Twice.”
“Recognize it?”
“No. It was poetry, that’s all I could tell.”
“Yes. Robert Frost. Two Tramps in Mud Time. A simple sort of little poem it starts out to be, with the poet out chopping wood and two tramps coming along and resenting it because he’s doing for fun what they figure they ought to be paid for. Then comes the last stanza, whammo, a lower cut right to the solar plexus.
But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future’s sakes.
I’m not sure about heaven, but I do feel I have to do my best for the future, and if you’re any kind of scientist you will, too. And if that means going out with Kali tomorrow you’ll do it.”
Adam still sounded stubborn. “As far as I’m concerned, Carolyn Cutter is the past.”
“Listen, you told us tonight because of Poly, didn’t you?”
Adam sighed again. “I really don’t know why I told you. I don’t know why anything any more.”
“It was Poly,” Joshua said with certainty. “At least it would have been for me, and I’m willing to bet it was for you. Adam, I don’t know about you, but I can’t do anything except because I care about people, because I love people. I can’t do it for love of God, like Tom Tallis, or for heaven’s sake, as Mr. Frost said. But because I love people I have to act according to it—to the fact that I love them. Maybe this doesn’t make any sense. But it’s the way I am, and you’ll just have to accept it.”
Adam said softly, “The way you accepted me?”
“I failed you on that this morning, didn’t I? I wanted to push you too far, too fast.”
“Don’t push me now, then,” Adam said.
“Touché. But I have the feeling that there isn’t much time. That I don’t have the time to give you time. Okay, kid, come on, it’s time I shoved off.”
13
Adam, Poly, and Charles stood at the hitching post while Joshua and Dr. O’Keefe checked the plane. When all was in readiness Joshua climbed into the cockpit; as the motor coughed and the propeller began to spin, making the little plane vibrate as though it must fall apart, the doctor came and stood beside the horses, a little away from Adam and the children. The plane wheeled and moved slowly across the sand, gathered speed, bounced once or twice, and then began to climb.
“Sir,” Adam asked, “is that plane really safe?”
The doctor laughed. “Doesn’t look it, does it? But yes, as safe as the latest jet. Particularly with Joshua piloting it.”
They watched the plane as it gained altitude, flying, it seemed from where they stood, directly along the path of moonlight on water, flying further, higher, smaller, until it lost the reality of being an elderly, battered Hawker Hurricane piloted by a young man, and became a silver bird in the night flying to the moon.
Standing beside Adam Poly let out a low, startled cry. “Charles! Don’t!”
Adam turned and saw in the moonlight that Charles’s face was contorted in a vain effort at control, that tears were silently squeezing out of the tightly closed eyes and down the little boy’s cheeks.
Dr. O’Keefe knelt on the sand in order to bring himself to the child’s level. “Charles.”
Without opening his eyes, Charles moved into his father’s arms.
Poly stamped. “I hate it when Charles cries.”
“Charles,” Dr. O’Keefe said again.
Poly whispered fiercely, “He never cries unless …”
Adam asked, “Unless what?”
“Unless something is awfully … wrong.”
Charles stood, leaning against his father, still crying silently. Finally he said in so low a voice that Adam could hardly catch the words, “I wish Josh hadn’t gone.”
Dr. O’Keefe’s voice was quiet. “He’ll be back in Lisbon almost as soon as we’ve had time to ride home. He has a good tail wind and the weather is clear all the way.”
“Will he call when he gets back?”
“He always does. And I will come in to you and tell you. I promise. He has no important papers on him this time. I have to correlate and code everything he brought me. Come, now, Charles, it’s late and you’re tired and we must go. You’ll ride with me.”
Obediently Charles mounted his pony.
Dr. O’Keefe and the little boy led the way, Joshua’s horse ambling along just behind them, with Poly and Adam in the rear. They did little talking. Poly was frowning, seeming undul
y disturbed, Adam thought, by her brother’s behavior. After a while she began to droop in the saddle, saying, “I’m half asleep. Pick me up if I fall off.”
Ahead of them both Dr. O’Keefe and Charles sat straight and still and somehow stern. The moon moved across the sky.
As they neared the bungalows Adam saw that someone was standing on the sea wall, waiting, and for a moment fear leaped into his throat, but Dr. O’Keefe raised his arm in greeting.
“It’s José, María’s husband,” Poly said. “He takes care of the horses.”
They went directly to bed. As Adam drifted into sleep he heard the phone ring, and then he heard Dr. O’Keefe pause outside Charles’s door. “That was Josh, Charles. All’s well. Go to sleep now.”
In the morning Adam was wakened by Poly coming in with a breakfast tray. His room was flooded with light and warmth and he felt a sense of pure well-being he had been afraid would never return.
“Sit up, lazy,” Poly said. “I let you sleep as long as possible. I’m not spoiling you. Breakfast in bed is one thing we always do. I’m going to take Charles his tray and then I’m coming back to talk to you.”
Adam grinned at her. “Okay. Forewarned is, I hope, forearmed, though I have only two.”
Poly turned at the door. “And the starfish has five. You will have exactly time to wash your face and stuff. If you hurry.” She made a quick exit, and Adam heard her say, “Move, Sandy.”
“Does Mother know you’re bothering Adam?”
“She said I could ask him, and he said it was okay.” Their voices continued in friendly argument as they went into the living room.
Poly returned, saying, “Daddy’s out in the lab. You’re to go on out as soon as you’re ready. Then I’ll come for you a little before lunch and we’ll go for a swim.”
Adam poured hot milk, hot coffee. “Will we see—what’s her name?”
“Macrina? Yes. If she comes.”
“Doesn’t she always?”
“Usually. But not always. Then, after lunch, we’ll take you to the village.”
“What village?”
Poly sat, crosslegged, on the foot of Adam’s bed. “The native village. Where María and José come from.”
Adam said, rather uncomfortably, his mouth full of croissant, “I don’t have to be taken sightseeing, Poly. I’ve caused enough trouble for all of you already. I’d really rather stay in the lab and work.”
Poly frowned, then gave him a stern and piercing look. “It’s not sightseeing, Adam. I assure you that’s not our purpose in taking you there.”
“Are you going too?”
“If daddy’ll let me. He usually does.” She got down off the bed. “Okay. I’ll come over to the lab and yell for you when it’s time for our swim.”
When Adam went out to the lab Dr. O’Keefe was sitting at the rolltop desk, writing, but he looked up at the boy’s step, saying without preamble, “I want to show you something.” He took Adam into the small side lab and to the first of the tanks. In it was a starfish in the process of regeneration. It was not a starfish with part of its own central disc; it was an isolated fragment of arm into which Dr. O’Keefe told Adam he had transplanted nerve rings as he had done with the starfish the boy had already seen. The difference between the starfish in this tank and those in the main lab was that this starfish was not developing normally. This particular combination of arm and nerve ring seemed to be generating into a strange, lumpy, three-armed creature.
Without speaking Dr. O’Keefe moved to the second tank. Here was a lizard who had lost a leg. Something was growing where the leg had been; it was not a lizard leg, but a deformed stump. In the third tank was a frog who had lost a forearm; this, too, was growing back abnormally.
Dr. O’Keefe went into the main lab, sitting down at his desk. Adam stood, waiting. For some time Dr. O’Keefe appeared to study a pencil. Finally he said, “Back in the early sixties scientists were able to start babies, actual human foetuses, in a test tube. For a while they developed normally. Then, and no one knew why, their development went awry. They became deformed; monstrosities. You’ve probably heard about this.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did this happen?”
“I don’t know, sir. I don’t think anybody does.”
“Why is regeneration a normal thing for starfish? Why, if we transplant nerve rings from the central disc can an isolated arm fragment then organize itself? Why is this also true of frogs and lizards?”
“Well, it’s because the augmented nerve supply provides the stimulation.”
“Why were the animals in the little lab developing abnormally?”
“I don’t know, sir. Mutations?”
“In a very small percentage, yes. But usually, no. Where do you think I get my experimental animals from, Adam?”
“Well, from the beach, from around here … I used to collect specimens for Old Doc.”
“Yes. The children find a good many for me. They bring me any animal they see, marine or land, that has been injured. The villagers bring me some, too, for which I pay them one escudo for twenty-five specimens. I made it absolutely clear that they were to bring me only the animals that had been accidentally hurt. Then, after the first abnormalities began to develop, I learned that two of the men who work at the resort hotel had been deliberately mutilating the creatures. I had thought that the smallness of the payment would avoid this, an escudo being three and a half cents, you will remember. But it didn’t. There always have been and there always will be people who have been corrupted into enjoying any excuse for cruelty.”
For some reason Adam thought of the Cutters’ chauffeur. He could quite easily imagine Molèc tearing the arm off a lizard.
Dr. O’Keefe continued. “It is from these deliberately mutilated animals that the deformities have come. But it isn’t even that simple. I had, for a brief while, a lab assistant who was a brilliant man. He was also one of the most evil human beings I have ever encountered. Every animal he tended, every starfish arm into which he transplanted nerve rings, every frog or lizard into whose wounds he injected augmented nerve supply, developed malformations that were malignant and that devoured the creature on which they grew.”
“Why—” Adam asked, “why was he evil?”
“You remember the story of the Third Man?”
“Yes. Josh mentioned it.”
“Antibiotics diluted and sold on the black market, and innocent children suffering and dying through this incomprehensible greed. This kind of thing doesn’t happen only in fiction. You don’t have to read the book or see the movie to come across it. This man, with a brilliant and utterly warped mind, grew fat on underworld black-market corruption.”
“Then why did you employ him, sir?”
“I was asked to. In order to convict him.”
“Did you?”
“With Joshua’s help.”
“What happened?”
“He’s in Leavenworth.”
Adam said, slowly, “So I guess this kind of thing makes enemies?”
Dr. O’Keefe looked at him. “They are enemies, Adam. You don’t have to make enemies of them.”
Adam got his stubborn look. “But what about Poly?” Dr. O’Keefe did not answer, and Adam continued. “If you didn’t—if you didn’t make enemies, I mean, even if they are enemies anyhow, then would anybody have wanted to hurt Poly?”
The older man’s face tightened. “Nothing is easy, Adam. Nothing. And we’re all of us in danger from the moment we’re born. You’ve grown up in New York. You know that if you cross a street a truck can run you down. If you ride in the subway and there’s a spot of trouble a bullet meant for someone else can find its way into your heart. And if my research, which I had anticipated as a quiet and hermit-like life, so that I could bring my children up in a peaceful and natural way in the midst of an unpeaceful and unnatural world, has, instead, led them into added dangers, then I must accept this for them, as well as for myself, if I believe in what I am doing.
”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean …”
“That’s all right. I just want you to understand clearly why it is so important that what I am doing does not get into the wrong hands. Remember the deformed babies that came of thalidomide being used before enough was known about it? We’re just at the very beginning of this, and it cannot be taken out of our hands and misused.”
“It’s like what you said about the atom?”
“Yes. Like splitting the atom. We’re just beginning to learn why the regeneration is sometimes abnormal and malignant. We’re just beginning to understand that you cannot change stones into bread. This is not the way miracles are worked, but it’s always been a temptation. If what we are doing is taken over by the unscrupulous it can cause unimaginable horror and suffering. Here is power to give life to people, or to devour them. What I am trying to do is to go back about two thousand years in my thinking. Somewhere in the last two thousand years we’ve gone off. When we began to depend on and to develop things in the western world we lost something of inestimable value in our understanding. There’s something wrong about trying to heal with a surgeon’s knife. There’s got to be an alternative to cutting and mutilating and I’m trying to learn it from the starfish. But I’m just at the beginning. And I’m afraid, Adam. If it gets out of my hands—I’m afraid.” Dr. O’Keefe clenched his fist and pounded it softly against the papers on his desk. Then he smiled. “All right, Adam. I have work to do here at my desk. You get along with your job until Poly comes to take you for a swim.”
It was several minutes before Adam could concentrate on his care of the tanks, but, as he began to put the day’s observations down in the files, the discipline of the work took hold of him, and he was able to keep his mind on the job at hand. This was a task that fascinated him, that engrossed him utterly, and he was surprised when he heard Poly’s voice and realized that the morning had passed.
Poly stood in the lab, wearing a black two-piece bathing suit that did nothing for her still undeveloped figure.
The Arm of the Starfish Page 13