A Rage for Revenge watc-3

by David Gerrold

  "Well, Tommy and Holly have been pretty good at watchdogging him already."

  "Mm, yeah, that's probably it. He's obviously one of the walking wounded, but they sent him up because they couldn't risk taking him away from Tommy and Holly, and hurting them. They weren't thinking of Alec, they were thinking of the other two. Damn! I wish we had those papers."

  "Say, can we get that bear away from Alec long enough to clean it and stuff it with fresh foam? Maybe sew it up, put a new head on it for him?"

  "I wouldn't try it," B-Jay said.

  "Why not?"

  "What would happen if you put a head on it he didn't recognize? It might not be his bear anymore. Better leave it alone for now-at least until we see how important it is to him. He's pretty badly damaged, Jim; we'd better be prepared to separate him if we have to."

  "Separate?"

  "Send him back."

  "Back?"

  "Jim," she said quietly, "there are kids who've gone catatonic, autistic, or worse, gone wild. You've seen them. Those are the ones we can't reach; we don't even have the time to try. I think your Alec might be one of them."

  "We can reach him," I insisted. She didn't say anything. "Well, we've got to try."

  "And ignore the other sixteen we can reach? Not to mention the other hundred and seventeen we've already accepted responsibility for?"

  "Well, no, but . . . "

  "We only have so many hours a day, Jim. There's only so much we can do. We can't afford to waste a single minute. These kids need to be fed, bathed, clothed, sheltered, doctored-and most of all, hugged a lot. They need to be reassured. We can't show favorites, we can't . . . "

  "I've heard this sermon before, B-Jay," I interrupted her. "You're forgetting something. Alec is already a factor in the social equation. Holly and Tommy have adopted him. He responds to them. He responds to me too. You're going to have to fight Holly, Tommy, and me if you try to send him away."

  "Okay," she said. She said it too easily.

  "Huh?"

  "I said, okay."

  "Aren't you going to argue with me?"

  "No."

  "Aren't you going to list all the reasons why?"

  "No. You said he had to stay. I recognize that we've got to live with these orphans' psychoses. That includes the big ugly orphan sitting in my office, drinking up my lemonade. I can work with your psychoses too. You want to take responsibility for him, it's all right with me."

  "Yeah," I said. "I do."

  "All right. I'll have the adoption papers ready next week. I don't think there'll be any problem getting Birdie to approve."

  "Hey, wait a minute-I never said anything about adoption."

  "Sure, you did-you said you'd be responsible."

  "But that doesn't mean-"

  "Yes, it does. We're both speaking English, aren't we?"

  "Now, wait a minute, B-Jay! You're trying to railroad me into something I'm not ready for."

  "Well, make up your mind, Jim-what do you want to do?"

  "Uh . . . ," I stopped in mid-word. "I don't know."

  "That's what I thought." She dropped her feet to the floor with a klunk. She refilled both our lemonade glasses, the ice clinking like chimes. She pursed her lips in an acid frown. "God, I wish we had sugar."

  "Stir it, the honey's probably settled."

  "It's not the same." She drank and frowned again, then came hack to the subject. "Listen, Jim-I'm not forcing you into anything. I just wanted you to understand what taking responsibility for the kid means."

  "All right . . . "

  "No, let me finish. I'm not sending Alec away. Not yet, anyway. I just don't want you getting too attached to any of these kids. Unless you mean it. And don't let them get too attached to you either. You may just want to play house for a while, but it'll be more than a game to them, and when you get tired of it, you'll be doing worse damage. A kid can survive the loss of one set of parents, I doubt if he can survive the loss of two and still have any reasonable chance of being healthy. So, don't come messing around my kids unless you mean it."

  "I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

  "Let me tell you something, Jim. Most of the time, you're in the way. You don't really do anything useful around here, and you eat a lot of food. And there are a lot of people around here who resent you. Sometimes I do too. That's when I have to remind myself that you're one of our children too, another lost soul that needs a family. Just another bloody orphan like the rest of us. So we put up with you. We pamper you. We try not to notice all that emotional baggage you're dragging around. We're doing it as a favor to the memory of your mother. We don't owe anything to you, Jim; this is just the only way we can pay back some of what we owe her. Okay, today you decided that you want to be a parent. Well, that's okay too. But not unless you mean it for keeps. I'd be delighted to have one less kid and one more parent, but it's a one-way trip. Once you accept responsibility for any of these kids, you can't abrogate it later on. Which means, Jim, nobody around here will watch out for you any more; we'll be too busy watching out for the real children, and you'll have to cope with life without our help."

  "I've been doing okay."

  "You think so. Around here it doesn't count unless I think so too." She paused, studied me thoughtfully. Her eyes were sharp. "Anyway, that's the way it is. Do I make up adoption papers or not?"

  "I didn't think you allowed adoptions here."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know just the way the place seems organized. Like one big commune."

  "If you had known that we encouraged adoptions, would you have volunteered?"

  "Uh, probably not. It isn't really necessary, is it?"

  "You tell me," she said.

  "Look," I said slowly. "What I thought was that I could sort of watch out for those three kids, Holly and Tommy and Alec, for a while, and take some of the load off the rest of you. I didn't realize you wanted it to be such a deep commitment. I was thinking more in terms of being a big brother than a daddy."

  "But they're not looking for a big brother, and they don't need one as much as they need a daddy." She sniffled and wiped her nose again. "Shit. I hope I'm not coming down with something. Look, Jim-the extended family isn't enough. God, how many times I've wished it were, but it's been obvious from the start that it isn't enough and never could be. Every child needs his own parent; just one special person he can rely on. We have them here-don't look surprised-we don't confuse parenthood with ownership, so it may not be obvious; but look around. There's Jack and Dove, Nurse Ivy and Little Ivy and Katy-boggin, and Birdie and Tina and Mouse. And there .are others. The kids need all of us. And most of us give our all, and a little more besides."

  "I don't think I'm ready for that," I said slowly.

  "Neither do I, but I wouldn't stop you if you insisted. I might be wrong."

  "Okay, you tell me. What should I do?"

  "How many rooms in your apartment?"

  "Three bedrooms, a den, a living room-"

  "That's perfect. All right, do this. We're short on beds in the dorms. You take Alec and Holly and Tommy over to your place. Run them on the same clock we use down here. Don't try to be a big brother or a father for a few days, just see what it means being responsible. Tell the kids it's only temporary, until we can work out a more permanent arrangement. That'll give you a taste of it, and an out. These kids know about temporaries, they won't get attached to you until you tell them it's all right. At least, not permanently attached. Within a week-two at the most-you'll know whether you can parent or not. I don't think it'll hurt the kids, and I'm pretty sure it won't hurt you."

  "I'm not committing myself to anything, am I?"

  "No, you're not. But if you decide to stay, you will be committing yourself. Then you'll be expected to adopt them."

  "If I decide to stay?"

  "Jim, if you decide you can't parent, or don't want to, then there's no reason for you to stay on at Family, is there? I mean, that's what we're here for. We've been waiting for you to s
hape up. Here's your chance. Otherwise, ship out and make room for someone else, okay? I like you, but this job is more important."

  That last one hurt. I looked at my shoes for a while. They needed polishing. Ouch. "Okay," I said.

  "Want some more lemonade?"

  "Uh-uh, the honey's too cloying."

  "Don't stir it."

  "Hey, B-Jay?"

  "Yeah?"

  "If Alec had to be sent back, where would they send him?"

  She sucked her teeth thoughtfully. "They have a place for the kids who can't be reached. The feral ones."

  "Feral?"

  "The ones who've gone wild. Tarzan was a feral child, so was Mowgli--only they were lucky: Tarzan was raised by apes, Mowgli by wolves-but then it's always prettier in fiction, it's glamorized. In real life, of the feral ones don't get that much guidance-nothing-so there's not a lot left of their humanity. They're animals in human bodies. They've never learned to speak and never will; that learning window is permanently closed. They can't walk erect, their bodies have lost that potential. Their ability to reason is permanently impaired; they won't trust human beings; often they're suffering from serious bone deficiencies, malnutrition, and so on. They don't usually live very long." She sucked her teeth again. "Then, of course, there are the catatonic ones, the autistic, the deranged, the permanently damaged, the shocked, and all the other impairments and dsyfunctions."

  "They don't keep them in a Bedlam, do they?"

  "No, Jim, they don't." Her voice went very strange. "They take care of them."

  "Oh, that's good. . . ." And then the strangeness of her tone sank in. "Wait a minute. How do they take care of them? If we're short of manpower here . . . ?"

  "They take care of them, Jim." She paused, went softer. "Remember when they closed the San Diego and Los Angeles zoos, and the wild animal preserves too?"

  "Yeah, that was a shortage of manpower, but . . . "

  "What did they do with the lions?"

  "They put them to sleep, they had to-"

  "Right. Because there was no one to take care of them, and they couldn't be left to fend for themselves." She put down her glass on the desk, stood up and put the lemonade back in the small refrigerator. "It was the kindest thing they could do," she murmured. "The bastards."

  A lady of South Madagascar

  wears a bag on her head; it's to mask her.

  A bottle of scotch

  might loosen her crotch.

  Wait here, I'll go and I'll ask her.

  33

  The Dark Places

  "Children are the only minority who grow into their own oppressors."

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  I was watching when Holly fell and skinned her knee. She choked back the tears, trying very hard not to cry. She stood up quickly and pretended that nothing had happened. She hadn't seen me. She wiped at her nose and kept going, limping slightly.

  "Hey, Punkin'," I called.

  She saw me and looked startled. She hadn't known I was there. "Are you all right?"

  "Uh-huh," she said. She brushed the hair back out of her eyes. Her expression was that frozen one that children wear while they're putting up with adults, while they're waiting to be dismissed back to their own pursuits.

  "Oh," I said. "'Cause B-Jay said there was some fresh strawberry ice cream left over and I thought you might want to share some with me."

  She shook her head. Her eyes were brimming with tears. I had a sense that she wanted to cry, or at least wanted to be hugged, but she was too proud to let anyone know.

  I put down the hoe I was working with-loosening the soil around the tomato plants-and hunkered down in front of her. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

  "Nothin'."

  "You got a hug for me?" She shook her head again.

  "Okay." Sometimes the best thing is to just let it be. "Would you like to help me?"

  She sniffled and nodded.

  "Good. Okay, go get yourself a hoe, just like this one." I picked up mine again to show her.

  "Where is it?"

  "In the shed over there."

  She turned and looked. "Uh . . . "

  "Go on and get it." She hesitated. "Well, go on." She started to say something, then shook her head. "Are you okay?" I asked.

  She didn't answer. She began hobbling toward the tool shed, but as she got closer to it she began to slow down. She stopped in front of the open door and stood staring into it. She was trembling visibly.

  "What's the matter?"

  "It's dark in there!" she said. The way she said it, I knew that it was more than the dark.

  I was starting to get annoyed. I almost snapped at her, then caught myself in time; something wasn't right.

  "Holly?"

  She didn't hear me. She was staring into the shed like a paralyzed bird. What kind of snake did she see?

  "Holly?"

  She was starting to shake all over.

  My army reflexes took over-I dropped to a crouch and came running at a sideways angle, carrying my hoe as a weapon, just in case.

  There was nothing in the shed. I didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  I turned to Holly. She was almost catatonic. I threw the hoe aside and dropped to a squat in front of her; I grabbed her by the shoulders-she had gone rigid. "Holly?"

  No response. What the . . . ?

  I swept her into my arms and held her tight. I picked her up and carried her away from the shed, carried her around the corner of the house so it was completely out of her sight. She still didn't relax.

  "Come on, Holly, it's all right now. Jim is here." I sat down on the low brick fence that divided the paved part of the patio from the rest of the yard. I held her on my lap and hugged her close and started talking to her as gently as I could. "It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay. Big Jim is here. Everything is all right."

  She sniffled something.

  "What was that?"

  "I'm sorry," she sniffed. "Please don't hit me."

  "Huh? I'm not going to hit you."

  "I won't do it again. I promise."

  "Hey, baby . . . It's all right. This is Jim, remember?" She was still rigid with fear. I held her out in front of me so she could see my face. "It's Jim, big ugly Jim. Remember me?"

  She blinked at me and looked startled. And then she did break down and cry.

  She climbed back into my lap and I held her tightly the whole time and stroked her hair and hugged her and told her everything was going to be all right. I hugged her and loved her and let her cry all over me. She sobbed quietly and steadily, only occasionally hiccuping. She didn't try to hold it back. Once-she wiped at her eyes and looked as if she were trying to choke it down, but I hugged her again and told her to let the rest of it out. "Let it all out, sweetheart. It's easier than carrying it around. Come on, Holly, that's my girl."

  Gradually her sobs began to lessen and she lay limp in my arms, a tiny rag doll of a person, so thin, so very thin and small.

  How fragile she was.

  I shifted my position on the fence ever so gently, and her arms tightened around me. "It's all right," I said. "I'm not letting go." We sat there for a long time, me holding her and she hugging me.

  Finally, she said, "I was so scared."

  "I know," I said. "I saw."

  "But I'm not scared any more."

  "You're a good girl." I stroked her hair.

  "Not while you're with me, I'm not scared."

  "Mmm," I said. "Well, you don't have to scared ever again."

  She sniffed, wiping her nose against my shirt. "I thought you were going away."

  "No, I'm not going away. Not while you need me."

  "But I thought . . . "

  "Shhh," I said, hugging her. "How could I leave someone as pretty and sweet as you?"

  And even as I said it, I knew I was lying.

  How could I promise to stay with this child when I hadn't kept every other promise I'd ever made?

  I was a deserter from the army. I'd be
trayed Jason and his Tribe: Not a good track record. I would probably betray these people too, before I was through. And I'd have a good reason for it too.

  Holly rested her head against my chest then and held one of my hands in both of hers. She believed in me. The poor dumb kid, she believed in me more than I believed in my own self.

  Oh, hell.

  I stroked her hair and remembered how much we'd loved the children in Jason's Tribe. Or had we really? Hadn't we just used them as little slaves? We'd had them serve the meals and clear the tables and wash the dishes and do the laundry and sweep the floors; and we'd justified it all by calling it "teaching them responsibility."

  I couldn't deny that they were happy children. They laughed and sang and played so joyously, it almost made me forget that humanity was an endangered species.

  There was no doubt that those children were loved, but-

  -that was the problem.

  Some of the ways they were loved.

  I guess I was guilty of that too.

  I hadn't wanted to, I really hadn't, not at first, but they were so insistent, all of them, even the children said they liked it, there wasn't any shame in it, you had to let go of stupid things like shame before you could play together in bed, and after a while, it just became the easy thing to do, to be one of the Tribe.

  And after a while, it didn't feel wrong at all.

  But what if they were wrong? And if they were, what did that make me'? A deserter. A renegade. And a child molester.