The Arm of the Starfish

by Madeleine L'engle

  Dr. O’Keefe put his hand for a moment on the old man’s shoulder. Then he and Virbius bowed in silent farewell, and the doctor moved quickly away. Adam and Poly followed him, and as they walked away from the harbor and the village the two little boys came up with the horses, which had been watered and rubbed down.

  They rode in silence. The sun was beginning to move toward the horizon. The long fronds of the palms rattled in the evening breeze, their shadows like great, dark birds. Adam’s white horse blew gently through her nostrils and her flanks lifted in a patient sigh. But to Adam it was as though everything were bathed in light, as though the golden sun of the island had at last penetrated the darkest reaches of his mind.

  He understood now. All the pieces had fallen together to make a clear and unmistakable picture. He knew why he was important to Mr. Cutter, why anybody even remotely connected with Dr. O’Keefe would be important to all the Mr. Cutters. And he knew why the Mr. Cutters of the world must never be allowed to see Dr. O’Keefe’s papers, particularly Dr. O’Keefe’s papers on Temis. Unconsciously he heaved a sigh less patient than the old white horse’s.

  “’Smatter?” Poly asked.

  “Nothing. I just wish I didn’t have to have dinner with the Cutters this evening.”

  But it seemed there was no evading the dinner. When they got back his good suit had been pressed and was laid out on the bed with a clean shirt and his most colorful tie, a rather splotchy blue-and-red affair that Adam called his ‘Jackson Pollock.’

  Mrs. O’Keefe told him, “María chose the tie, so if you don’t mind wearing it, Adam, it would make her very happy.”

  “As long as you think it’s okay. I’m kind of fond of it.”

  He dressed carefully, but more to please María and the O’Keefes than Kali. He would have liked to go to Kali in his lab clothes, already slightly stained, and a symbol of his work, and somehow also a symbol of where he stood. But this, he realized, would be a rather Don Quixote sort of gesture, and not very effective.

  Shortly before time for the hotel helicopter to come for him Dr. O’Keefe summoned him to the laboratory.

  “Adam, you are probably wondering why I want you to have dinner with the Cutters tonight.”

  “Well, sir, I suppose maybe it would be wisest if they didn’t know I’d made up my mind. I mean, it might be a good idea if they think I’m still willing to work for them.”

  The doctor looked at him with approval. “Exactly. I hate to ask you to do this, Adam. It’s going to be difficult for you. One of your most evident qualities is a direct honesty, and prevarication of any kind isn’t easy for you. However, there is an urgent and immediate need for this. Once the results of any experiment are in I have to get them off the island as quickly as possible. The papers on Temis are finally complete. I don’t have to tell you how important they are. All the lab reports from Boston are in code, and I will now double code them. This will take me about a week. There is only one man—and he’s in Lisbon—who can break the code so that they can get from the Embassy to Washington. During this week I’ll keep the real papers on me and leave others, indicating another experiment, in the lab. Josh took a set of these phony papers with him and will be careful to see that the right—or wrong—people get hold of them. Now we come to the problem of getting the Temis papers to Lisbon. Joshua, of course, has been courier many times, but now it’s safe neither for him nor the papers. I’ve used María once, José twice, but it’s not fair to ask them again. The Ambassador himself has been errand boy on occasion. Next week it will have to be you. If you can make Cutter think you’re willing to play along with him because you think he’s right, then you’ll be under less suspicion than anybody else. I don’t think anything has been discovered about Temis, and it must not be.” He stopped, repeated slowly, “It must not.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “So I want you to make a date with Kali in Lisbon. I’ll give you some papers to give her. They’ll look legitimate, and they’ll follow the ones I’ll appear to be working on this week and that Josh took back to Lisbon with him. We’ll talk later about getting the real papers away. The point is that tonight you must appear to be still confused about me: you are not confused any longer, are you?”

  “No, sir.” Adam’s voice was firm and confident.

  “Let Typhon Cutter do his emotional patriotic act for you. It’s very effective.”

  “Yes, sir. He’s already done it. It—it did confuse me.”

  “All clear now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You understand what I am asking you to do?”

  “Yes, sir.” Adam swallowed. “It will kind of make up for—”

  “Not to make up for anything. That’s over and done with, and no real harm, thank God. You’re doing this for the future.”

  “For Heaven and the future’s sakes?” Adam asked softly.

  Dr. O’Keefe nodded. “This is where Joshua has been so remarkable. His love and need are entirely one. And while the work has been play for him he has been well aware of the mortal stakes. 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. Think of Joshua tonight if you like. You couldn’t have anybody better to follow.” Above them they heard a loud droning; Dr. O’Keefe remarked, “They’re very prompt,” and stood up.

  The helicopter dropped clumsily to the beach in front of the bungalows. Poly, running with the other children to say goodbye, called, “You’ll get sand in your shoes.”

  “It’ll shake out,” Adam answered.

  Barefooted, she caught up with him, gently shoving Peggy ahead and saying, “Run look at the helly, Pegs.” She whispered to Adam, “I have what I told you I’d give you. Here. Just pretend you’re holding my hand.”

  Charles asked, “What’re you whispering about?”

  Poly stamped her bare foot against the sand impatiently. “Charles. Please. Oh, do run get Johnny for me, quickly, and let me say goodbye.”

  “Adam’s just going out for dinner,” Charles said, but he went after Johnny who, fully dressed, was heading for the water.

  Adam put his hand around Poly’s firm, thin one. “What is it?”

  “Adam, have you ever seen a switchblade?”

  “Yes,” Adam said, smiling. “Is that what you’re giving me?”

  Poly scowled darkly. “You’re condescending to me.”

  “I’m sorry; but if it’s a switchblade I don’t want one and I don’t like the idea of your having one.”

  Poly shook her head impatiently so that her red hair flew about her face. “Okay, I know you coped with gangs on the streets of New York and all that jazz. This isn’t an ordinary switchblade.”

  “What’s extraordinary about it?”

  “It looks like a switchblade and it works like a switchblade—I’m taking this on hearsay because I’ve never actually used one. But it’s really a kind of hypodermic needle.”

  “Poly, for heaven’s sake—”

  “There’s a channel in the blade filled with MS-222.”

  “—what do you expect me to do with it, use it on Kali?”

  Again Poly pawed the sand. “She’ll probably ask you to go for a moonlight swim, and there have been sharks at the hotel beach this summer, though they won’t admit it. I wouldn’t put it past that Kali to send you straight into a shark’s jaws, and daddy says MS-222 is still the best thing; it knocks them out right away. When the blade is released the capsule of MS-222 is punctured and it goes right in, so you don’t have to aim for a vital spot or anything. It’s on a belt, and it looks just like an ordinary knife. It’s quite flat, so you can wear it under your bathing trunks. You’ve got them with you, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. Your mother told me to bring them along.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Just the plain navy ones, Pol. I guess I’m not uninhibited enough to wear the wild ones the way Josh does.”

  “You promise me you’ll wear the belt
with the knife?”

  Adam knew that he could not hurt Poly by laughing at her intensity. “Well, I don’t really think Kali wants to dispose of me. But thanks anyhow, Pol.”

  Poly pulled at his jacket sleeve. “Promise me you’ll never go swimming without it.”

  “Even when I go with you?”

  “Not with me, goosey. Macrina keeps the sharks away. But anywhere else. Promise.”

  “But, Poly—”

  “Promise.”

  “All right.”

  Poly heaved a great sigh of relief. “Okay. I know I can trust your word. Goodbye. I suppose I’ll be in bed when you get home. I don’t really want you to have a good time but I’m going to be polite and tell you to have one. But it’s just courtesy. So have a good time.” She turned and ran back to the bungalows, not standing on the sea wall to wave and watch him off as he had expected her to. The other children called and waved, and Adam waved back, but he found himself looking beyond them for Poly.

  The pilot was Portuguese, and if he spoke English he kept it a closely guarded secret. Adam was glad for the minutes of silence: no, silence was certainly not the word, for a helicopter is a noisy bird, but for a time of not having to listen to new ideas, of not having to respond.

  As they landed on the flat roof of the hotel Kali was waiting and came running to meet him. She flung her arms around him, whispering, “Adam, help me, help me. I’ve been all wrong about everything. I know now that daddy’s doing things that aren’t—that aren’t right. Adam, what am I going to do?”

  15

  Before Adam could make any response to this outburst Kali whispered, “Here comes daddy. Hush.”

  Typhon Cutter looked even more like a spider than Adam remembered. It seemed incredible that this obese mass with the stringy appendages could possibly be father to the beautiful girl at his side. Then the boy remembered the portrait of the angelic young man and wondered if Kali could ever be anything but young and radiant and lovely.

  She pressed her fingers quickly against his, a gesture that was both intimate and warning. Adam did not return the pressure and her look flickered quickly over him like a flame.

  “Of course,” Typhon Cutter was saying, “all the rooms have balconies overlooking the ocean, and our guests, in a primitive setting, nevertheless have every modern convenience.”

  Kali explained, “Daddy’s part owner of the hotel.”

  They walked through a rooftop bar and lounge, Typhon Cutter gesturing expansively with one thin arm. “I think our service can compare with any of the great hotels in the world. We’ll stay up here and cool off before going down to dinner.”

  In the lounge, long windows opened to the terrace, and there were groups of comfortable chairs and couches around low tables. The walls were painted with lush murals of the native village, so glamorized that it was a moment before Adam recognized it. The mud and straw huts, the fishing vessels, the natural harbor, were all enlarged and garishly ornamented, and the natives themselves wore elaborate leis and looked more as though they came from a tourist’s dream of Hawaii than a primitive island off the south coast of Portugal. In one corner of the room was a huge television set around which a group of young people was clustered. The volume was on high. Without looking around Typhon Cutter raised his hand and snapped his fingers, and a uniformed page went running over to the set and adjusted the dials.

  At one of the low marble tables sat a solitary man in a dark suit. Adam could see only his back, but it looked somehow familiar.

  Mr. Cutter turned toward him, saying, “Dr. Ball hopped over with us. His busy schedule doesn’t permit him to get away often, but he’s badly in need of the rest. We’re flying him back tonight since of course he can’t be away over Sunday.”

  Adam said nothing. Silence, as a matter of fact, was his plan of campaign: to look naive and innocent and gullible (not too difficult, he realized ruefully); to be swift to hear, and slow to speak. He caught Kali looking at him anxiously, then glancing away as her father turned toward her. Adam felt a hot surge of resentment. He had enough on his hands without coping with a confused Kali. If she’d tumbled to the fact that her father was a stinker she’d have to work it out her own way.

  Dr. Ball rose as they reached him, shook hands effusively with Adam, and kissed Kali. Adam found that he enjoyed this latter even less than the handshake.

  “Dear boy,” Dr. Ball murmured, lowering himself into his comfortable chair. “How delightful to see you again, and in less hectic circumstances than our first meeting. What will you have to drink?” He indicated his own glass.

  —Get the prospective victim drunk or drugged, Adam thought. Aloud he said, “I’m not thirsty, thanks.”

  Kali put a hand lightly and briefly against his knee. “The bartender has Cokes. I’m going to have one.”

  Dr. Ball urged, “Do join us in our libation.”

  “Okay, a Coke, then, thank you.” Adam realized that a uniformed boy was hovering by Typhon Cutter waiting to take their order. Mr. Cutter nodded at the boy, who went to the bar.

  “Now, Adam,” Mr. Cutter said, “when last I saw you we had reached a certain understanding, had we not?” Adam said nothing. “You did agree to help me, did you not?” Adam tried to look blank and made a slight gesture of his head that could have been interpreted either as affirmation or negation. An edge of impatience came to Mr. Cutter’s voice. “I believe that I made it reasonably clear to you that I am in a position to be useful to the Embassy, and that I feel that it is my duty to my country to help out when I am called upon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Adam said.

  “You were understandably tired, but you did agree to help.”

  “Yes, sir. I would consider it my privilege to help them at the Embassy.” This seemed to be a nice, double-barreled response, the Embassy, being in his mind, Joshua.

  “Good.” Mr. Cutter’s voice spun upward, a high, thin, plausible web. “At that time—I am referring to the time of our first meeting—my men, in order to inspire your confidence and insure your cooperation, went to a great deal of trouble and not a little danger to rescue the O’Keefe child from the very organization to which her own father belongs! A great man, but you know how stupid scientists can be. I may say that I personally underwent danger: our enemies are ruthless, so ruthless, indeed, that they do not hesitate to use an innocent child, the child of one of their own members, for their purposes.” He paused, waiting.

  Adam knew that a further response was indicated here. “I’ve only been with Dr. O’Keefe a couple of days and everything’s all secret and hush-hush around me. Just what are their purposes, sir?”

  Now Dr. Ball leaned forward, his well-manicured hands spread out on the table. “You have spent these two days in working for O’Keefe, have you not, lad?”

  “Well, yes, sir, but …”

  “Are you aware of the nature of his experiments?”

  “Well, to some extent, sir. I mean, I knew before I ever came.”

  Mr. Cutter asked sharply, “You have actually been working with the starfish?”

  “Well … just cleaning tanks and simple jobs like that, so far.”

  Dr. Ball put his hand on Adam’s knee. It felt heavy, and very unlike Kali’s leaf-like gesture. Adam felt his skin crawling. He raised his eyes from the hand to the immaculate white dog collar to Dr. Ball’s handsome, smiling face.

  “Adam, dear boy,” the doctor said, lifting his hand and passing it over dark, well-pomaded hair, “you do realize what O’Keefe is doing, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes, sir, working on the regenerative process of the arm of the starfish.”

  “In the starfish—” (—Dr. Ball sounded as though he were in the pulpit, Adam thought) “—and in certain other specified beasts, this is a perfectly natural thing. O’Keefe is taking it beyond the point of nature. But not only is he usurping the prerogatives of the Almighty, he is then allowing his work to get into the wrong hands, hands soiled with the taint of sin.”

  Adam
tried to imagine Canon Tallis saying these words. It didn’t work. He mumbled, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Un-American hands,” Mr. Cutter said. “Hands that do not have their country or its economy at heart.”

  All Adam could think of at this point was that hands do not have a heart. He shook his head slightly to try to pull his thoughts together. This time he did not have lack of sleep as an excuse for not being alert.

  The young waiter put two Cokes down on the marble table, a fresh drink for Dr. Ball, and a drink for Mr. Cutter. The bartender evidently knew, without being told, exactly what Mr. Cutter wanted. “Adam,” Typhon Cutter said in his soft, tenor voice, “I am a very wealthy man. I admit to you perfectly openly that I enjoy my money.”

  Dr. Ball broke in, “But you are a generous man, a very generous man.”

  “That’s not the point. I try to do what I can, of course, and if I have been able to be of some small service to you it gives me great gratification. Eliphaz—Dr. Ball—is on the boards of several hospitals and orphanages and old people’s homes as well as attending meticulously to his regular parish duties.”

  —It’s catching, Adam thought.—Even Mr. Cutter’s beginning to talk in Dr. Ball’s pompous pattern.

  Perhaps Typhon Cutter realized this, for he cleared his throat before saying, “All I’m trying to tell you is that although I enjoy my money and the things it can buy, my country comes first. In fact, I love my native land so well that I am willing to live outside it, in voluntary exile, because in this way I am better able to serve. I’ve been asked by people who must remain nameless to find the results of Dr. O’Keefe’s work and to get them into the hands of our own government before unscrupulous agents grab them.”

  “But, sir,” Adam said, trying to sound innocent and reasonable, “Dr. O’Keefe is an American.”

  “Pink,” Dr. Ball murmured, “tinged, alas, with scarlet.”

  Standard tactics, Adam realized. Accuse those who might well accuse you before they have a chance to get in a word edgewise.