Ecce and Old Earth

by Vance, Jack

  Wayness greeted him. “As you see, Lydia and Myron are hard at work. I think that they feel just a bit better this morning. Am I right, Lydia?”

  Lydia raised her eyes and showed the ghost of a smile, then returned to the clay. Wayness went on: “I would ask Myron the same question, but he is too busy just now, to answer. Still, I think he feels better too.”

  “They are doing good work,” said Olivano.

  “Yes. But not as good as they are capable of doing. In the main, they are just pushing the clay back and forth. As soon as they feel better, we will see some really interesting things. Both Myron and Lydia are determined not to let themselves go all dreamy again.” Wayness heaved a deep sigh. “I feel as if I have been giving them artificial respiration.”

  “Hmf,” said Olivano. “You should see some of the types I deal with ten times a day. These two are like flowers in the spring.” He looked toward the house. “Irena is at home, I assume.”

  Wayness nodded. “She is home. To be exact, she is watching us from the window now.”

  “Good. Then I will show her something worth her interest,” said Olivano. He opened his medical case and brought out a pair of small transparent envelopes. He pulled a hair from Lila’s head, to her startlement, did another from Myron, who showed only resignation. Olivano dropped the hairs into the envelopes, which he labeled.

  Wayness asked: “Why are you torturing poor Myron and Lydia.”

  “It is not torture; it is science,” said Olivano.

  “I always thought that there was a difference.”

  “There is in this case, at least. Hairs group in layers, absorbing various materials from the blood as they do so; they become, in effect, stratigraphic records. I will have these hairs analyzed.”

  “Do you think you will discover anything?”

  “Not necessarily. Certain types of substances are either not absorbed or make no distinct strata. Still, is worth trying.” Olivano turned to look toward the house. Through the window they saw Irena’s shape move back, as if she were reluctant to be discovered.

  Olivano said: “It is time for a conference with Irena.”

  Wayness asked: “Shall I come?”

  “I think your presence would be helpful.”

  The two went to the front door and Olivano sounded the chime. After a pause Irena opened the door. “Yes?”

  “May we come in?”

  Irena turned and led the way into the sitting room. She remained standing. “Why were you taking hair from the children?”

  Olivano explained the process and its rationale. Irena was clearly not pleased. “Do you think that such a procedure is necessary?”

  “I won’t know for certain until I see the results of the analysis.”

  “That is not very informative.”

  Olivano laughed and gave his head a rueful shake. “If I had definite information, you would be the first to know. Now then, there is another matter, related to general hygiene. You may or may not have heard that the poly-virus XAX-29 was discovered in Pombareales last week. It is not overly dangerous but may be uncomfortable if a person lacks the proper antibodies. I can easily make the determination with a blood sample. If you will permit –” Olivano brought out a small instrument. “You will feel nothing.” He stepped forward and before Irena could protest or draw back, he had pressed the instrument against her forearm. “Very good,” said Olivano. “I will have results for you tomorrow. In the meantime, don’t worry, as the chances of infection are slight, but it is better to be safe than sorry.”

  Irena stood rubbing her arm, eyes glittering black in her wasted face.

  Olivano said politely: “I think that is all for now. Marin has her instructions – essentially, more of the same.”

  Irena said with a sniff: “She seems to spend a great deal of time playing with the children.”

  “That is precisely what they need: they should not be allowed to brood and daydream and recede into their private worlds. They seem to have had something of a setback, but they are coming out of it and I want to make sure that it does not happen again.”

  Irena had nothing to say, and Olivano took his leave.

  The week passed. On Friday evening Olivano telephoned Wayness at the hotel. “What is the news from Casa Lucasta?”

  “Nothing, except that the children are almost back to where they were. Lydia is talking again and Myron gives his indescribable signals. They are both reading: Lydia goes at it casually; Myron seems to read at a glance.”

  “Such skill has been recorded before.”

  “There is something else, most curious. We went for a walk out on the pampas and Lydia found a pretty white stone. This morning she could not find it; I had packed it into a box of oddments by mistake. Lydia looked everywhere, but could not find her stone. Finally she told Myron: ‘It is my white stone: gone!’ Myron looked around, and went directly to the box and tossed the stone to Lydia. She seemed not at all surprised. I asked her: ‘How did Myron know the stone was in the box?’ She only shrugged and went back to her picture book. Later, when they had gone into the house for their lunch, I hid Myron’s red pencil under the sand in a corner of the sandbox. After lunch they came back into the yard. Myron started to draw but found that his red pencil was missing. He looked around the yard and went directly to the sandbox and found his pen. Then he looked at me with a most peculiar expression; puzzled, amused, wondering if I had lost my mind. I found it hard not to laugh. So, there you have it. Myron, who can do all manner of remarkable deeds, is also clairvoyant.”

  Olivano said: “That faculty is mentioned in the literature, guardedly. It is said to maximize at puberty, then dwindle away.” He thought for a few seconds. “I don’t think I want to involve myself in this matter, and I would prefer that you keep your findings to yourself. We don’t want to make Myron any more of a freak than he is.”

  Wayness could not let Olivano’s remarks, no matter how cool and dispassionate – in fact, they were too cool and too dispassionate – go unchallenged. “Myron is in no sense of the word a freak! Despite all his odd little quirks and funny attempts at dignity, he is gentle and cooperative and really a sweet little boy!”

  “Aha! I wonder who has got whom wrapped around their little finger!”

  “Yes, I fear so.”

  “Then you may be interested to know that, while Myron and Lydia are siblings, Irena is not their mother. They have no congruent genetic material.”

  “It is no more than I suspected,” said Wayness. “What do the hair samples tell you?”

  “I have not had the results yet, but I should have them by Wednesday. I don’t know whether or not I deceived her about the virus, but I might as well play out the game and tell her it is no longer a threat. I will also advise her that I want you on hand Sunday, and that the next time the children show any sign of illness, no matter how trivial, that I must be called, since I want no recurrence of the previous ailment which set them back psychologically.”

  The weekend passed without untoward incident. On Wednesday morning Dr. Olivano arrived at Casa Lucasta as usual. It was another chilly day with wan sunlight seeping through a high overcast and a wind blowing down from the Andes. Despite the weather Wayness with Lydia and Myron were occupied as usual in the side yard. Today Myron and Lydia sat together, studying the pages of a picture book wherein were depicted many sorts of wild animals, both terrestrial and off-world.

  “Good morning all!” called Olivano. “What are you doing with yourselves today?”

  “We are exploring the universe, from top to bottom,” said Wayness. “We look at pictures, and talk. Lydia sometimes reads from the books and Myron draws pretty pictures when he is in the mood.”

  “Myron can do anything, “said Lydia”

  “I don’t doubt it an instant,” said Olivano. “You are also very clever.”

  “Lydia reads quite well,” said Wayness. She pointed to a picture. “What animal is that, Lydia?”

  “It is a lion.”


  “How do you know?”

  Lydia gave Wayness a puzzled look. “The letters read ‘LION.’”

  Wayness took the book, turned the page, covered the picture and asked: “What animal is on this page?”

  “I don’t know. The word reads ‘TIGER,’ but we won’t know really until we see the picture.”

  “Quite right” said Wayness. “There might have been a mistake. But not this time! The picture shows a tiger and the letters spell ‘TIGER.’”

  Olivano asked: “What of Myron? Does he read too?”

  “Of course he reads – probably better than you do.”

  “Myron, be a good boy and read something.”

  Myron cocked his head dubiously to the side, but said nothing.

  “In that case, show me an animal that you like.”

  It seemed that Myron had ignored the question, then suddenly he turned a few pages and displayed the picture of a stag, with mountains in the background.

  “That is a handsome beast indeed,” said Olivano. Wayness put her arm around Myron’s thin shoulders and hugged him. “You are very clever, Myron.”

  Myron pulled in the corners of his mouth by way of response.

  Lydia looked at the picture. ““That is a ‘STAG.’”

  “Quite right! What else can you read?”

  “Anything I like.”

  “Really?”

  Lydia opened a book and read:

  ‘Rodney the Bad Boy.’

  “Very good,” said Wayness. “Now read the story.”

  Lydia bent her head over the book and read:

  ‘Once there was a boy named Rodney whohad learned a bad habit: he scribbled in picture books. One day he drew some foolish black lines across the face of a fine sabretooth tiger. This was a serious mistake, since a fairy owned the book. She said: “That was a naughty trick, Rodney, and now you shall have the teeth of the poor tiger whom you made so ugly.”

  ‘Instantly two long heavy teeth grew fromRodney’s mouth, so long that when he lowered his head the points rested on his chest. Rodney’s father and mother were very annoyed, but the dentist said that the teeth were healthy and there were no cavities, and that probably they need not worry about braces. The main thing was for Rodney to brush the teeth well, and to wipe them with a napkin while he was eating.’

  Lydia put the book down. “That is enough for now.”

  “And very interesting too,” said Wayness. “Rodney will probably not make the same mistake again.”

  Lydia nodded and returned to the pages of the picture book.

  Olivano spoke to Wayness. “I am astonished. What have you done?”

  “Nothing. It is already there. I gave it a chance to happen, and meanwhile I hugged them and kissed them, which they seem to like.”

  “Yes, of course, “said Olivano. “Who wouldn’t?”

  They might have known how to read before. Myron, have you been reading for a long time and keeping it secret?”

  Myron had been drawing on a sheet of paper. He looked up at Wayness from the corner of his eyes, then returned to his drawing.

  “If you don’t care to talk, you can write something on this piece of nice green paper.” Wayness put the paper in front of him.

  Again Myron squinted up from the side of his face. When he saw that Wayness was smiling at him, he took up his pencil and wrote: “We have never read before. It is easier than chess. But there are many words I do not know.”

  “We will repair that lack, perhaps even today. Now show Dr. Olivano how well you can draw.”

  Without enthusiasm Myron began to draw, using his pencils. Then he took up his color flow-pens and brushed here and there. On the paper appeared a great stag with spreading antlers. He stood looking from a landscape similar to the depiction in the book, but quite different in detail. If anything, the drawing was more precise and the colors more striking than those in the book.

  “That is absolutely enchanting,” said Olivano. “Myron, I salute you.”

  “I can draw too,” said Lydia.

  “Of course you can,” said Wayness. “You are also a wonderful little creature.”

  Wayness, glancing toward the house, saw Irena watching from the window. “We are being observed,” she told Olivano.

  “So I noticed. We must bring these matters to her attention.”

  Lydia’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want arty medicine.”

  Olivano asked: “What medicine?”

  Lydia looked off toward the loom of the mountains. “Sometimes when the wind blows I want to run, and then they give us medicine, so that everything is dark and we are tired.”

  Olivano said: “I will see that they give you no more medicine. But you must not run when the wind blows.”

  “Clouds ride on the wind, and birds fly sidewise. Weeds roll and tumble and bump down the pampas.”

  “Lydia thinks she must join the clouds and birds and weeds,” said Wayness.

  Lydia found the idea amusing. “No! Marin; you are foolish!”

  “Then why do you run?”

  Lydia’s words came slowly. “First there is the wind, and I know things are starting. Then I begin to hear far voices. They are calling to me. They say -” Lydia made her voice low and husky “- ‘Weerooo! Weerooo! Are you there? Weerooo!’ They are calling to me, from in back of the mountains, and I start to feel strange, and then I run out into the dark.”

  Wayness asked: “Do you know who is calling?”

  “It might be the old men with the yellow eyes,” said Lydia dubiously.

  “Does Myron hear the voices?”

  “Myron becomes angry.”

  “Running through the night is a bad habit, and you must change,” said Olivano. “When the night is dark and the wind blows strong and cold, you will surely get lost and fall down among the rocks and the thorns and die. Then there will be no more Lydia, and the people who love you will be sad.”

  “I will be sad too,” said Lydia.

  “That is exactly correct. So, you will stop running?”

  Lydia became anxious. “They will still call me!”

  Wayness said: “I do not go running every time someone calls to me.”

  “That is proper conduct,” said Olivano. “You must act the same way.”

  Lydia nodded slowly, as if agreeing to take the matter under consideration.

  Olivano turned to Wayness: “It’s time for our conference with Irena. Today we have some serious matters to discuss.”

  “In regard to the hair?”

  Olivano nodded. “I may be forced to make some harsh decisions before too long. They never come easy.”

  Wayness became apprehensive. “What sort of decisions?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m waiting for some test reports.” He led the way to the front door, where Irena silently admitted them into the house.

  Dr. Olivano put on his best professional manner. “I’m happy to confirm that the virus is no longer a threat; there have been no new cases.”

  Irena acknowledged the news with a curt nod. “I am quite busy today, and if that is all –”

  “Not quite. In fact there are several matters which we must discuss. Shall we sit?”

  Irena wordlessly turned away and went into the sitting room. Olivano and Wayness followed, and seated themselves gingerly on the couch. Irena remained standing. Olivano spoke, choosing his words carefully. “In regard to the children, I can only call their progress phenomenal. It is hard to assign credit, but clearly the children like Marin, and respond to her, and she has been able to break down their isolation.”

  Irena said crisply: “That, of course, may be beneficial, but I have been warned that they are of a manic disposition and should not be over-stimulated.”

  “That is incorrect,” said Olivano coldly. “Lydia and Myron are highly intelligent individuals desperately anxious to become normal. I understood none of this until Marin provided some insights. Then the problems started to show themselves.”

  Irena dart
ed a glittering black glance toward Wayness. “There were no problems whatever. They lived quietly and happily until Marin appeared on the scene. Since then, their conduct has become erratic, even peculiar.”

  ‘“That is true,” said Olivano. “They are commencing to demonstrate extraordinary abilities, far beyond what is considered ‘normal.’ In a few years these abilities will become less dramatic, or even disappear, which is the usual sequence of events. But for now, the improvement in their personalities is so notable that we must do our best to maintain the momentum; don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, of course, but with certain reservations.”

  Olivano dismissed Irena’s ‘reservations’ with a gesture. “Last week I took away some hair samples. They have provided information which, frankly, I find almost incredible. Let me ask you this: have you been dosing the children with medicines or tonics of any kind?”

  Irena’s eyes narrowed. She delayed several seconds before responding. “Not recently.” She attempted a light tone. “Where did you get that idea? Surely not from the hair?”

  Olivano nodded soberly. “The hair of both children show striations recurring at weekly intervals. The striations yield no identifiable compounds, which indicates that the medicine is a complex organic substance, or mixture of substances, too dilute to leave a signature other than the fact that they were administered. So now, I will ask you again as to what medicine you have been giving the children?”

  Irena attempted an airy tone. “Only their regular tonic, which, in my opinion, has kept them as well as they are today.”

  “Why did you not tell me about this so-called ‘tonic’?”

  Irena shrugged. “It is nothing of consequence. The doctor who prescribed it explained that it strengthened the nerves, and was also good for the digestion.”

  “May I see this tonic?”

  “It’s all gone,” said Irena. “I used the last some time ago and discarded the bottle.”

  “And you have no more?”

  Irena hesitated a single instant. “No.”