by Jack Vance
“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’m 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 darted 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."
Olivano nodded. "These are my instructions. Do not administer any medicines or tonics whatever. Is this understood?"
“Of course; still, the children are sometimes difficult. When the wind blows at night, Lydia becomes unmanageable and wants to run out on the pampas. During these times a sedative becomes necessary.”
Olivano nodded. “I can understand that you may have a problem. I will prescribe safe sedative but you must not use it except during extreme circumstances''
“As you like.”
“I will reiterate to make sure there is no misunderstanding. I do not want you dosing the children except with my prior approval you would be doing them harm and I would surely know I would have no choice but to take them to an environment where they were protected.”
Irena stood, face sagging in dejection and defeat. She started to speak, then held her tongue.
Olivano rose to his feet. “I'll have a word or two with the children then I will be going: " He nodded to Irena and departed. Irena turned toward Wayness. She spoke in a harsh low voice: I cannot fathom you! Why have you done these things to me?”
Wayness could think of nothing to say and Irena’s distress stirred her own latent guilt at being in the house under false pretenses. At last, lamely she said: “I have intended nothing to harm you."
“My life is no longer my own!” Irena’s mouth began to work, her words came in wild harsh mutters. "Only one year more. One accursed year! Then it might have been over! I would flee — I would flee now, only there is nothing for me: no solace, no refuge! I am miserable, even before I die, and then who knows? Who knows? It is for this reason that I am afraid."
“Madame Irena, please calm yourself! I'm sure things are not as bad as you fear!”
“Ha! You know nothing except to smarm and snivel and now I do not know what to do.”
“Why are you worried? Is it about Professor Solomon?"
Irena's face instantly froze. "I have said nothing, do you hear? Nothing!"
"Of course. Still, if you care to talk, I will listen.”
But Irena had turned on her heel and in three long steps had lunged from the room.”
Wayness gloomily went out into the yard, where she took herself in hand. She could not afford to be soft; if deceit and dissimilation were the worst compromises she must make, she could count herself lucky. And after all, Myron and Lydia were to be considered. Irena had mentioned a year what was to happen in a year? Wayness felt certain that it would not have been to the advantage of the two children.
Dr. Olivano had departed. Madame Clara presently called the children in for their lunch. Wayness sat on the edge of the sandbox and ate the sandwich she had brought from the hotel.
Toward the middle of the afternoon Wayness diffidently asked permission to t
ake the children for a walk. Irena gave a graceless assent and Wayness took her two charges to a confectionery on the square, where Lydia and Myron gravely consumed hot cocoa and fruit tarts mounded high with whipped cream. Wayness wondered what would happen to them when she went away. Dr. Olivano would look to their physical well-being, and as for their emotions — Wayness heaved a sigh. She must harden her heart to such considerations. As for her own affairs, they were not going at all well. She was not a whit closer to Moncurio's whereabouts now than on the day of her arrival. There had been no opportunity to search the house — though what she might expect to find she had no idea. She was supported only by hope, because she could think of no alternatives to what she was doing. She studied Myron and Lydia, who, so she noticed, were studying her in turn. Wayness saw that they had enjoyed their treats to the last crumb. Next she took them to the town bookshop, where she bought a terrestrial atlas, a big pictures book of natural history, a dictionary, and an astronomical atlas.
The three returned to Casa Lucasta. Irena took note of the purchases but made no comment; Wayness would have been surprised had she done so.
The next morning, when Wayness arrived, she found Myron and Lydia already hard at work, building a kite to their own design, using splints of split cane and dark blue film, secured by strips of cohering tape. It was an intricate construction five feet long, comprising an extravagant array of wings, vanes, foils, spoilers, and flared conduits. Wayness found their kite fascinating to look at, but doubted whether it would fly.
The kite was not finished until middle afternoon, when the wind started to blow erratically, in gusts followed by period of dead calm. Myron and Lira nevertheless prepared to fly the kite. Wayness, after indecision, decided not to interfere, though she was sure that the kite would meet disaster.
The two, carrying the kite, crossed Calle Maduro and picked their way out upon the waste of stone and bush which spread away to the south. Wayness followed behind.
Lydia held the string while Myron carried the kite down wind, the film chattering and the various vanes and foils fluttering. Myron turned; the wind caught the kite and contrary to Wayness pessimistic expectations, swept it up — higher, higher, higher, as Lydia paid out the string. She turned a quick smile over her shoulder toward Wayness. Myron watched the ascent with neither surprise nor enthusiasm, but with a gravity which was almost stern. High soared the kite, ruling the wind, each of Myron’s peculiar vanes and surfaces performing faultlessly.
Wayness watched, marveling.
The wind waxed and waned, the kite acknowledging the changes with small adjustments, sometimes swooping or dipping somewhat, but otherwise paying no heed to the vagaries of nature. Myron’s kite ruled the skies!
A gust of wind, stronger than any before, struck down from the mountains. The kite string broke and fell slowly to the ground. The kite, liberated, swung majestically away downwind on a mission of its own, and its ultimate descent could not be discerned.
Myron and Lydia stood motionless, looking after the kite for some time, mouths drooping but showing no other emotion. Wayness thought that the kite had been successful. She thought that Lydia and Myron also were satisfied. Myron turned, gave Wayness one of his most unfathomable stares. Wayness said nothing. Lydia dutifully began to roll up the string. As soon as the job was done, all returned to the house, Myron and Lydia pensive rather than crestfallen.
For a time the three sat on the couch, looking through the new books. Wayness was startled to find that Myron was reading the dictionary, scanning page after page, though without any evidence of enjoinment or interest. “That is natural enough, ”Wayness told herself. “It is not an exciting book.”
Irena returned from work, even more tired and distraught than usual. She went directly to her room, without a word to anyone. Shortly afterward Wayness took her leave and returned to the hotel.
During the evening Olivano telephoned. He asked: “And how went your day?”
"Well enough. Lydia and Myron built a beautiful kite, and it flew beautifully too. But the string broke and for all I know the kite is still trying somewhere off across the pampas. When I left the house, Lydia was inspecting the picture of a stegosaurus and Myron was studying a chart of the Gaean Reach. He had already read the dictionary. Clara was surly and Irena ignored me.”
Just another day at Casa Lucasta,” said Olivano. "As for me, I received the complete analysis of Irena’s blood today, and it is as I have long suspected: she has been taking some sort of drug which the analyst is unable to name, except to suggest that it is off-world in origin."
“I've wondered about this too,” said Wayness. “In the morning, when she leaves for work, she is quite neat and in command of herself; in the afternoon she can hardly wait to get home and comes running in like a scarecrow.”
Olivano went on in his most toneless voice: “Everything taken with everything, it has become clear to me that Irena is not a suitable custodian for Lydia and Myron. I intend to take them to a better environment as soon possible."
Wayness slowly adjusted herself to the news, which was bleak. "How soon will that be?”
“The legal processes will take two or three days, depending upon whether old Bernard's leg is hurting him or not. After that, there is no reason for further delay but it always occurs. It would be better for everyone concerned if you were not on hand at this time.”
“So when must I go?”
“Sooner rather than later I fear."
“Two days? Three days?”
“Three days at most, or so I would estimate, I will be glad to have the matter settled, since I am starting to suffer from nervous anxieties. The situation at Casa Lucasta does not seem stable.”
X.
Wayness slumped back into the chair and stared numbly off across the room. Time passed; emotion gradually drained from her mind, leaving only a lump of resentment, directed toward everything and everyone, including Dr. Olivano and his indomitable rectitude.
Wayness finally managed a sour shaky laugh. Dr. Olivano’s responsibilities must be for the children, and her sense of betrayal was irrational. Dr. Olivano, after all, was not a member of the Naturalist Society.
Wayness rose to her feet and went to the window. Her circumstances were bleak; she was no closer to Moncurio than when she had first arrived in Pombareales — perhaps even farther away, since now she had antagonized Irena Portils, the single strand of connection to Moncurio.
Three days, at most, remained to her, and she could think of no constructive course of action other than searching the house. To date, there had been no opportunity; either Madame Clara or Irena was always on hand. Even had she been able to search, Wayness suspected that the effort would have yielded nothing, except for enormous embarrassment if she were caught.
She brooded down across the square, which was almost deserted. Tonight the wind blew strong, fluttering foliage and moaning on its way past the hotel. It was to be hoped that Lydia would not hear voices calling: “Weerooo! Come to us, come!" and decide to run.
Wayness felt too restless for bed. She donned her gray cloak, and leaving the hotel quickly along the silent streets to Calle Maduro. Overhead the stars glittered hard and brilliant in the black sky; low in the west hung the Southern Cross.
Tonight the town was quiet: few folk were abroad. The cantinas were almost empty though the red and yellow lights with which they festooned their fronts shone bravely through the dark. From the Cantina de Las Hermosas came the sound of a voice raised in song, perhaps issuing from the throat of Leon Casinde the pork butcher thought Wayness.
The winds whipped down Calle Maduro, sighing through the shrub and weeds of the pampas. Wayness stopped to listen, and thought to hear a low mournful tone drifting down from the upper air though she could distinguish no voices. She continued up Calle Maduro. The small houses were pale in the starlight. Casa Lucasta was dark. Everyone had gone to bed, to sleep, or perhaps to lie awake thinking.
Wayness stood in the shadows of the emp
ty house. There was nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard but the wind.
For ten minutes she waited, the wind flapping her cloak, not at all sure why she was here in the first place, though she would not have been surprised to see a small thin shape emerge from Casa Lucasta and run out across the pampas.
Nothing of the sort occurred. The house remained dark. At last Wayness turned away and slowly returned down Calle Maduro, and back to the Hotel Monopole.
In the morning Wayness awoke with the mood of the night before still with her. The day outside her windows was overcast, and the wind had ceased to blow, so that the sky seemed to exert a curious oppressive weight.
As Wayness consumed her breakfast, her mood changed, and she began to scold herself. “I am Wayness Tamm of Riverview House! I am said to be a very talented person, also intelligent. Therefore, I must start to demonstrate these qualities, or feel foolish when I look into the mirror. So far I have been too diffident I have been waiting for information to float past on a silver tray! This is poor strategy! I must do something more dramatics such as — what?" Wayness considered. “If I could only convince Irena that I meant Moncurio no harm, perhaps she might help me, especially if I offered her money.” Wayness considered further. “I don’t dare bring up the subject — that’s the sad truth; indeed, I'm afraid of Irena."
Nevertheless, Wayness set out for Casa Lucasta in a mood of determination. She arrived just as Irena was leaving for work. “Good morning, ”said Wayness politely. “It almost looks like rain, doesn’t it?"
“Good morning,” said Irena. She glanced around the sky as if she had never noticed it before. “Rain is not usual here.” She gave Wayness a vague smile and went off down Calle Maduro.
Wayness looked after her, shaking her head in perplexity. Irena was a strange one, and no mistake!
Wayness went to the door and touched the chime button. She waited. After an interval nicely calculated to express a maximum of contempt and resentment, the door was opened by Clara, who at once turned and went back to the kitchen, darting a single admonitory glance back over her shoulder. The message is clear, thought Wayness. “I am not one of Clara's favorites either.”