“The test must be well organized and controlled to achieve empirical results,” she insisted and shook her head. She returned her gaze to the window. “The scientist must prepare for all contingencies. Scientists do not report suppositions. They report only the facts. The stimulus must be designed in such a way as to leave no doubt as to being solely responsible for the response.”
“Impossible,” he said simply. “Perhaps if he were working with a computer or a piece of equipment, but remember this, the rat is alive. It has emotions. It might be having a bad day. It might be psychotic. It might be... in love.” He badgered her.
“You are attributing human emotions to lab rats,” she told him succinctly.
“Am I?” He asked. “If a rat were having a bad day, then he would not be reacting in a rat-normal mode. Therefore, the scientist cannot be sure if his rat is normal unless he can get inside the rat’s head. The only way to get into the rat’s head is to get in the maze with it. Communicate with the rat. Feel what the rat feels or at least get the rat’s opinion. At least try to find out if the rat is acting abnormally for no good reason.”
“I see,” she nodded. “Much like yourself?”
“You think I am abnormal?” He asked, hiding his amusement.
“I did not say that.” She stared down at the street. “I believe you are purposefully deviating from the norm in order to draw me into a philosophical conversation with you. I am not a philosopher.”
“But you have studied philosophy?” He asked. “You understand why people fall in love and out of love? Why they put so much emphasis on the affairs of the heart?”
“No, I don’t understand why they do it. I understand the observed results of having done it. I am not in the maze with the rat.”
“Would you like to get in the maze with one?” He asked hopefully.
She looked at him in surprise.
“Would you be speaking of yourself?” She asked and he nodded. “I think not. It would only serve to clutter my perceptions.”
“A little clutter never hurt anyone, dear.”
“That is debatable.”
“I like debates.”
Chapter Eleven:.
The radio attached to the dash of the power company truck crackled and threatened to come to life. Tyler quickly set down his coffee in the console and reached for the clipboard and pencil he always kept handy for such occasions.
“Dispatch, 1189.” The radio-scratchy voice of Roger Pennington, the company dispatcher came across the speaker.
Tyler picked up the mike in his left hand, poising the pencil over the paper.
“1189, dispatch,” Tyler answered reluctantly.
“You’re 10-02, 1189. Are you 10-23?”
Tyler glanced up at the sun visor where he kept a small laminated copy of the ten code.
“10-04,” he answered. “I’m 10-23. Uh, 10-04.”
“10-04, 1189. When you get 10-76 be advised there’s a 10-45. There was a 10-54 at Mill Road and Highway 12. A 10-57 left a 10-45 at that 10-20.”
Tyler scribbled furiously on the paper and let out a sigh.
“10-12, dispatch,” he asked the dispatcher to standby while he translated the last transmission. He thought he had it after a few moments. It seemed that someone had run over an animal at the junction of Highway 12 and Mill Road.
“10-04 on the 10-45,” Tyler answered Roger.
“I have some 10-43 for you,” Roger continued and Tyler reached for the pencil which had rolled down in the seat. He cursed Roger’s fanatical use of the ten codes and prayed quickly that the company would soon issue cell phones. He knew 10-43. That meant that the dispatcher had some information for him.
“You got a 10-21 from your Aunt at zero nine thirty hours. Give her a public service on your next 10-100 and make it 10-18 because you need to get out to League Line and check that transformer. It’s gonna pop. If...” Tyler lost the pencil in his effort to retrieve it from the seat. He inadvertently keyed the mike, cutting off the last transmission as he chased the errant pencil into the floor. When he sat up the transmission continued, but made no sense.
“10-09 that Roger. I was 10-01,” Tyler told him feeling just a bit satisfied.
“The whole thing?” Roger moaned, sounding somewhat crestfallen. Tyler suspected that Roger sat for hours trying to figure out how to work as many codes as possible into the least transmission.
“Never mind,” Tyler told him. “For Chrissakes, won’t you just say what you mean?”
“Gee, golly, Tyler!” Roger came back. “You sure you don’t have a 10-16?”
“That’s none of your business!” Tyler retorted irritably.
“Just call your aunt when you get a chance,” Roger said dejectedly, obviously hurt by Tyler’s tone.
“1189, clear and 10-6 until ten forty-five.” Tyler slammed the mike back on the dash. That should confuse him. He wondered what was wrong with his aunt. She never called him at work.
He drove over to check the transformer on League Line and found that Roger had, as usual, been exaggerating. The transformer would probably last until the next big storm. He headed back into town. He would just go by Aunt Mary’s and find out what she wanted.
When he arrived in front of her house, he knew immediately what the problem was. A floppy, orange-red construction fence had been thrown carelessly around the house and property next door to his aunt’s home. Workmen were everywhere. All wearing hard hats and carrying picks and shovels among other tools of destruction in their gloved hands. A front-end loader was busily scooping up the lawn and dumping it in a small dump truck and its incessant beeping as it pulled forward and then back was incredibly loud. A man with a jackhammer was destroying the sidewalk in front of the big house. Several other men with power hedge and tree trimmers were devastating the beautiful azalea and camellia bushes next to the street. A noisy Caterpillar bulldozer had already uprooted two of the magnificent oaks in the rear yard.
Tyler sat with his mouth hanging open, mesmerized by the activity. Any other time, he would have enjoyed watching the machinery at work, but they were completely demolishing the old Jenson place and doing a damned fine job of it.
“Shit!” He came to life and sprang out of the truck leaving the door standing open. “Shit!” He said again as he banged his knee on the front bumper. When he looked up from rubbing his knee, he was shocked to see the worried face of his aunt just inches from his own.
“Tyler, oh Lord! Tyler!” She grabbed his arm. “Mildred Morris! That... that... woman! She’s building her parking lot!” Tyler could barely hear her, close as she was.
“Come on inside out of this dust, Aunt Mary!” He took hold of her arm and walked her back to her kitchen door. It was surprisingly difficult to maneuver her along because she was pulling against him. He hadn’t realized she still had the strength to resist him so well. By the time he got her back inside, she was sweating and red-faced with irritation and he was short-winded from the exertion. Streaks of white dust decorated her face and soiled her blue blouse. He wondered how long she had been outside in the heat and dust.
He got her a glass of water and then put the kettle on. He needed some of her tea! He actually needed a beer, but the tea would probably be better.
“You call that policeman friend of yours, Tyler, and tell him to come over here right away,” she told him.
Tyler found the phone and put in a call to Louis Parks and then went to pick up the Tupperware container where she usually kept her tea bags. He shook it. Empty.
“Where’s the Earl Grey?” He asked her. The noise was loud even in her kitchen with the windows and doors closed.
“Gone. Use the new stuff.” She nodded toward the red and gold box on the counter. She pointed one shaking finger at the orange and spice tea.
Tyler pulled the box lid off and took out two of the cellophane-wrapped bags. He hurriedly found the cups and set them on the table and then slowed down. He couldn’t make the water boil faster. He picked up one of t
he little bags to look at it. There were Chinese symbols all over it. Only one word was spelled out in English letters... Oolong. A strange word. He wondered if it was misspelled. He sat down across from his aunt and waited for Louis to arrive.
“Are you all right?” He looked at his aunt. She seemed well enough, if a bit flustered.
“No,” she told him flatly. “Tyler, all those beautiful azaleas! I never planted anything on my side of the fence so I could enjoy them. Now, I’m too old to plant anything.”
She held a white handkerchief to her eyes to dab away the tears that had formed.
“Now, Aunt Mary, don’t say that,” he told her. “I’ll plant something for you. You just settle down now. You knew she was going to do something. Do you want some aspirin?” He hated to see her cry and almost felt like crying with her. Watching her suffer was far worse than seeing Paula Anne cry. He was at a loss for words. The kettle began to whistle on the stove. “There now. Here’s our tea.” He got up to retrieve the kettle and poured the cups full, then opened the bags to drape one in each cup. The aroma of orange and cinnamon immediately struck his nose and he forgot for a moment where he was as the memory of his almost fatal accident returned like a bad dream. He glanced up at the light fixture and then a strange thing happened. It was as if someone poured warm water over him. The feeling of relief that comes from a hot shower after a long, hard day at work. He put two sugar cubes in his cup and swirled them with the tea bag. His thoughts wandered to Paula Anne and he wondered what she was doing. He knew that calling Louis was an exercise in the utmost futility. Mildred Morris would have everything legal. There would be no recourse for his aunt except to grin and bear it.
“I don’t want an aspirin, Tyler.” He realized that she was talking to him. “I want you to get me a lawyer. I’m going to bring a suit against her in court.”
“Let’s wait and see what Louis has to say,” he told her and took a sip of the tea. It was as good as he remembered. “This tea sure is good.”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed and picked up her own cup. “I plan on getting some more of it on Saturday. Oolong, it’s called.” Tyler nodded. So that’s how it was said. “That’s the kind they usually serve in those Chinese restaurants. It beats the socks off that English stuff.”
Tyler sipped his tea. It certainly did. The noise from next door seemed to fade a bit. They must have moved the bulldozer to the other side of the big house. At the rate they were going, the whole thing would be over and done before Louis got there. He settled down into the chair and let his mind wander. Naturally, the first thing he thought of was Paula Anne and Dr. Peterson. That was not good. He closed his eyes and listened to Aunt Mary expound upon Mildred Morris’s finer qualities. She had stopped crying and her voice had resumed its normal tone. He wished he could do something about what was going on next door. He wished he could make everything right for Aunt Mary and for Paula Anne, too.
“That Perry Aliger is a nice man,” she changed the subject abruptly and he opened his eyes. “The world needs more men like him. I’ll bet he would know what to do about Mildred Morris.”
Tyler felt somewhat insulted by the remark. Did she think that Aliger could do something that he couldn’t?
“Maybe so,” he told her just to appease her. His thoughts immediately drifted back to his own problems. Perhaps it would be better if Paula Anne had a little girl to fuss over. He envisioned a little blonde image of his wife dressed in a cheerleading mascot outfit at the football game. Paula would make a damned good mother. Tyler could take them to the park and maybe even to the zoo over in Houston sometimes. They had plenty of room. The picture in his mind blurred and he saw two little blonde girls, twins! He had heard plenty of stories about those fertility drugs and how they sometimes resulted in multiple births. Twins wouldn’t be so bad. It would be a good way to sort of catch up. But then he saw four little girls and then six! He snapped his head up and realized that he had actually dozed off. Certainly the baby would have to be a girl. He had no time for a boy. Maybe a grandson someday, but boys were too much dependent on their dads. He smiled as he thought how easily he had begun to imagine having a daughter in the house. It was probably the first time he had ever really considered it at all. She would have all sorts of pretty clothes and those ruffley little socks Paula Anne kept in the closet. Aunt Mary was still talking about Perry Aliger.
A loud knock on the back door jarred him fully back to the present.
“Goodness!” Aunt Mary looked at him in surprise and actually smiled. “I’ve been rambling.”
Tyler got up to answer the door and let Louis inside.
“Come on in.” Tyler frowned as the bulldozer revved its engine twice. It was just beyond the fence making a hellacious noise.
Louis joined them at the table and Aunt Mary got up to get him a cup.
“You will join us for a cup of tea?” She asked him pleasantly and he nodded.
“I thought I smelled tea,” he told her. Tyler was surprised to see Louis’s face light up at the sight of the red and gold box on the table. The man reached for it immediately and inspected its cover.
“You know anything about the old Jenson place over there?” Tyler asked him as if in idle conversation. He watched Louis open one of the bags carefully to place it in the cup. His aunt brought the kettle to pour the hot water for him.
“Just that Mildred Morris is tearin’ it down to build a parkin’ lot.” Louis picked up the cup and smelled deeply of the aroma. “Nothin’ I can do about it, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at. I could check it out, but you know as well as I do that it’s all legal. She’s a good business woman. I just hope they don’t take too long. If they work too late or too early, we can get ’em for disturbin’ the peace, maybe, but that won’t stop anything. You got this tea from the Aligers, huh?” Louis looked at Aunt Mary.
“Yes,” she nodded then continued. “But they are uprooting all those azaleas and oak trees. What about the historical value? I mean I saw on television where a bunch of college students tied themselves to a big oak tree somewhere and they couldn’t cut it down.”
“Well.” Louis drank from his cup. “That ain’t likely to happen here, Miss Mary. Magnolia Springs ain’t got no college and it’s probably too late to do anything like that. I think that kind of stuff takes a long time to get done. She kind of sneaked this in on us, didn’t she?”
Aunt Mary pursed her lips and shook her head.
“I bet that Mr. Aliger could have stopped them if he’d known about it,” she said.
Louis looked at Tyler over the top of his cup. Everywhere he went, it seemed, someone was talking about Perry Aliger and how wonderful he was. Tyler shrugged.
Perry Aliger sat in the deeply padded leather chair smiling at Mrs. Morris with his best-dressed smile.
“Mmm, mmm,” the woman commented intelligently as she inhaled the aroma of the potpourri in the crystal jar. She replaced the little pewter lid and set it on her desk. “Oranges and spice! And such a lovely bowl. And fortune cookies! Now, how did you know I love fortune cookies, Mr. Aliger?”
“Everyone loves fortune cookies,” he told her. His strangely colored eyes sparkled. “These are exceptional if I may say so myself.”
Mildred Morris was quite taken by his easy charm. His presence was like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. If she were ten years younger... well, maybe fifteen years younger.
“And you will have these for sale in your shop?” She asked. She took one of the cookies out of its cellophane wrapper to examine it. Unlike the average garden variety, this cookie was snow white without the slightest tinge of color and the surface had a very faint floral design imprinted in it. The interior seemed to glow with a soft pastel pink. She snapped it open and pulled out the little pink slip of paper. It was bigger than usual and had more words on it. Instead of being printed in black, block letters, this one was written out in a lovely script and there were no lotto numbers on the back. She read it aloud.
“Suppose
everybody cared enough, everybody shared enough, wouldn’t everybody have enough? There is enough in the world for everyone’s need; but not enough for everyone’s greed. Frank Buchanan 1947.” She looked at Perry and frowned slightly. “What a profound thought! And so perfectly true. But that’s not really a fortune cookie fortune, is it?”
“Actually, no.” Perry’s smile flickered momentarily. “Those are more like collections of wise and witty sayings. They give you a little more to think about. Words to contemplate. Reflect on. A little more intellectually stimulating than say... Beware the tall dark stranger. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” She smiled and he thought her face would break from the effort. Something had changed in her demeanor. A tiny spark of suspicion had entered her shrewd mind. “I do love intellectual pursuits. There seem to be so few of them in Magnolia Springs and even less people willing to pursue them.”
“Quite right,” he agreed. “I have often found myself envious of the simple pleasures some people seem to enjoy. But we are all trapped in our own small experiences. Some prisons are smaller than others.”
“Oh, but surely...” she began, then felt herself blushing. “What could someone such as yourself possibly envy in someone else? Why you are... I mean... to say... that is...” She broke off a piece of the cookie and popped it into her mouth along with her foot. “These taste as good as they look.”
The Pandora Effect Page 14