Transmigration

by J. T. McIntosh

  The kettle was boiling. Baudaker made the tea in an old earthenware pot and poured himself a cup.

  --I must sound very stupid, he said apologetically. --In some ways I was very stupid indeed. As I said, Gerry and Sheila didn't fight much. Even when they started getting into trouble, they got into trouble together. As for the fact that Sheila was, after all, a girl . . .

  When he stopped, Fletcher prompted him:

  --You forgot about it.

  --I almost did forget about it, what with Sheila doing everything Gerry did. Some boys wanted him to play on their football team, but he wouldn't because they wouldn't take Sheila too. They didn't sleep in the same bed, but they always had baths together. Of course that stopped when . . . you know. One day when they were about thirteen Gerry asked who Denis and Margaret Baudaker were. I knew then he'd been in my desk and had found SheHa's birth certificate. I told him the truth and then I told Shella.

  Fletcher went on for him:

  --And almost at once you found them in bed together.

  --Yes.

  The overtones of the meek little man's shock came through.

  Baudaker, it went without saying, had never looked at any woman but his wife. He could not understand promiscuity: murder and bank robbery and illicit love were almost equally beyond his understanding. He was totally lacking in imagination, which was one reason why he had remained a lab "boy" employed on routine jobs. Even when the wonder of John Fletcher's supernormal capacities came into his life, all he could think of to do was repeat the one test which had produced remarkable results.

  If he had been capable of violence, he might, on finding Gerry and Sheila together, have killed them both and then, naturally, himself.

  Fletcher had no difficulty in comprehending this. Yet the blindness of Baudaker's attitude made him aware of the similar blind spot in himself, and how wrong they both had been. To be a modern Puritan among Puritans was one thing; to see the world only through Puritan eyes was not rational.

  It was only in theory that Baudaker could acquit Gerry and Sheila of incest. Although they were not brother and sister and he had been forced to tell them so, to him this was a technicality. They were thirteen, children at school. The depth of their guilt, to Baudaker, was infinite. But that mattered even less than the fact that the gulf of understanding between them was shown to be unbridgeable.

  Instead of killing them and himself, he said nothing and went away quietly, although they knew he had seen them. And from that moment Gerry and Sheila acted as if he was not there. They made love openly. They fought openly, punching each other, throwing things at each other. They fought bitterly and clung to each other passionately.

  Baudaker poured another cup of tea.

  --An aunt of mine took Sheila in. She's still with her, three years later. It hasn't made much difference except that what goes on between Gerry and Sheila doesn't go on in this house, at least when I'm here. How they feel about each other is something I really don't know. More than once Gerry has beaten Sheila half to death, but she has never looked at anybody else. They don't seem to have any idea of ever getting married. Gerry drinks a lot, and he's been in court seven times. Breach of the peace and assault, not stealing yet, thank heaven. Sheila's been in court twice.

  Fletcher had heard more than enough about Gerry and Sheila for the time being. Also, the tea had washed some of the stale smoky taste from Baudaker's mouth, and Fletcher was beginning to get hungry.

  --Aren't you going to have anything to eat?

  Baudaker's surprise gave the answer. He drank tea as compulsively as he smoked; he lived on tea and cigarettes. He was tubby rather from lack of exercise than from excessive food intake.

  --I'll see what there is, he said.

  Baudaker had baked beans on toast, made and drank another pot of tea, went back to the lounge and put a rug over Gerry's legs. He switched off the light, murmuring, although he knew Gerry could not hear him: "Goodnight, son." His voice was warm and tender, and Fletcher knew that whatever Gerry had done or would do in the future, Baudaker would never cease to love him.

  If Baudaker had killed him three years ago, it would have been like a biblical character cutting off his right hand.

  When Baudaker got up next morning at half past seven, Gerry had not moved. Baudaker was mildly surprised to find himself taking a hot shower, since he had had a bath only two days since, but didn't object. Afterward he made tea, fried sausages, and bread for himself. Experience told him that Gerry would be unable to face anything.

  Baudaker enjoyed the hearty breakfast as much as Fletcher did.

  --Don't let me smoke. I really will give it up this time.

  --While I'm with you, you certainly will. In a day or two you won't even cough.

  Gerry, who worked in a shoe shop, did not have to leave the house until a quarter to nine. But he had to be clean and smart when he left.

  Baudaker brought him a cup of tea and shook his arm gently. Gerry swore indistinctly but vilely.

  "Gerry," said Baudaker softly, and the boy opened his eyes.

  Without warning Fletcher stepped in. "Get up," he said curtly.

  Gerry winced at his incisive tone.

  "You're seventeen," said Fletcher. "It's time you learned to look after yourself."

  Gerry stared blankly at him, and Baudaker frantically tried to intervene.

  All children needed love, and Gerry had not been denied this. But they also needed direction and firmness.

  Fletcher had been denied love, but he had not been denied direction and firmness. On the whole, low as his opinion of himself was, he felt he had turned out better than Gerry.

  "There will be no more handouts," said Fletcher, "and any debts you incur are your own. Understand?"

  Gerry retorted with inchoate filth.

  "I don't understand that language, and obviously you don't either," said Fletcher. "If you wish to address a remark to me, please do it in English."

  "You stinking old bastard."

  "Now there," said Fletcher dispassionately, "is a remark totally lacking in substance. I have just had a shower and put on clean clothes, so I don't stink. I am forty-seven, which may by some definitions be middle-aged, but it is certainly not old. And I have documentary evidence to prove my legitimacy."

  "What's got into you?" Gerry demanded, getting up and wincing again as he did so. He was nearly a foot taller than Baudaker. Yet Fletcher noted, and took some wry satisfaction from the fact, he took care to put some distance between himself and Baudaker.

  "If I explained what has got into me," Fletcher said, "you would certainly not understand. Now go and get washed."

  As Fletcher drove to the university later Baudaker said humbly --You think that's the way?

  --It can't be any worse than your way, Fletcher retorted brutally.

  --That's true.

  --There are murderers and murderees. There are bullies and bullyees. You're a murderee and a bullyee. You ask to be kicked around, Baudaker. On the other hand there are people like Gerry, weak in a different way, who are as assertive as they're allowed to be, no more, no less. You do as you're told. Gerry does as he's told. Sheila, I gather, has masochistic tendencies. She likes to be beaten up.

  --I believe you're right.

  --Sheila is bad for Gerry. He needs a girl who'll say firmly, and mean it, "Now that's gone far enough," instead of inciting him, whatever he does, to go farther.

  Most of that day Fletcher left everything to Baudaker. But now and then he intervened.

  Not only Gerry knew that Baudaker was a bullyee. The little man was so slow to rouse, so willing, so unselfish, that everyone with whom he came in contact took advantage of him. The psychology lecturers gave him all the jobs that had a strict deadline, knowing, if they thought about it at all, that he would work all night if necessary to meet the deadline. The other technicians heaped as much of their own work on him as they could, and it was a lot. The students, apart from a few like Anita, treated him like a slave.

/>   Ironically, Fletcher found no difficulty in making Baudaker dig his heels in although he had never been capable of this himself. He told Professor Williams calmly that it was impossible for him to prepare the correlation charts the professor wanted for the following morning.

  "Impossible?" said the professor blankly.

  "Quite impossible," said Fletcher firmly. "You want the students' vocabulary test figures correlated with the spelling figures -- not a very significant series of figures, I should say, but of course that's not my business."

  "No, it is not!" said Williams sharply.

  "But first the two sets of figures have to be extracted . . . I should say there's six hours' work here, and unless I drop everything else I can't possibly . . . "

  "Then drop everything else!"

  "I have to compute a long series of Standard Deviation scores for Mr. Foster."

  "That can wait."

  "Very well, sir, if you give me written authorization to abandon Mr. Foster's SD series for your correlation charts."

  The professor hesitated. He was nominally in charge of the department. But when one member of a department, even the chief, arbitrarily countermanded the requirements of others without warning or consultation, considerable strife resulted. Staff members had been known to resign over such things. And if they didn't resign they made official complaints. In addition, the professor was aware, as Baudaker was, that the priority of charts for a lecture, dumped on a technician's lap less than twenty-four hours before the lecture, could not be considered overriding, especially since the tests had been done three weeks earlier.

  "Mr. Baudaker? he said huffily, "I had always considered you one of the most cooperative members of the laboratory staff. I shall find someone else to do this little job for me." He stalked away.

  --He won't, said Baudaker. Instead of being frightened out of his wits by Fletcher's firmness, he seemed to be enjoying himself this time.

  A little later Baudaker had to supervise an experimental session of a small group of students on color vision. Until fairly recently the students had been left solely under the supervision of advanced students like Anita to find out the required facts by themselves, but too much equipment had been damaged or stolen and now it was a rule that a technician had to attend all such sessions.

  This session was noisy and obstreperous and the girl allegedly in charge, a tiny, frail damsel with a whisper of a voice, could do nothing with them.

  After several warnings, Fletcher shut off the rotating color wheel and opened the curtains.

  "That's enough," he said. "Now clear out, all of you. You can apply for another tutorial date, but I doubt if you'll get it."

  The three or four students who had been making most noise showed every disposition toward dispute, but some of the others got the point at once. If this session was not completed, and they were not allowed another date, they would not get a class certificate and would not be permitted to sit in at the exams.

  A small plump youth who had scarcely said a word protested: "That's not fair."

  "I have a lot of work to do, and you've been wasting my time. That's not fair either."

  "But we weren't doing anything!"

  "Precisely. No one was doing anything. Close the door behind you."

  They saw he was quite determined and filed out silently, sullenly.

  --I'm not at all sure that was the right thing to do, Baudaker observed, worried. --It's bound to lead to trouble. Everybody will hear about it.

  --Good. Then we won't have the same trouble again.

  Fletcher turned down several other demands for Baudaker's time, and at one point had to warn himself not to overdo it.

  He was quite prepared now to be bold, and Baudaker would never be bold enough to oppose boldness. But it would puzzle everybody if Baudaker changed too much too suddenly.

  For once, Baudaker went home when he was supposed to, just after five.

  Fletcher did the driving. When he reached the maisonette, he reversed the car neatly into the garage and again took pleasure in Baudaker's open admiration.

  Frying kippers for tea, Baudaker suddenly said:

  --You must let me make tests.

  --No.

  --But we must find out . . .

  --No. I'm not a guinea pig.

  --Don't you realize, this is the greatest opportunity that ever existed for . . .

  --Baudaker, let's get it clear once and for all. I refuse absolutely to be poked and probed and prodded. I should never have come back to you the other day, and if I hadn't I don't believe any of this would have happened.

  --You really wish it hadn't?

  --Well, what good is it?

  And on that note he obstinately shut himself off from Baudaker.

  What good was it? True, it had perhaps been good for Judy. But what good was it for John Fletcher?

  --I heard that, said Baudaker, bursting in. He felt so strongly about this that he was no longer meek. --Don't you see, that's one of the things we have to find out? Nothing happens without a purpose. . . .

  --You think I'm some kind of angel of God?

  --Perhaps. If not, we must find out what you are.

  Fletcher drew the curtain again, and this time Baudaker was shut out and couldn't get in.

  Fletcher decided he had been wrong to conclude that there would be no conflict with Baudaker. It was a different kind of conflict, that was all. Unlike Judy and Ross, Baudaker had no desire to get rid of him. On the contrary, Baudaker wanted to keep him, to mount him on a microscope slide and examine him.

  Well, why exactly was he so dead set against this?

  He didn't know.

  All he knew was that thee very idea was torture.

  Gerry came home at seven, a little the worse for drink, having had two double whiskies on the way home. He looked at Baudaker challengingly.

  "It's kippers for tea," said Baudaker.

  "You know I don't like kippers."

  Fletcher moved in. "Where did you get the money?" he demanded.

  "What money?"

  "You've been drinking."

  "And you're dead set against that!"

  "Not particularly. But you've got to be able to afford it."

  Gerry didn't meet his eye. "If you must know, I got money from Sheila."

  "I see. Congratulations."

  "It's the first time I took money from her!" Gerry shouted, sensing and resenting the criticism.

  "Because previously you had no difficulty in getting it from me?

  "Well, I've got to get it from somewhere, haven't I?"

  "You got your pay only yesterday. Apparently you drank it all. That's your privilege, Gerry. But it entails going without lunch and walking to and from work."

  "I had to have a smoke, didn't I? I can see you going without your fifty fags a day!"

  Fletcher let that go. It was manifestly unfair to point out that Baudaker had not had a cigarette all day. However true that was, it was only a half-truth.