Spell
Story Notes
As should be obvious from at least some of these stories and story notes, I was a strange child—much stranger than my brother Jack, who remains to this day, despite his artistic and musical talents and encyclopedic memory, enviably normal. I was kind and pleasant to be around, I’m told, but I was, as one friend put it years later, “a young eccentric,” and, as another friend put it, “a Nineteenth Century naturalist born waaaay too late.” By the age of ten I had, among things, a seashell collection (“univalves and bivalves,” please) of 1,000 specimens all neatly labeled with their genus and species and subspecies names, location, temperature of the location, etc. Did that make me a scientist? Of course not. I had that collection because my father loved the sea and my mother and grandmother loved its treasures, and I was, like most human beings, choosing a life of “love.” I’d go on in later years to discover three unreported species of animals (one mollusk, two insects), but that didn’t make me a scientist either. That friend’s words were accurate: “a Nineteenth Century naturalist.” I loved nature, the sense of wonder it provided, the way it pointed, like science fiction itself, to mysteries the human mind could barely fathom. That made me a mystic more than a scientist, I knew—and much of my writing shows that mysticism as well—and using Mind and Reason to reduce the wonders of nature to something cognitively manageable was of no interest to me. The human mind could serve to appreciate, but it could not understand it all. And at ten, of course, no matter how much conchological and malacological information might be in my brain, I was still a kid, and I played with those seashells the way other boys played with toy soldiers. The Queen Conch (Strombus gigas) needed protection, and so her forty Fighting Conchs (Strombus alatus) protected her. The shells had been collected during the year of my brother’s birth in Key West, Florida, and were “family,” too. Four years later, in San Diego, I was looking a little more like the oceanographer I thought I might become thanks to my father’s world: a world of seaside assignments, Navy research divers, research vessels—the wonders of the sea. Three of those Navy divers—whose offices were in barracks across the street from our quarters on San Diego Bay and who would the next year take their historic dive in the bathyscaphe Trieste (which sat in our backyard for my brother and me to play around, wondering at its alien-spacecraft look) to the bottom of the Marianas Trench—gave me a little desk in their office. There, at age twelve, I had my research notebooks and big formaldehyde jars full of skates, rays, sharks, and other creatures from the bay; but I was still no scientist. It was still about wonder and mystery, and the story in this collection that speaks to that secret most loudly is “Spell.” It is the only fantasy story in this book; and though it was written as a thank you to a boy’s grandmother for a love that kept him from darkness as he grew up, it is also about the “magical” ways we use the natural world even in rational, civilized, hi-tech times—how even scientists, in their deepest psyches and despite their protests to the contrary, use them to make meaning of the world.
Postscript: These days the first people I share my fiction with are my wife Amelie and my youngest daughter Liz. I know that if the stories touch their hearts with mystery and magic, the stories are working. Their hearts are never wrong; and as any writer at any age knows, having hearts like this around before one sends one’s vulnerable fictive works out into the world is a godsend.
This story appeared in 2005 in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction and is one in a series of fablelike fantasies called “the American boy stories.”
The Faces Outside
I wanted to call her Soft Breast, because she is soft when I hold her to me. But the Voice told me to call her Diane. When I call her Diane, I have a pleasant feeling, and she seems closer to me. She likes the name “Diane.” The Voice knew what was best, of course, as it always does.
I must mate with her every day, when the water is brightest. The Voice says so. It also says that I am in a “tank,” and that the water is brightest when the “sun” is over the “tank.” I do not understand the meaning of “sun,” but the Voice says that “noon” is when the “sun” is over the “tank.” I must mate with Diane every “noon.”
I do know what the “tank” is. It is a very large thing filled with water, and having four “corners,” one of which is the Cave where Diane and I sleep when the water is black like the ink of the squid and cold like dead fish. But we stay warm. There is the “floor” of the “tank,” the “floor” being where all the rock and seaweed is, with all the crawling fish and crabs, where Diane and I walk and sleep. There are four “sides.” “Sides” are smooth and blue walls, and have “view-ports”—round, transparent areas—on them. The Voice says that the things in the “view-ports” are Faces. I have a face, as does Diane. But the cracked, flat things with small lights circling about them are not pretty like Diane’s face. The Voice says that the Faces have bodies, like myself, and Diane. No body could be like Diane’s. I think I should be quite sick if I saw the bodies of the Faces.
The Voice then says that the Faces are watching us, as we sometimes watch the porpoises. It took a very long time to grow used to having the Faces watch us, as Diane and I came together, but we learned to do it as simply as we swim and sleep.
But Diane does not have babies. I am very sad when I see the porpoises and whales with their young. Diane and I sleep together in the Cave; Diane is very warm and soft. We sleep in happiness, but when we are awake, we are lonely. I question the Voice about a baby for Diane, but the Voice is always silent.
I grow to hate the Faces in the “view-ports.” They are always watching, watching. The Voice says that they are enemies, and bad. The Faces have not tried to hurt me; but I must think of them as enemies because the Voice says so. I ask, bad, like the shark? The Voice says, no, worse than the sharks and eels. It says that the Faces are evil.
The “tank” must be high, because the water is high. I have gone once to the surface, and, although I could get used to it, the light was too much for my eyes. It took me two hundred and seventy kicks to the surface; it took me three thousand steps from our Cave to the opposite “side.” The “tank” is very large, otherwise the whales would not be happy.
The fish are many, but the dangers are few. I have seen the sharks kill. But the shark does not come near me if I see it and am afraid. Sometimes I have caught it sneaking up behind me, but when I turn it leaves quickly. I have questioned the Voice about why the sharks leave. It does not know. It has no one to ask.
Today the “sun” must be very large, or powerful, or bright, because the water is brighter than most days.
When I awoke, Diane was not beside me. The rock of the Cave is jagged, so as I make my way from our bed of cool and slick seaweed, toward the entrance, I scrape my leg on the fifth kick. Not much blood comes from the cut. That is fortunate, because when there is blood the sharks come.
Diane has grabbed the tail of a porpoise, and both are playing. Diane and I love the porpoises. Sometimes we can even hear their thoughts. They are different from the other fish; they are more like us. But they have babies and we do not.
Diane sees me and, wanting to play, swims behind a rock and looks back, beckoning. I make a grab at her as I sneak around the rock. But she darts upward, toward the surface, where her body is a shadow of beauty against the lighter water above her. I follow her, but she ducks and I sail past her. Diane pulls up her legs, knees under her chin, and puts her arms around them. She then drops like a rock toward the “floor.”
I have caught a porpoise by his top fin. He knows my wish, so he speeds toward Diane, circles her and butts her soft thighs with his snout. She laughs, but continues to stay in a ball, her black hair waving. She is very beautiful.
I try to pry her arms from around her legs gently, but she resists. I must use force. Diane does not mind when I do because she knows I love her.
I pull her arms away, and slip my arms under hers, kissing her on the lips for a long time. Strugg
ling to free herself, laughing again, she pokes me sharply with her elbow and escapes my arms. I am surprised. She quickly puts her arms around my neck, pulls herself to my back and links her slim legs around my middle. She is pretending that I am a porpoise. I laugh. She pinches me to go ahead. I swim upward, but her thoughts tell me she wants to go to the Cave.
I understand. I carry her through the water very slowly, feeling the warmth and nipples of her breasts pressed against my back as she rests her head on my shoulder and smiles.
The Faces continue to stare. Many times I have searched for a word to show my hatred for them. I shall find it somehow, though. Sooner or later.
“What count of planets had the Terrans infested?” The furry humanoid leaned over the desk and stared, unblinking, at the lesser humanoid in the only other chair in the room. His gaze was dropped as he scratched informally at the heavy fur at his wrist. He raised his gaze again.
“Forty-three is the count, beush,” replied the other.
“And the count of planets destroyed?”
“Forty-three planetoid missiles were sent and detonated simultaneously without resistance or losses on our part, beush,” the assistant beush answered indirectly.
The room was hot, so the beush lazily passed his hand over a faintly glowing panel.
The room was cooled, and a large-eyed female with silky, ochrous fur—very desirable to the majority of humanoids—entered with two flared glasses of an odorless transparent liquid—very desirable to the majority of humanoids. The lesser humanoid was being treated exceptionally well.
The room was momentarily silent as the two sipped at their drinks with black lips. The beush, as customary, spoke first. “Inform me of the pre-espionage intelligence accomplishments contra-Energi. I have not been previously informed. Do not spare the details.”
“Of certainty, beush,” began the assistant with all the grace of an informer. “The Light and Force Research of the Energi is executed in one center of one planet, the planet being Energa, as our intelligence service has conveniently listed it. The Energi have negative necessity for secrecy in their Light and Force Research, because, first, all centers are crusted and protected by Force Domes. Second, it is near impossibility that one could so self-disguise that he would negatively be detectable.” He hesitated.
“And these Energi,” queried the beush, “are semi-telepathic or empathic?”
“Affirmative,” the assistant mumbled.
“Then you have there a third reason,” offered the beush.
“Graces be given you, beush.”
The beush nodded in approval. “Continue, but negatively hesitate frequently or it will be necessary to discuss this subject post-present.”
His assistant trembled slightly. “Unequivocally affirmative. Beush, your memory relates that five periods antepresent, when there existed the Truce inter Energi, Terrans, and ourselves, there was a certain period during which gifts of the three nucleus-planets were exchanged in friendship. The Terrans were self-contented to donate to the Energi an immense ‘aquarium’—an ‘aquarium’ consisting of a partly transparent cell in which was placed a collection of Terran life-forms that breathed their oxygen from the dense atmosphere of Terran seas. But, as a warp-space message from the Terran Council indirectly proclaimed, the degenerate Terrans negatively possessed a ship of any Space type large or powerful enough to transport the ‘aquarium’ to Energa. Our ships being the largest of the Truce, we were petitioned by the Terrans to transport it. These events developed before the Terrans grew pestiferous to our cause. We obliged, but even our vastest ship was slow, because the physical power necessary to bring the weight of the cell through warp-space quickly was too great for the solitary four generators. It was imperative that the trip be on a longer trajectory arranged through norm-space. During the duration of the trip, feelings of suspicion arose inter Three Truce Races. As your memory also relates, the ‘aquarium’ was still in space when we found it necessary to obliterate the total race of Terrans. The message of the annihilation arrived in retard to the Energi, so Time permitted us to devise a contra-Energi intelligence plan, a necessity since it was realized that the Energi would be disturbed by our actions contra-Terrans and would, without doubt, take action, contra-ourselves.
“Unknown to you, beush, or to the masses and highers, an insignificant pleasure craft was extracted from Terran Space and negatively consumed with a planet when the bombs were detonated. The ship accommodated two Terrans. Proper Terrans by birth, negatively by reference. One was male, other female. The two had been in their culture socially and religiously united in a ceremony called ‘matrimony.’ Emotions of sex, protection, and an emotion we have negatively been able to analyze linked the two, and made them ideal for our purpose.”
The assistant looked at the beush, picked up his partially full glass, and, before he could sip it, was dashed to the floor beside the beush himself. The former helped the higher to his unstable legs, and was commented to by the same. “Assistant, proceed to the protecroom.”
They entered the well-illuminated closet and immediately slipped into the unwieldy metallic suits. Once again they took their seats, the beush reflecting and saying, “As your memory relates, the explosion was a bomb-drop concussion from the Rebellers. We must now wear anti-radiation protection. For that reason, and the danger of the Energi, you do see why we need the formulae of the Force Domes, immediately.”
There was menace in his voice. The assistant trembled violently. Using the rare smile of that humanoid race, the beush continued. “Do negatively self-preoccupy. Resume your information, if contented.”
“Contented,” came the automatic reply, and the assistant began, “The two humans were perfect for the Plan. I repeat. Before the Energi received the message of the race destruction, it was imperative that we establish an agent on Energa, near the Force Domes. We assumed that the ‘aquarium’ would be placed on Energa, in the greatest center. That was correct, but negatively yet knowing for certainty, we perpetuated the Plan, with the ‘aquarium’ as the basis.
“One of our most competent protoplasmic computers stabilized the final steps of the Plan. We were to subject the two Terrans to radiation and have as a result two Terrans who could breathe their normal oxygen from H2O—the atmosphere of the ‘aquarium,’ I repeat. We were then to deprive them of memory, except of the inter-attracting emotions, to allow them to live in harmony. Thirdly, we were to place them in the ‘aquarium’ and have them forwarded under the reference of semi-intelligent aqua-beings from Terran seas. A simple, but quite effective plan, your opinion, beush?”
“Quite,” was the reply. “And concerning the method of info-interception?”
The assistant continued without hesitation, embarrassed by his incompetency, “A hyper-complex spheroid with radio interceptors, a-matter viewers and recorders, and the general intelligence instruments of micro-size was placed in the cranium of the male mutant. The spheroid has negative direct control over the organism. Size was too scarce for use on trivialities. Then an agent was placed behind the larger controls at our end of the instruments.”
“And you are the agent?”
“Hyper-contentedly affirmative.”
I have done two things today. I have found the word for my hatred of the Faces. The Voice gave it to me. When I asked the Voice, it laughed and told me the word to use was “damn.” So today I have thrice said, “Damn the Faces. Damn them.”
Diane and I have decided that we want a baby. Maybe the other fish wanted them, so they got them. We want a baby.
“The two Terrans were so biologically mutated and are so nearly robotic, that it is physically impossible for reproduction on their part, beush.”
The beush ignored the assistant’s words and said, “I have received copies of the thought-patterns and translations. There was something strange and very powerful about the meaning of the male’s thought, ‘want.’ I query.”
“Be assured without preoccupation that there exists negative danger
of reproduction.”
The name I wanted to call Diane was not good, because her breasts are hard and large, as is her stomach. I think she is sick.
I do not think Diane is sick. I think she is going to have a baby.
“Entities, assistant! On your oath-body you proclaimed that there is negative danger of reproduction.”
“Rest assured, peace, beush.”
“But his thoughts!”
“Rest assured, peace, beush.”
There is much blood in the water today. Diane is having a baby; sharks have come. I have never seen so many sharks, and as big as they are I have never seen. I am afraid, but still some sneak among us near Diane.
We love the porpoises, so they help us now. They are chasing the sharks away, injuring and killing some.
“Entities. Warp-spaced Entities! There has been reproduction.”
“Yorbeush,” cried the assistant in defense. “It is physically impossible. But they are mutants. It is negatively impossible that they possess Mind Force to a degree.”
“To what degree? What degree could produce reproduction when it is physically impossible?” The beush was sarcastic. “How far can they go?”
“There is negatively great amount they can do. Negative danger, because we have studied their instincts and emotions and found that they will not leave the ‘aquarium,’ their ‘home,’ unless someone tells them to. But there is no one to do so.”
Today, I damned the Faces nine times and finally wanted them to go away. The “view-ports” went black. It was like the sharks leaving when I wanted them to. I still do not understand.
The Girl Who Loved Animals and Other Stories Page 26