The Death of Dr Island

GENE WOLFE

“In my picture of the world there is a vast outer realm and an equally vast inner realm; between these two stands man, facing now one and now the other … .” 

C. G. Jung said that, and he might have been describing Gene Wolfe, who seems frighteningly familiar with both realms. In this story he will take you by the hand and lead you from one to the other with such disarming ease you may never know when the transition occurred.  A true Jungian story told in Freudian terms, an exploration into the inner realm, that is what “The Death of Doctor Island” is. And if you recognize your self as a player, or an aspect of one of the players in that inner realm, don’t be surprised. Nothing is accidental.

I have desired to go

Where springs not fail,

To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow.

And I have asked to be

Where no storms come,

Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea.

-Gerard Manley Hopkins

A grain of sand, teetering on the brink of the pit, trembled and fell in; the ant lion at the bottom angrily flung it out again. For a moment there was quiet. Then the entire pit, and a square meter of sand around it, shifted drunkenly while two coconut palms bent to watch. The sand rose, pivoting at one edge, and the scarred head of a boy appeared-a stubble of brown hair threatened to erase the marks of the sutures; with dilated eyes hypnotically dark he paused, his neck just where the ant lion’s had been; then, as though goaded from below, he vaulted up and onto the beach, turned, and kicked sand into the dark hatchway from which he had emerged. It slammed shut. The boy was about fourteen.

For a time he squatted, pushing the sand aside and trying to find the door. A few centimeters down, his hands met a gritty, solid material which, though neither concrete nor sandstone, shared the qualities of both sand-filled organic plastic. On it he scraped his fingers raw, but he could not locate the edges of the hatch.

Then he stood and looked about him, his head moving continually as the heads of certain reptiles go back and forth, with no pauses at the terminations of the movements. He did this constantly, ceaselessly always-and for that reason it will not often be described again, just as it will not be mentioned that he breathed. He did; and as he did, his head, like a rearing snake’s, turned from side to side. The boy was thin, and naked as a frog.

Ahead of him the sand sloped gently down toward sapphire water; there were coconuts on the beach, and seashells, and a scuttling crab that played with the finger-high edge of each dying wave. Behind him there were only palms and sand for a long distance, the palms growing ever closer together as they moved away from the water until the forest of their columniated trunks seemed architectural; like some palace maze becoming as it progressed more and more draped with creepers and lianas with green, scarlet, and yellow leaves, the palms interspersed with bamboo and deciduous trees dotted with flaming orchids until almost at the limit of his sight the whole ended in a spangled wall whose predominant color was blackgreen.

The boy walked toward the beach, then down the beach until he stood in knee-deep water as warm as blood. He dipped his fingers and, tasted it-it was fresh, with no hint of the disinfectants to which he was accustomed. He waded out again and sat on the sand about five meters up from the high-water mark, and after ten minutes, during which he heard no sound but the wind and the murmuring of the surf, he threw back his head and began to scream. His screaming was high-pitched, and each breath ended in a gibbering, ululant note, after which came the hollow,- iron gasp of the next indrawn breath. On one occasion he had screamed in this way, without cessation, for fourteen

hours and twenty-two minutes, at the end of which a nursing nun with an exemplary record stretching back seventeen years had administered an injection without the permission of the attending physician.

After a time the boy paused-not because he was tired, but in order to listen better. There was, still, only the sound of the wind in the palm fronds and the murmuring surf, yet he felt that he had heard a voice. The boy could be quiet as well as noisy, and he was quiet now, his left hand sifting white sand as clean as salt between its fingers while his right tossed tiny pebbles like beach-glass beads into the surf.

“Hear me,” said the surf. “Hear me. Hear me.”

“I hear you,” the boy said.

“Good,” said the surf, and it faintly echoed itself:

“Good, good, good.”

“The boy shrugged.

“What shall I call you?” asked the surf.

“My name is Nicholas Kenneth de Vore.” ‘

“Nick, Nick … Nick?”

The boy stood, and turning his back on the sea, walked inland. When he was out of sight of the water he found a coconut palm growing sloped and angled, leaning and weaving among its companions like the plume of an ascending jet blown by the wind. After feeling its rough exterior with both hands, the boy began to climb; he was inexpert and climbed slowly and a little clumsily, but his body was light and he was strong. In time he reached the top, and disturbed the little brown plush monkeys there, who fled chattering into other palms, leaving him to nestle alone among the stems of the fronds and the green coconuts. “I am here also,” said a voice from the palm.

“Ah,” said the boy, who was watching the tossing, sapphire sky far over his head.

“I will call you Nicholas.”

The boy said, “I can see the sea.”

“Do you know my name?”

The boy did not reply. Under him the long, long stem of the twisted palm swayed faintly.

“My friends all call me Dr. Island.”

“I will not call you that,” the boy said.

“You mean that you are not my friend.”

A gull screamed.

“But you see, I take you for my friend. You may say that I am not yours, but I say that you are mine. I like you, Nicholas, and I will treat you as a friend.”

“Are you a machine or a person or a committee?” the boy asked.

“I am all those things and more. I am the spirit of this island, the tutelary genius.”

“Bullshit.”

“Now that we have met, would you rather I leave you alone?”

Again the boy did not reply.

“You may wish to be alone with your thoughts. I would like to say that we have made much more progress today than I anticipated. I feel that we will get along together very well.”

After fifteen minutes or more, the boy asked, “Where does the light come from?” There was no answer. The boy waited for a time, then climbed back down the trunk, dropping the last five meters and rolling as he hit in the soft sand.

He walked to the beach again and stood staring out at the water. Far off he could see it curving up and up, the distant combers breaking in white .foam until the sea became white-flecked sky. To his left and his right the beach curved away, bending almost infinitesimally until it disappeared. He began to walk, then saw, almost at the point where perception was lost, a human figure. He broke into a run; a moment later, he halted and turned around. Far ahead another walker, almost invisible, strode the beach; Nicholas ignored him; he ` found a coconut and tried to open it, then threw it

aside and walked on. From time to time fish jumped, ;.

and occasionally he saw a wheeling sea bird dive. The light grew dimmer. He was aware that he had not eaten for some time, but he was not in the strict sense hungry-or rather, he enjoyed his hunger now in the same way that he might, at another time, have gashed his arm to watch himself bleed. Once he said, “Dr. Island!” loudly as he passed a coconut palm, and then later began to chant, “Dr. Island, Dr. Island, Dr. Island,” as he walked until the words had lost all meaning. He swam in the sea as he had been taught to swim in the great quartanary treatment tanks on Callisto to improve his coordination, and spluttered and snorted until he learned to deal with the waves. When it was so dark he could see only the white sand and the white foam of the breakers, he drank from the sea and fell asleep, on the beach, the right. side of his taut, ugly face relaxing first, so that it seemed asleep even while the left eye was open and staring; his head rolling from side to side; the left corner of his mouth preserving, like a death mask, his characteristic expression -angry, remote, tinged with that inhuman quality that is found nowhere but in certain human faces.

When he woke it was not yet light, but the night was fading to a gentle gray. Headless, the palms stood like tall ghosts up and down the beach, their tops lost in fog and the lingering dark. He was cold. His hands rubbed his sides; he danced on the sand and sprinted down the edge of the lapping water in an effort to get warm; ahead of him a pinpoint of red light became a fire, and he slowed.

A man who looked about twenty-five crouched over the fire. Tangled black hair hung aver this man’s shoulders, and he had a sparse beard; otherwise he was as naked as Nicholas himself. His eyes were dark, and large and empty, like the ends of broken pipes; he poked at his fire, and the smell of roasting fish came with the smoke. For a time Nicholas stood at a distance, watching.

Saliva ran from a corner of the man’s mouth, and he wiped it away with one hand, leaving a smear of ash on his face. Nicholas edged closer until he stood on the opposite side of the fire. The fish had been wrapped in broad leaves and mud, and lay in the center of the coals. “I’m Nicholas,” Nicholas said. “Who are you?” The young man did not look at him, had never looked at him.

“Hey, I’d like a piece of your fish. Not much. All right?”

The young man raised his head, looking not at Nicholas but at some point far beyond him; he dropped his eyes again. Nicholas smiled. The smile emphasized the disjointed quality of his expression, his mouth’s uneven curve.

“Just a little piece? Is it about done?” Nicholas crouched, imitating the young man, and as though this were a signal, the young man sprang for him across the fire. Nicholas jumped backward, but the jump was too late-the young man’s body struck his and sent him sprawling on the sand; fingers clawed for his throat. Screaming, Nicholas rolled free, into the water; the young man splashed after him; Nicholas dove.

He swam underwater, his belly almost grazing the r wave-rippled sand until he found deeper water; then he surfaced, gasping for breath, and saw the young man, who saw him as well. He dove again, this time surfacing far off, in deep water. Treading water, he could see the fire on the beach, and the young man when he . returned to it, stamping out of the sea in the early .t light. Nicholas then swam until he was five hundred meters or more down the beach, then waded in to shore and began walking back toward the fire.

The young man saw him when he was still some distance off, but he continued to sit, eating pink-tinted tidbits from his fish, watching Nicholas. “What’s the matter?” Nicholas said while he was still a safe distance away. “Are you mad at me?”

From the forest, birds warned, “Be careful, Nicholas;”

“I won’t hurt you,” the young man said. He stood up, wiping his oily hands on his chest, and gestured toward the fish at his feet. “You want some?”

Nicholas nodded, smiling his crippled smile.

“Come then.”

Nicholas waited, hoping the young man would move away from the fish, but he did not; neither did he smile in return.

“Nicholas,” the little waves at his feet whispered, “this is Ignacio.”

“Listen,” Nicholas said, “is it really all right for me to have some?”

Ignacio nodded, unsmiling.

Cautiously Nicholas came forward; as he was bending to pick up the fish, Ignacio’s strong hands took him; he tried to wrench free but was thrown down, Ignacio on top of him. “Please!” he yelled. “Please!” Tears started into his eyes. He tried to yell again, but he had no breath; the tongue was being forced, thicker than his wrist, from his throat.

Then Ignacio let go and struck him in the face with his clenched fist. Nicholas had been slapped and pummeled before, had been beaten, had fought, sometimes savagely, with other boys; but he had never been struck by a man as men fight. Ignacio hit him again and his lips gushed blood.

He lay a long time on the sand beside the dying fire. Consciousness returned slowly; he blinked, drifted back into the dark, blinked again. His mouth was full of blood, and when at last he spit it out onto the sand, it seemed a soft flesh, dark and polymerized in strange shapes; his left cheek was hugely swollen, and he could scarcely see out of his left eye. After a time he crawled to the water; a long time after that, he left it and walked shakily back to the ashes of the fire. Ignacio was gone, and there was nothing left of the fish but bones. “Ignacio is gone,” Dr. Island said with lips of waves. Nicholas sat on the sand, cross-legged.

“You handled him very well.” .

“You saw us fight?”

“I saw you; I see everything, Nicholas.”

“This is the worst place,” Nicholas said; he was talking to his lap.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been in bad places before-places where they hit you or squirted big hoses of ice water that knocked you down. But not where they would let someone else-“

“Another patient?” asked a wheeling gull.

“-do it.”

“You were lucky, Nicholas. Ignacio is homicidal.”

“You could have stopped him.”

“No, I could not. All this world is my eye, Nicholas, my ear, and my tongue; but I have no hands.”

“I thought you did all this.”

“Men did all this.”

“I mean, I thought you kept it going.”

“It keeps itself going, and you-all the people here-direct it.”

Nicholas looked at the water. “What makes the waves?”

“The wind and the tide.”

“Are we on Earth?”

“Would you feel more comfortable on Earth?”

“I’ve never been there; I’d like to know.”

“I am more like Earth than Earth now is, Nicholas. If you were to take the best of all the best beaches of Earth, and clear them of all the poisons and all the dirt of the last three centuries, you would have me.”

“But this isn’t Earth?”

There was no answer. Nicholas walked around the ashes of the fire until he found Ignacio’s footprints. He was no tracker, but the depressions in the soft beach sand required none; he followed them, his head swaying from side to side as he walked, like the sensor of a mine detector.

For several kilometers Ignacio’s trail kept to the beach; then, abruptly, the footprints swerved, wandered among the coconut palms, and at last were lost on the firmer soil inland. Nicholas lifted his head and shouted, “Ignacio? Ignacio!” After a moment he heard a stick snap, and the sound of someone pushing aside leafy branches. He waited.

“Mum?”

A girl was coming toward him, stepping out of the thicker growth of the interior. She was pretty, though too thin, and appeared to be about nineteen; her hair was blond where it had been most exposed to sunlight, darker elsewhere. “You’ve scratched yourself,” Nicholas said. “You’re bleeding.”

“I thought you were my mother,” the girl said. She was a head taller than Nicholas. “Been fighting, haven’t you. Have you come to get me?”

Nicholas had been in similar conversations before and normally would have preferred to ignore the remark, but he was lonely now. He said, “Do you want to go home?”

“Well, I think I should, you know.”

“But do you want to?”

“My mum always says if you’ve got something on the stove you don’t want to burn-she’s quite a good cook. She really is. Do you like cabbage with bacon?”

“Have you got anything to eat?”

“Not now. I had a thing a while ago”

“What kind of thing?”

“A bird.” The girl made a vague little gesture, not looking at Nicholas. “I’m a memory that has swallowed a bird.”

“Do you want to walk down by the water?” They were moving in the direction of the beach already.

“I was just going to get a drink. You’re a nice tot.”

Nicholas did not like being called a “tot.” He said, “I set fire to places.”

“You won’t set fire to this place; it’s been nice the last couple of days, but when everyone is sad, it rains.”

Nicholas was silent for a time. When they reached the sea, the girl dropped to her knees and bent forward to drink, her long hair falling over her face until the ends trailed in the water, her nipples, then half of each breast, in the water. “Not there,” Nicholas said. “It’s sandy, because it washes the beach so close. Come on out here.” He waded out into the sea until the lapping waves nearly reached his armpits, then bent his head and drank.

“I never thought of that,” the girl said. “Mum says I’m stupid. So does Dad. Do you think I’m stupid?”

Nicholas shook his head:

“What’s your name?”

“Nicholas Kenneth de Vore. What’s yours?”

“Diane. I’m going to call you Nicky. Do you mind?”

“I’ll hurt you while you sleep,” Nicholas said. :`r

“You wouldn’t.”

“Yes I would. At St. John’s where I used to be, it was zero G most of the time, and a girl there called me something I didn’t like, and I got loose one night and came into her cubicle while she was asleep and nulled her restraints, and then she floated around until she banged into something, and that woke her up and she tried to grab, and then that made her bounce all around inside and she broke two fingers and her nose and got blood all over. The attendants came, and one told me-they didn’t know then I did it-when he came out his white suit was, like, polka-dot red all over because wherever the blood drops had touched him they soaked right in.”

The girl smiled at him, dimpling her thin face. “How did they find out it was you?”

“I told someone and he told them.”

“I bet you told them yourself.”

“I bet I didn’t!” Angry, he waded away, but when he had stalked a short way up the beach he sat down on the sand, his back toward her.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad, Mr. de Vore.”

“I’m not mad!”

She was not sure for a moment what he meant. She sat down beside and a trifle behind him, and began idly piling sand in her lap.

Dr. Island said, “I see you’ve met.”

Nicholas turned, looking for the voice. “I thought you saw everything.”

“Only the important things, and I have been busy on another part of myself. I am happy to see that you two know one another; do you find you interact well?”

Neither of them answered.

“You should be interacting with Ignacio; he needs you.”

“We can’t find him,” Nicholas said.

“Down the beach to your left until you see the big stone, then turn inland. About five hundred meters.”

Nicholas stood up, and turning to his right, began to walk away. Diane followed him, trotting until she caught up.

“I don’t like,” Nicholas said, jerking a shoulder to indicate something behind him.

“Ignacio?”

“The doctor.”

“Why do you move your head like that?”

“Didn’t they tell you?”

“No one told me anything about you.”

“They opened it up”-Nicholas touched his scars” and took this knife and cut all the way through my corpus … corpus …”

“Corpus callosum,” muttered a dry palm frond.

“-corpus callosum,” finished Nicholas. “See, your brain is like a walnut inside. There are the two halves, and then right down in the middle a kind of thick connection of meat from one to the other. Well, they cut that.”

“You’re having a bit of fun with me, aren’t you?”

“No, he isn’t,” a monkey who had come to the water line to look for shellfish told her. “His cerebrum has been surgically divided; it’s in his file.” It was a young

monkey, with a trusting face full of small, ugly beauties.

Nicholas snapped, “It’s in my head.”

Diane said, “I’d think it would kill you, or make you an idiot or something.”

“They say each half of me is about as smart as both of us were together. Anyway, this half is … the half … the me that talks.”

“There are two of you now?”

“If you cut a worm in half and both parts are still alive, that’s two, isn’t it? What else would you call us? We can’t ever come together again.”

“But I’m talking to just one of you?”

“We both can hear you.”

“Which one answers?”

Nicholas touched the right side of his chest with his right band. “Me; I do. They told me it was the left side of my brain, that one has the speech centers, but it doesn’t feel that way; the nerves cross over coming out, and it’s just the right side of me, I talk. Both my ears hear for both of us, but out of each eye we only see half and half-I mean, I only see what’s on the right of what I’m looking at, and the other side, I guess, only sees the left, so that’s why I keep moving my head. I guess it’s like being a little bit blind; you get used to it.”

The girl was still thinking of his divided body. She said, “If you’re - only half, I don’t see how you can walk.”

“I can move the left side a little bit, and we’re not mad at each other. We’re not supposed to be able to come together at all, but we do-down through the legs and at the ends of the fingers and then back up. Only I can’t talk with my other side because he can’t, but he understands.”

“Why did they do it?”

Behind them the monkey, who had been following them, said, “He had uncontrollable seizures.”

“Did you?” the girl asked. She was watching a sea bird swooping low over the water and did not seem to care.

Nicholas picked up a shell and shied it at the monkey, who skipped out of the way. After half a minute’s silence he said, “I had visions.”

“Ooh, did you?”

“They didn’t like that. They said I would fall down and jerk around horrible, and sometimes I guess I would hurt myself when I fell, and sometimes I’d bite my tongue and it would bleed. But that wasn’t what it felt like to me; I wouldn’t know about any of those things until afterward. To me it was like I had gone way far ahead, and I had to come back. I didn’t want to.”

The wind swayed Diane’s hair, and she pushed it back from her face. “Did you see things that were going to happen?” she asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Really? Did you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Tell me about it. When you saw what was going to happen.”

“I saw myself dead. I was all black and shrunk up like the dead stuff they cut off in the ‘pontic gardens; and I was floating and turning, like in water but it wasn’t water-just floating and turning out in space, in nothing. And there were lights on both sides of me, so both sides were bright but black, and I could see my teeth because the stuff”-he pulled at his cheeks” had fallen off there, and they were really white.”

“That hasn’t happened yet.”

“Not here.”

“Tell me something you saw that happened”

“You mean, like somebody’s sister was going to get married, don’t you? That’s what the girls where I was mostly wanted to know. Or were they going to go home; mostly it wasn’t like that.”

“But sometimes it was?”

“I guess.”

“Tell me one.”

Nicholas shook his head. “You wouldn’t like it, and anyway it wasn’t like that. Mostly it was lights like I . never saw anyplace else, and voices like I never heard any other time, telling me things there aren’t any words for; stuff like that, only now I can’t ever go back. Listen, I wanted to ask you about Ignacio.”

“He isn’t anybody,” the girl said.

“What do you mean, he isn’t anybody? Is there anybody here besides you and me and Ignacio and Dr Island?”

“Not that we can see or touch.”

The monkey called, “There are other patients, but for the present, Nicholas, for your own well-being as well as theirs, it is best for you to remain by yourselves.” It was a long sentence for a monkey.

“What’s that about?”

“If I tell you, will you tell me about something you saw that really happened?”

“All right.”

“Tell me first.”

“There was this girl where I was-her name was’ Maya. They had, you know, boys’ and girls’ dorms, but you saw everybody in the rec room and the dining hall and so on, and she was in my psychodrama group.” Her hair had been black, and shiny as the lacquered furniture in Dr. Hong’s rooms, her skin white like mother-of-pearl, her eyes long and narrow (making him think of cats’ eyes) and darkly blue. She was fifteen, or so Nicholas believed-maybe sixteen. “I’m going home,” she told him. It was psychodrama, and he was her brother, younger than she, and she was already at home; but when she said this the floating ring of light that gave them the necessary separation from the small doctor-and-patient audience, ceased, by instant agreement, to be Maya’s mother’s living room

and became a visiting lounge. Nicholas/Jerry said: “Hey, that’s great. Hey, I got a new bike-when you come home you want to ride it?”

Maureen/Maya’s mother said, “Maya, don’t. You’ll run .into something and break your teeth, and you know how much they cost.”

“You don’t want me to have any fun.”

“We do, dear, but nice fun. A girl has to be so much more careful. oh, Maya, I wish I could make you understand, really, how careful a girl has to be.”

Nobody said anything, so Nicholas/Jerry filled in with, “It has a three-bladed prop, and I’m going to tape streamers to them with little weights at the ends, an’ when I go down old thirty-seven B passageway, look out, here comes that old coleslaw grater!”

“Like this,” Maya said, and held her legs together and extended her arms, to make a three-bladed bike prop or a crucifix. She had thrown herself into a spin as she made the movement, and revolved slowly, stage center-red shorts, white blouse, red shorts, white blouse, red shorts, no shoes.

Diane asked, “And you saw that she was never going home, she was going to hospital instead, she was going to cut her wrist there, she was going to die?”

Nicholas nodded.

“Did you tell her?”

“Yes,” Nicholas said. “No”

“Make up your mind. Didn’t you tell her? Now, don’t get mad.”

“Is it telling, when the one you tell doesn’t understand?”

Diane thought -about that for a few steps while Nicholas dashed water on the hot bruises Ignacio had left upon his face. “If it was plain and clear and she ought to have understood-that’s the trouble I have with my family.”

“What is?”

“They won’t say things-do you know what I mean? I just say look, just tell me, just tell me what I’m sup

posed to do, tell me what it is you want, but it’s different all the time. My mother says, `Diane, you ought to meet some boys, you can’t go out with him, your father and I have never met him, we don’t even know his family at all, Douglas, there’s something I think you ought to know about Diane, she gets confused some- . times, we’ve had her to doctors, she’s been in a hospital, try-‘ “

“Not to get her excited,” Nicholas finished for her.

“Were you listening? I mean, are you from the Trojan Planets? Do you know my mother?”

“I only live in these places,” Nicholas said, “that’s for a long time. But you talk like other people.”

“I feel better now that I’m with you; you’re really nice. I wish you were older.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to get much older.”

“It’s going to rain-feel it?”

Nicholas shook his head.

“Look.” Diane jumped, bunnyrabbit-clumsy, three meters into the air. “See how high I can jump? That means people are sad and it’s going to rain. I told you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did, Nicholas.”

He waved the argument away, struck by a sudden thought. “You ever been to Callisto?”

The girl shook her head, and Nicholas said, “I have; that’s where they did the operation. It’s so big the gravity’s mostly from natural mass, and it’s all domed-: in, with a whole lot of air in it.”

“So?”

“And when I was there it rained. There was a big ,’ trouble at one of the generating piles, and they shut it -_ down and it got colder and colder until everybody in the hospital wore their blankets, just like Amerinds in books, and they locked the switches off on the heaters in the bathrooms, and the nurses and the comscreen told you all the time it wasn’t dangerous, they were-just rationing power to keep from blacking out the important stuff that was still running. And then it rained, just like on Earth. They said it got so cold the water condensed in the air, and it was like the whole hospital was right under a shower bath. Everybody on the top floor had to come down because it rained right on their beds, and for two nights I had a man in my room with me that had his arm cut off in a machine. But we couldn’t jump any higher, and it got kind of dark.”

“It doesn’t always get dark here,” Diane said. “Sometimes the rain sparkles. I think Dr. Island must do it to cheer everyone up.”

“No,” the waves explained, “or at least not in the way you mean, Diane.”

Nicholas was hungry and started to ask them for something to eat, then turned his hunger in against itself, spat on the sand, and was still.

“It rains here when most of you are sad,” the waves were saying, “because rain is a sad thing, to the human psyche. It is that, that sadness, perhaps because it recalls to unhappy people their own tears, that palliates melancholy.”

Diane said, “Well, I know sometimes I feel better when it rains.”

“That should help you to understand yourself. Most people are soothed when their environment is in harmony with their emotions, and anxious when it is not. An angry person becomes less angry in a red room, and unhappy people are only exasperated by sunshine and birdsong. Do you remember:

And, missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven’s wide pathless way?”

The girl shook her head.

Nicholas said, “No. Did somebody write that?” and then, “You said you couldn’t do anything.”

The waves replied, “I can’t-except talk to you.”

“You make it rain.”

“Your heart beats; I sense its pumping even as I speak-do you control the beating of your heart?”

“I can stop my breath.”

“Can you stop your heart? Honestly, Nicholas?”

“I guess not.”

“No more can I control the weather of my world, stop anyone from doing what he wishes, or feed you if you are hungry; with no need of volition on my part your emotions are monitored and averaged, and our weather responds. Calm and sunshine for tranquillity, rain for melancholy, storms for rage, and so on. This is what mankind has always wanted.”

Diane asked, “What is?”

“That the environment should respond to human thought. That is the core of magic and the oldest dream of mankind; and here, on me, it is fact.”

“So that we’ll be well?”

Nicholas said angrily, “You’re not sick!”

Dr. Island said, “So that some of you, at least, can return to society.”

Nicholas threw a seashell into the water as though to strike the mouth that spoke. “Why are we talking to this thing?”

“Wait, tot, I think it’s interesting.”

“Lies and lies.”

Dr. Island said, “How do I lie, Nicholas?”

“You said it was magic-“

“No, I said that when humankind has dreamed of magic, the wish behind that dream has been the omnipotence of thought. Have you never wanted to be a magician, Nicholas, making palaces spring up overnight, or riding an enchanted horse of ebony to battle with the demons of the air?”

“I am a magician-I have preternatural powers, and before they cut us in two-“

Diane interrupted him. “You said you averaged emotions. When you made it rain.”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that mean that if one person was really, terribly sad, he’d move the average so much he could make it rain all by himself? Or whatever? That doesn’t seem fair.”

The waves might have smiled. “That has never happened. But if it did, Diane, if one person felt such deep emotion, think how great her need would be. Don’t you think we should answer it?”

Diane looked at Nicholas, but he was walking again, his head swinging, ignoring her as well as the voice of the waves. “Wait,” she called. “You said I wasn’t sick; I am, you know.”

“No, you’re not.”

She hurried after him. “Everyone says so, and sometimes I’m so confused, and other times I’m boiling inside, just boiling. Mum says if you’ve got something on the stove you don’t want to have burn, you just have to keep one finger on the handle of the pan and it won’t, but I can’t, I can’t always find the handle or remember.”

Without looking back the boy said, “Your mother is probably sick; maybe your father, too, I don’t know. But you’re not. If they’d just let you alone you’d be all right. Why shouldn’t you get upset, having to live with two crazy people?”

“Nicholas!” She grabbed his thin shoulders. “That’s not true!”

“Yes, it is.”

“I am sick. Everyone says so”

“I don’t; so `everyone’ just means the ones that do -isn’t that right? And if you don’t either, that will be two; it can’t be everyone then.”

The girl called, “Doctor? Dr. Island?”

Nicholas said, “You aren’t going to believe that, are you?”

“Dr. Island, is it true?”

“Is what true, Diane?”

“What he said. Am I sick?”

“Sickness-even physical illness-is relative, Diane; and complete health is an idealization, an abstraction, even if the other end of the scale is not.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You are not physically ill.” A long, blue comber curled into a line of hissing spray reaching infinitely along the sea to their left and right. “As you said yourself a moment ago, you are sometimes confused, and sometimes disturbed.”

“He said if it weren’t for other people, if it weren’t for my mother and father, I wouldn’t have to be here.”

” “

Diane …

“Well, is that true or isn’t it?”

“Most emotional illness would not exist, Diane, if it were possible in every case to separate oneself-in thought as well as circumstance-if only for a time.”

“Separate oneself?”

“Did you ever think of going away, at least for a time?”

The girl nodded, then as though she were not certain Dr. Island could see her, said, “Often, I suppose; leaving the school and getting my own compartment somewhere-going to Achilles. Sometimes I wanted to so badly.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“They would have worried. And anyway, they would have found me, and made me come home.”

“Would it have done any good if I-or a human doctor-had told them not to?”

When the girl said nothing Nicholas snapped, “You could have locked them up.”

“They were functioning, Nicholas. They bought and sold; they worked, and paid their taxes-“

Diane said softly, “It wouldn’t have done any good

anyway, Nicholas; they are inside me.” _

“Diane was no longer functioning: she was failing every subject at the university she attended, and her presence in her classes, when she came, disturbed the instructors and the other students. You were not functioning either, and people of your own age were afraid of you.”

“That’s what counts with you, then. Functioning.”

“If I were different from the world, would that help you when you got back into the world?”

“You are different.” Nicholas kicked the sand. “Nobody ever saw a place like this.”

“You mean that reality to you is metal corridors, rooms without windows, noise.”

“Yes.”

“That is the unreality, Nicholas. Most people have never had to endure such things. Even now, this-my beach, my sea, my trees-is more in harmony with most human lives than your metal corridors; and here, I am your social environment-what individuals call `they.’ You see, sometimes if we take people who are troubled back to something like me, to an idealized natural setting, it helps them.”

“Come on,” Nicholas told the girl. He took her arm, acutely conscious of being so much shorter than she.

“A question,” murmured the waves. “If Diane’s parents had been taken here instead of Diane, do you think it would have helped them?”

Nicholas did not reply.

“We have treatments for disturbed persons, Nicholas. But, at least for the time being, we have no treatment for disturbing persons.” Diane and the boy had turned away, and the waves’ hissing and slapping ceased to be speech. Gulls wheeled overhead, and once a red-and-yellow parrot fluttered from one palm to another. A monkey running on all fours like a little dog approached them, and Nicholas chased it, but it escaped.

“I’m going to take one of those things apart someday,” he said, “and pull the wires out.”

“Are we going to walk all the way ‘round?” Diane asked. She might have been talking to herself.

“Can you do that?”

“Oh, you can’t walk all around Dr. Island; it would

be too long, and you can’t get there anyway. But we could walk until we get back to where we started-we’re probably more than halfway now.”

“Are there other islands you can’t see from here?”

The girl shook her head. “I don’t think so; there’s just this one big island in this satellite, and all the rest is water.”

“Then if there’s only the one island, we’re going to have to walk all around it to get back to where we started. What are you laughing at?”

“Look down the beach, as far as you can. Never mind how it slips off to the side-pretend it’s straight.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Don’t you? Watch.” Diane leaped into the air, sic meters or more this time, and waved her arms.

“It looks like there’s somebody ahead of us, way down the beach.”

“Uh-huh. Now look behind”

“Okay, there’s somebody there, too. Come to think of it, I saw someone on the beach when I first got here. It seemed funny to see so far, but I guess I thought they were other patients. Now I see two people.”

“They’re us. That was probably yourself you saw the other time,, too. There are just so many of us to each strip of beach, and Dr. Island only wants certain ones to mix. So the space bends around. When we get to one end of our strip and try to step over, we’ll be at the other end.”

“How did you find out?”

“Dr. Island told me about it when I first came here” The girl was silent for a moment, and her smile vanished. “Listen, Nicholas, do you want to see something really funny?”

Nicholas asked, “What?” As he spoke, a drop of rain struck his face.

“You’ll see. Come on, though. We have to go into the middle instead of following the beach, and it will give us a chance to get under the trees and out of the rain.”

When they had left .the sand and the sound of the surf, and were walking on solid ground under greenleaved trees, Nicholas said, “Maybe we can find some fruit.” They were so light now that he had to be careful not to bound into the air with each step. The rain fell slowly around them, in crystal spheres.

“Maybe,” the girl said doubtfully. “Wait, let’s stop here.” She sat down where a huge tree sent twenty meter wooden arches over dark, mossy ground. “Want to climb up there and see if you can find us something?”

“All right,” Nicholas agreed. He jumped, and easily caught hold of a branch far above the girl’s head. In a moment he was climbing in a green world, with the rain pattering all around him; he followed narrowing limbs into leafy wildernesses where the cool water ran from every twig he touched, and twice found the empty nests of birds, and once a slender snake, green as any leaf with a head as long as his thumb; but there was no fruit. “Nothing,” he said, when he dropped down beside the girl once more.

“That’s all right, we’ll find something.”

He said, “I hope so,” and noticed that she was looking at him oddly, then realized that his left hand had lifted itself to touch her right breast. It dropped as he looked, and he felt his face grow hot. He said, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right.”

“We like you. He-over there-he can’t talk, you see. I guess I can’t talk either.”

“I think it’s just you-in two pieces. I don’t care.”

“Thanks.” He had picked up a leaf, dead and damp, and was tearing it to shreds; first his right hand tearing while the left held the leaf, then turnabout. “Where does the rain come from?” The dirty flakes clung to the fingers of both.

“Hmm?”

“Where does the rain come from? I mean, it isn’t be

cause it’s colder here now, like on Callisto; it’s because the gravity’s turned down some way, isn’t it?”

“From the sea. Don’t you know how this place is built?”

Nicholas shook his head.

“Didn’t they show it to you from the ship when you came? It’s beautiful. They showed it to me-I just sat there and looked at it, and I wouldn’t talk to them, and the nurse thought I wasn’t paying any attention, but I heard everything. I just didn’t want to talk to her. It wasn’t any use.”

“I know how you felt.”

“But they didn’t show it to you?”

“No, on my ship they kept me locked up because I burned some stuff. They thought I couldn’t start a fire without an igniter, but if you have electricity in the wall sockets, it’s easy. They had a thing on me-you know?” He clasped his arms to his body to show how he had been restrained. “I bit one of them, too-1 guess I didn’t tell you that yet: I bite people. They locked me up, and for a long time I had nothing to do, and then I could feel us dock with something; and they came and got me and pulled me down a regular companionway for a long time, and it just seemed like a regular place. Then they stuck me full of Tranquil-C -I guess they didn’t know it doesn’t hardly work on me at all-with a pneumo-gun, and lifted a kind of door thing and shoved me up.”

“Didn’t they make you undress?”

“I already was. When they put the ties on me I did things in my clothes and they had to take them off me. It made them mad.” He grinned unevenly. “Does Tranquil-C work on you? Or any of that other stuff?”

“I suppose they would, but then I never do the sort of thing you do anyway.”

“Maybe you ought to.”

“Sometimes they used to give me medication that was supposed to cheer me up; then I couldn’t sleep,

and I walked and walked, you know, and ran into things and made a lot of trouble for everyone; but what good does it do?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Not doing it doesn’t do any good either-I mean, we’re both here. My way, I know I’ve made them jump; they shoot that stuff in me and I’m not mad any more, but I know what it is and I just think what I would do if I were mad, and I do it, and when it wears off I’m glad I did.”

“I think you’re still angry somewhere, deep down.”

Nicholas was already thinking of something else. “This island says Ignacio kills people.” He paused. “What does it look like?” _

“Ignacio?”

“No, I’ve seen him. Dr. Island.”

“Oh, you mean when I was in the ship. The satellite’s round of course, and all clear except where Dr. Island is, so that’s a dark spot. The rest of it’s temper glass, and from space you can’t even see the water.”

“That is the sea up there, isn’t it?” Nicholas asked, trying to look up at it through the tree leaves and the rain. “I thought it was when I first came.”

“Sure. It’s like a glass ball, and we’re inside, and the water’s inside, too, and just goes all around up the curve.”

“That’s why I could see so far out on the beach, isn’t it? Instead of dropping down from you like on Callisto it bends up so you can see it.”

The girl nodded. “And the water lets the light through, but filters out the ultraviolet. Besides, it gives us thermal mass, so we don’t heat up too much when we’re between the sun and the Bright Spot.”

“Is that what keeps us warm? The Bright Spot?”

Diane nodded again. “We go around in ten hours, you see, and that holds us over it all the time.”

“Why can’t I see it, then? It ought to look like Sol does from the Belt, only bigger; but there’s just a shimmer in the sky, even when it’s not raining.”

“The waves diffract the light and break up the image. You’d see the Focus, though, if the air weren’t so clear. Do you know what the Focus is?”

Nicholas shook his head.

“We’ll get to it pretty soon, after this rain stops. Then I’ll tell you.”

“I still don’t understand about the rain.”

Unexpectedly, Diane giggled. “I just thought-do you know what I was supposed to be? While I was going to school?”

“Quiet,” Nicholas said.

“No, silly. I mean what I was being trained to do, if I graduated and all that. I was going to be a teacher, with all those cameras on me and tots from everywhere watching and popping questions on the two-way. Jolly time. Now I’m doing it here, only there’s no one but you.”

“You mind?”

“No, I suppose I enjoy it.” There was a black-and-blue mark on Diane’s thigh, and she rubbed it pensively with one hand as she spoke. “Anyway, there are three ways to make gravity. Do you know them? Answer, clerk.”

“Sure; acceleration, mass, and synthesis.”

“That’s right; motion and mass are both bendings of ,space, of course, which is why Zeno’s paradox doesn’t work out that way, and why masses move toward each other-what we call falling-or at least try to; and if they’re held apart it produces the tension we perceive as a force and call weight and all that rot. So naturally if you bend the space direct, you synthesize a gravity effect, and that’s what holds all that water up against the translucent shell-there’s nothing like enough mass to do it by itself.”

“You mean”-Nicholas held out his hand to catch a slow-moving globe of rain-“that this is water from the sea?” ‘

“Right-o, up on top. Do you see, the temperature differences in the air make the winds, and the winds

make the waves and surf you saw when we were walking along the shore. When the waves break they throw up these little drops, and if you watch you’ll see that even when it’s clear they go up a long way sometimes. Then if the gravity is less they can get away altogether, and if we were on the outside they’d fly off into space; but we aren’t, we’re inside, so all they can do is go across the center, more or less, until they hit the water again, or Dr. Island.”

“Dr. Island said they had storms sometimes, when people got mad.”

“Yes. Lots of wind, and so there’s lots of rain, too. Only the rain then is because the wind tears the tops off the waves, and you don’t get light like you do in a normal rain.”

“What makes so much wind?”

“I don’t know. It happens somehow.”

They sat in silence, Nicholas listening to the dripping of the leaves. He remembered then that they had spun the hospital module, finally, to get the little spheres of clotting blood out of the air; Maya’s blood was building up on the grills of the purification intake ducts, spotting them black, and someone had been afraid they would decay there and smell. He had not been there when they did it, but he could imagine the droplets settling, like this, in the slow spin. The old psychodrama group had already been broken up, and when he saw Maureen or any of the others in the rec room they talked about Good Old Days. It had not seemed like Good Old days then except that Maya had been there.

Diane said, “It’s going to stop.”

“It looks just as bad to me.”

“No, it’s going to stop-see, they’re falling a little faster now, and I feel heavier.”

Nicholas stood up. “You rested enough yet? You want to go on?”

“We’ll get wet.”

He shrugged.

“I don’t want to get my hair wet, Nicholas. It’ll be over in a minute.”

He sat down again. “How long have you been here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t you count the days?”

“I lose track a lot.” -

“Longer than a week?”

“Nicholas, don’t ask me, all right?”

“Isn’t there anybody on this piece of Dr. Island except you and me and Ignacio?”

“I don’t think there was anyone but Ignacio before . you came.”

“Who is he?”

She looked at him.

“Well, who is he? You know me-us-Nicholas Kenneth de Vore; and you’re Diane who?”

“Phillips.”

“And you’re from the Trojan Planets, and I was from the Outer Belt, I guess, to start with. What about Ignacio? You talk to him sometimes, don’t you? Who is he?”

“I don’t know. He’s important.”

For an instant, Nicholas froze. “What does that mean?”

“Important.” The girl was feeling her knees, running her hands back and forth across them.

“Maybe everybody’s important.”

“I know you’re just a tot, Nicholas, but don’t be so stupid. Come on, you wanted to go, let’s go now. It’s pretty well stopped.” She stood, stretching her thin body, her arms over her head. “My knees are rough you made me think of that. When I came here they’, were still so smooth, I think. I used to put a certain lotion on them. Because my Dad would feel them, and my hands and elbows, too, and he’d say if they weren’t smooth nobody’d ever want. me; Mum wouldn’t say. anything, but she’d be cross after, and they used to

come and visit, and so I kept a bottle in my room and I used to put it on. Once I drank some.”

Nicholas was silent.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I died?” She stepped ahead of him, pulling aside the dripping branches. “See here, I’m sorry I said you were stupid.”

“I’m just thinking,” Nicholas said. “I’m not mad at you. Do you really know anything about him?”

“No, but look at it.” She gestured. “Look around you; someone built all this.”

“You mean it cost a lot.”

“It’s automated, of course, but still . ” . well, the other places where you were before-how much space was there for each patient? Take the total volume and divide it by the number of people there.”

“Okay, this is a whole lot bigger, but maybe they think we’re worth it.”

“Nicholas …” She paused. “Nicholas, Ignacio is homicidal. Didn’t Dr. Island tell you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re fourteen and not very big for it, and I’m a girl. Who are they worried about?”

The look on Nicholas’s face startled her.

After an hour or more of walking they came to it. It was a band of withered vegetation, brown and black and tumbling, and as straight as if it had been drawn with a ruler. “I was afraid it wasn’t going to be here,” Diane said. “It moves around whenever there’s a storm. It might not have been in our sector any more at all.”

Nicholas asked. “What is it?”

“The Focus. It’s been all over, but mostly the plants grow back quickly when it’s gone.”

“It smells funny-like the kitchen in a place where they wanted me to work in the kitchen once.”

“Vegetables rotting, that’s what that is. What did you do?”

“Nothing-put detergent in the stuff they were cooking. What makes this?”

“The Bright Spot. See, when it’s just about overhead the curve of the sky and the water up there make a lens. It isn’t a very good lens-a lot of the light scatters. But enough is focused to do this. It wouldn’t fry us if it came past right now, if that’s what you’re wondering, because it’s not that hot. I’ve stood right in it, but you want to get out in a minute.”

“I thought it was going to be about seeing ourselves down the beach.”

Diane seated herself on the trunk of a fallen tree. “It was, really. The last time I was here it was further from the water, and I suppose it had been there a long time, because it had cleared out a lot of the dead stuff. The sides of the sector are nearer here, you see; the whole sector narrows down like a piece of pie. So you could look down the Focus either way and see yourself nearer than you could on the beach. It was almost as if you were in a big, big room, with a looking-glass on each wall, or as if you could stand behind yourself. I thought you might like it.”

“I’m going to try it here,” Nicholas announced, and he clambered up one of the dead trees while the girl waited below, but the dry limbs creaked and snapped beneath his feet, and he could not get high enough to see himself in either direction. When he dropped to the ground beside her again, he said, “There’s nothing to eat here either, is there?”

“I haven’t found anything.”

“They-I mean, Dr. Island wouldn’t just let us

starve, would he?” -

“I don’t think he could do anything; that’s the way this place is built. Sometimes you find things, and I’ve tried to catch fish, but I never could. A couple of times Ignacio gave me part of what he had, though; he’s good at it. I bet you think I’m skinny, don’t you? But I was a lot fatter when I came here.”

“What are we going to do now?”

“Keep walking, I suppose, Nicholas. Maybe go back to the water.”

“Do you think we’ll find anything?”

From a decaying log, insect stridulations called, “Wait.”

Nicholas asked, “Do you know where anything is?”

“Something for you to eat? Not at present. But I can show you something much more interesting, not far from here, than this clutter of dying trees. Would you like to see it?”

Diane said, “Don’t go, Nicholas.”

“What is it?”

“Diane, who calls this `the Focus,’ calls what I wish to show you `the Point.”’

Nicholas asked Diane, “Why shouldn’t I go?”

“I’m not going. I went there once anyway.”

“I took her,” Dr. Island said. “And I’ll take you. I wouldn’t take you if I didn’t think it might help you.”

“I don’t think Diane liked it.”

“Diane may not wish to be helped-help may be painful, and often people do not. But it is my business to help them if I can, whether or not they wish it.”

“Suppose I don’t want to go?”

“Then I cannot compel you; you know that. But you will be the only patient in this sector who has not seen it, Nicholas, as well as the youngest; both Diane and Ignacio have, and Ignacio goes there often.” ,

“Is it dangerous?”

“No. Are you afraid?” .

Nicholas looked questioningly at Diane. “What is it?

What will I see?”,

She had walked away while he was talking to Dr. Island, and was now sitting cross-legged on the ground about five meters from where Nicholas stood, staring at her hands. Nicholas repeated, “What will I see, Diane?” He did not think she would answer.

She said, “A glass. A mirror.”

“Just a mirror?”

“You know how I told you to climb the tree here? The Point is where the edges come together. You can see yourself-like on the beach-but closer.”

Nicholas was disappointed. “I’ve seen myself in mirrors lots of times.”

Dr. Island, whose voice was now in the sighing of the dead leaves, whispered, “Did you have a mirror in your room, Nicholas, before you came here?”

“A steel one.”

“So that you could not break it?”

“I guess so. I threw things at it sometimes, but it just got puckers in it.” Remembering dimpled reflections, Nicholas laughed.

“You can’t break this one either.”

“It doesn’t sound like it’s worth going to see.”

“I think it is.”

“Diane, do you still think I shouldn’t go?”

There was no reply. The girl sat staring at the ground in front of her. Nicholas walked over to look at her and found a tear had washed a damp trail down each thin cheek, but she did not move when he touched her. “She’s catatonic, isn’t she,” he said.

A green limb just outside the Focus nodded. “Catatonic schizophrenia.”

“I had a doctor once that said those names like that. They didn’t mean anything.” (The doctor had been a therapy robot, but a human doctor gave more status. Robots’ patients sat in doorless booths-two and a half hours a day for Nicholas: an hour and a half in the morning, an hour in the afternoon-and talked to something that appeared to be a small, friendly food freezer. Some people sat every day in silence, while others talked continually, and for such patients as these the attendants seldom troubled to turn the machines on.)

“He meant cause and treatment. He was correct.”

Nicholas stood looking down at the girl’s streaked,. brown-blond head. “What is the cause? I mean for her.”

“I don’t know.”

“And what’s the treatment?”

“You are seeing it.”

“Will it help her?”

“Probably not.”

“Listen, she can hear you, don’t you know that? She hears everything we say.”

“If my answer disturbs you, Nicholas, I can change it. It will help her if she wants to be helped; if she insists on clasping her illness to her it will not.”

“We ought to go away from here,” Nicholas said uneasily.

“To your left you will see a little path, a very faint one. Between the twisted tree and the bush with the yellow flowers.”

Nicholas nodded and began to walk, looking back at Diane several times. The flowers were butterflies, who fled in a cloud of color when he approached them, and he wondered if Dr. Island had known. When he had gone a hundred paces and was well away from the brown and rotting vegetation, he said, “She was sitting in the Focus.”

“Yes.”

“Is she still there?”

“Yes.”

“What will happen when the Bright Spot comes?”

“Diane will become uncomfortable and move, if she is still there.”

“Once in one of the places I was in there was a man who was like that, and they said he wouldn’t get anything to eat if he didn’t get up and get it, they weren’t going to feed him with the nose tube any more; and they didn’t, and he died. We told them about it and they wouldn’t do anything and he starved to death right there, and when he was dead they rolled him off onto a stretcher and changed the bed and put somebody else there.”

“I know, Nicholas. You told the doctors at St. John’s about all that, and it is in your file; but think: well men have starved themselves yes, to death-to protest what they felt were political injustices. Is it so surprise

ing that your friend killed himself in the same way to protest what he felt as a psychic injustice?”

“He wasn’t my friend. Listen, did you really mean it when you said the treatment she was getting here would help Diane if she wanted to be helped?”

“No.”

Nicholas halted in mid-stride. “You didn’t mean it? You don’t think it’s true?”

“No. I doubt that anything will help her.”

“I don’t think you ought to lie to us.”

“Why not? If by chance you become well you will be released, and if you are released, you will have to deal with your society, which will lie to you frequently Here, where there are so few individuals, I must take the place of society. I have explained that.”

“Is that what you are?”

“Society’s surrogate? Of course. Who do you imagine built me? What else could I be?”

“The doctor.”

“You have had many doctors, and so has she. Not one of them has benefited you much.”

“I’m not sure you even want to help us.”

“Do you wish to see what Diane calls `the Point’?”

“I guess so.”

“Then you must walk. You will not see it standing here.”

Nicholas walked, thrusting aside leafy branches and dangling creepers wet with rain. The jungle smelled of the life of green things; there were ants on the tree trunks, and dragonflies with hot, red bodies and wings as long as his bands. “Do you want to help us?” he asked after a time.

“My feelings toward you are ambivalent..But when you wish to be helped, I wish to help you.”

The ground sloped gently upward, and as it rose became somewhat more clear, the big trees a trifle farther apart, the underbrush spent in grass and fern. Occasionally there were stone outcrops to be climbed, and

clearings open to the tumbling sky. Nicholas asked, “Who made this trail?”

“Ignacio. He comes here often.”

“He’s not afraid, then? Diane’s afraid.”

“Ignacio is afraid, too, but he comes.”

“Diane says Ignacio is important.”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean by that? Is he important? More important than we are?”

“Do you remember that I told you I was the surrogate of society? What do you think society wants, Nicholas?”

“Everybody to do what it says.”

“You mean conformity. Yes, there must be conformity, but something else, too-consciousness.”

“I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Without consciousness, which you may call sensitivity if you are careful not to allow yourself to be confused by the term, there is no progress. A century ago, Nicholas, mankind was suffocating on Earth; now it is suffocating again. About half of the people who have contributed substantially to the advance of humanity have shown signs of emotional disturbance.”

“I told you, I don’t want to hear about it. I asked you an easy questionis Ignacio more important than Diane and me-and you won’t tell me. I’ve heard all this you’re saying. I’ve heard it fifty, maybe a hundred times from everybody, and it’s lies; it’s the regular thing, and you’ve got it written down on a card somewhere to read out when anybody asks. Those people you talk about that went crazy, they went crazy because while they were `advancing humanity,’ or whatever you call it, people kicked them out of their rooms because they couldn’t pay, and while they were getting thrown out you were making other people rich that had never done anything in their whole lives except think about how to get that way.”

“Sometimes it is hard, Nicholas, to determine before

the fact-or even at the time-just who should be honored.”

“How do you know if you’ve never tried?”

“You asked if Ignacio was more important than Diane or yourself. I can only say that Ignacio seems to me to hold a brighter promise of a full recovery coupled with a substantial contribution to human progress.”

“If he’s so good, why did he crack up?”

“Many do, Nicholas. Even among the inner planets space is not a kind environment for mankind; and our space, trans-Martian space, is worse. Any young person here, anyone like yourself or Diane who would seem to have a better-than-average chance of adapting to the conditions we face, is precious.”

“Or Ignacio.”

“Yes, or Ignacio. Ignacio has a tested IQ of two hundred and ten, Nicholas. Diane’s is one hundred and twenty. Your own is ninety-five.”

“They never took mine.”

“It’s on your records, Nicholas”

“They tried to and I threw down the helmet and it broke; Sister Carmela-she was the nurse-just wrote down something on the paper and sent me back.”

“I see. I will ask for a complete investigation of this, Nicholas.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“I don’t think you believed me.”

“Nicholas, Nicholas … ” The long tongues of grass now beginning to appear beneath the immense trees sighed. “Can’t you see that a certain measure of trust between the two of us is essential?”

“Did you believe me?”

“Why do you ask? Suppose I were to say I did; would you believe that?”

“When you told me I had been reclassified.”

“You would have to be retested, for which there are” no facilities here.”

“If you believed me, why did you say retested? I told you I haven’t ever been tested at all-but anyway you could cross out the ninety-five.”

“It is impossible for me to plan your therapy without some estimate of your intelligence, Nicholas, and I have nothing with which to replace it.”

The ground was sloping up more sharply now, and in a clearing the boy halted and turned to look back at the leafy film, like algae over a pool, beneath which he had climbed, and at the sea beyond. To his right and left his view was still hemmed with foliage, and ahead of him a meadow on edge (like the square of sand through which he had come, though he did not think of that), dotted still with trees, stretched steeply toward an invisible summit. It seemed to him that under his feet the mountainside swayed ever so slightly. Abruptly he demanded of the wind, “Where’s Ignacio?”

“Not here. Much closer to the beach.”

“And Diane?”

“Where you left her. Do you enjoy the panorama?”

“It’s pretty, but it feels like we’re rocking.”

“We are. I am moored to the temper glass exterior of our satellite by two hundred cables, but the tide and the currents none the less impart a slight motion to my body. Naturally this movement is magnified as you go higher.”

“I thought you were fastened right onto the hull; if there’s water under you, how do people get in and out?”

“I am linked to the main air lock by a communication tube. To you when you came, it probably seemed an ordinary companionway.”

Nicholas nodded and turned his back on leaves and sea and began to climb again.

“You are in a beautiful spot, Nicholas; do you open your heart to beauty?” After waiting for an answer that did not come, the wind sang:

“The mountain wooded to the peak, the lawns And winding glades high up like ways to Heaven, The slender coco’s drooping crown of plumes, The lightning flash of insect and of bird, The lustre of the long convolvuluses That coil’d around the stately stems, and ran Ev’n to the limit of the.land, the glows And glories of the broad belt of the world, All these he saw.”

“Does this mean nothing to you, Nicholas?”

“You read a lot, don’t you?”

“Often, when it is dark, everyone else is asleep and there is very little else for me to do.”

“You talk like a woman; are you a woman?”

“How could I be a woman?”

“You know what I mean. Except, when you were talking mostly to Diane, you sounded more like a man.”

“You haven’t yet said you think me beautiful.”

“You’re an Easter egg.”

“What do you mean by that, Nicholas?”

“Never mind.” He saw the egg as it had hung in the air before him, shining with gold and covered with flowers.

“Eggs are dyed with pretty colors for Easter, and my colors are beautiful-is that what you mean, Nicholas?”

His mother had brought the egg on visiting day, but e she could never have made it. Nicholas knew who must _ have made it. The gold was that very pure gold used for shielding delicate instruments; the clear flakes of crystallized carbon that dotted the egg’s surface with ` tiny stars could only have come from a laboratory high-pressure furnace. How angry he must have been when she told him she was going to give it to him.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it, Nicky?”

It hung in the weightlessness between them, turning , very slowly with the memory of her scented gloves. ;

“The flowers are meadowsweet, fraxinella, lily of the’:

valley, and moss rose-though I wouldn’t expect you to recognize them, darling.” His mother had never been below the orbit of Mars, but she pretended to have spent her girlhood on Earth; each reference to the lie filled Nicholas with inexpressible fury and shame. The egg was about twenty centimeters long and it revolved, end over end, in some small fraction more than eight of the pulse beats he felt in his cheeks. Visiting time had twenty-three minutes to go.

“Aren’t you going to look at it?”

“I can see it from here.” He tried to make her understand. “I can see every part of it. The little red things are aluminum oxide crystals, right?”

“I mean, look inside, Nicky.”

He saw then that there was a lens at one end, disguised as a dewdrop in the throat of an asphodel Gently he took the egg in his hands, closed one eye, and looked. The light of the interior was not, as he had half-expected, gold-tinted, but brilliantly white, deriving from some concealed source. A world surely meant for Earth shone within, as though seen from below the orbit of the moon-indigo sea and emerald land. Rivers brown and clear as tea ran down long plains.

His mother said, “Isn’t it pretty?”

Night hung at the corners in funereal purple, and sent long shadows like cold and lovely arms to caress the day; and while he watched and it fell, long-necked birds of so dark a pink that they were nearly red trailed stilt legs across the sky, their wings making crosses.

“They are called flamingos,” Dr. Island said, following the direction of his eyes. “Isn’t it a pretty word? For a pretty bird, but I don’t think we’d like them as much if we called them sparrows, would we?”

His mother said, “I’m going to take it home and keep it for you. It’s too nice to leave with a little boy, but if you ever come home again it will be waiting for you. On your dresser, beside your hairbrushes.”

Nicholas said, “Words just mix you up.”

“You shouldn’t despise them, Nicholas. Besides having great beauty of their own, they are useful in reducing tension. You might benefit from that.”

“You mean you talk yourself out of it.”

“I mean that a person’s ability to verbalize his feelings, if only to himself, may prevent them from destroying him. Evolution teaches us, Nicholas, that the original purpose of language was to ritualize men’s threats and curses, his spells to compel the gods; communication came later. Words can be a safety valve.”

Nicholas said, “I want to be a bomb; a bomb s doesn’t need a safety valve.” To his mother, “Is that South America, Mama?”

“No, dear, India. The Malabar Coast on your left, ` the Coromandel Coast on your right, and Ceylon below.” Words.

“A bomb destroys itself, Nicholas.”

“A bomb doesn’t care.”

He was climbing resolutely now, his toes grabbing at .: tree roots and the soft, mossy soil; his physician was no longer. the wind but a small brown monkey that followed a stone’s throw behind him. “I hear someone coming,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Is it Ignacio?”

“No, it is Nicholas. You are close now.”

“Close to the Point?”

“Yes.”

He stopped and looked around him. The sounds he had heard, the naked feet padding on soft ground, .: stopped as well. Nothing seemed strange; the land still rose, and there were large trees, widely spaced, with moss growing in their deepest shade, grass where there was more light. “The three big trees,” Nicholas said, “they’re just alike. Is that how you know where we are?”

“Yes.”

In his mind he called the one before him “Ceylon”; the others were “Coromande!” and “Malabar.” He walked toward Ceylon, studying its massive, twisted .

limbs; a boy naked as himself walked out of the forest to his left, toward Malabar-this boy was not looking at Nicholas, who shouted and ran toward him.

The boy disappeared. Only Malabar, solid and real, stood before Nicholas; he ran to it, touched its rough bark with his hand, and then saw beyond it a fourth tree, similar, too, to the Ceylon tree, around which a boy peered with averted head. Nicholas watched him for a moment, then said, “I see.”

“Do you?” the monkey chattered.

“It’s like a mirror, only backwards. The light from the front of me goes out and hits the edge, and comes in the other side, only I can’t see it because I’m not looking that way. What I see is the light from my back, sort of, because it comes back this way. When I ran, did I get turned around?”

“Yes, you ran out the left side of the segment, and of course returned immediately from the right.”

“I’m not scared. It’s kind of fun.” He picked up a stick and threw it as hard as he could toward the Malabar tree. It vanished, whizzed over his head, vanished again, slapped the back of his legs. “Did this scare Diane?”

There was no answer. He strode farther, palely naked boys walking to his left and right, but always looking away from him, gradually coming closer.

“Don’t go farther,” Dr. Island said behind him. “It can be dangerous if you try to pass through the Point itself.”

“I see it,” Nicholas said. He saw three more trees, growing very close together, just ahead of him; their branches seemed strangely intertwined as they danced together in the wind, and beyond them there was nothing at all.

“You can’t actually go through the Point,” Dr. Island Monkey said. “The tree covers it.”

“Then why did you warn me about it?” Limping and scarred, the boys to his right and left were no more

than two meters away now; he had discovered that if he looked straight ahead he could sometimes glimpse their bruised profiles.

“That’s far enough, Nicholas.” _

“I want to touch the tree.”

He took another step, and another, then turned. The Malabar boy turned, too, presenting his narrow back, on which the ribs and spine seemed welts. Nicholas reached out both arms and laid his hands on the thin shoulders, and as he did, felt other hands-the cool, unfeeling hands of a stranger, dry hands too small touch his own shoulders and creep upward toward his neck.

“Nicholas!”

He jumped sidewise away from the tree and looked at his hands, his head swaying. “It wasn’t me.”

“Yes, it was, Nicholas,” the monkey said.

“It was one of them.”

“You are all of them.”

In one quick motion Nicholas snatched up an arm long section of fallen limb and hurled it at the monkey. It struck the little creature, knocking it down, but the monkey sprang up and fled on three legs. Nicholas sprinted after it.

He had nearly caught it when it darted to one side; as quickly, he turned toward the other, springing for the monkey he saw running toward him there. In an instant it was in his grip, feebly trying to bite. He slammed its head against the ground, then catching it _” by the ankles swung it against the Ceylon tree until at

the third impact he heard the skull crack, and stopped.

He had expected wires, but there were none. Blood from the battered little face, and the furry body was warm and limp in his hands. Leaves above his head said, “You haven’t killed me, Nicholas. You never will.”

“How does it work?” He was still searching for wires, tiny circuit cards holding micrologic. He looked

about for a sharp stone with which to open the monkey’s body, but could find none.

.- “It is just a monkey,” the leaves said. “If you had

asked, I would have told you.”

“How did you make him talk?” He dropped the monkey, stared at it for a moment, then kicked it. His fingers were bloody, and he wiped them on the leaves of the tree.

“Only my mind speaks to yours, Nicholas.”

“Oh,” he said. And then, “I’ve heard of that. I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought it would be in my head.”

“Your record shows no auditory hallucinations, but haven’t you ever known someone who had them?”

“I knew a girl once…” He paused.

“Yes?”

“She twisted noises-you know?”

“Yes.”

“Like, it would just be a service cart out in the corridor, but she’d hear the fan, and think…”

“What?”

“Oh, different things. That it was somebody talking, calling her.”

“Hear them?”

“What?” He sat up in his bunk. “Maya?”

“They’re coming after me.”

“Maya?”

Dr. Island, through the leaves, said, “When I talk to you, Nicholas, your mind makes any sound you hear the vehicle for my thoughts’ content. You may hear me softly in the patter of rain, or joyfully in the singing of a bird but if I wished I could amplify what I say until every idea and suggestion I wished to give would be driven like a nail into your consciousness. Then you would do whatever I wished you to.”

“I don’t believe it,” Nicholas said. “If you can do that, why don’t you tell Diane not to be catatonic?”

“First, because she might retreat more deeply into

her disease in an effort to escape me; and second, because ending her catatonia in that way would not r

move its cause.”

“And thirdly?” _

“I did not say `thirdly,’ Nicholas.”

“I thought I heard it-when two leaves touched.”’

“Thirdly, Nicholas, because both you and she have been chosen for your effect on someone else; if I were to change her-or you-so abruptly, that effect would be lost.” Dr. Island was a monkey again now, a new monkey that chattered from the protection of a tree twenty meters away. Nicholas threw a stick at him.

“The monkeys are only little animals, Nicholas; they like to follow people, and they chatter.”

“I beg Ignacio kills them.”

“No, he likes them; he only kills fish to eat.”

Nicholas was suddenly aware of his hunger. He began to walk.

He found Ignacio on the beach, praying. For an hour or more, Nicholas hid behind the trunk of a palm watching him, but for a long time he could not decide to whom Ignacio prayed. He was kneeling just where the lacy edges of the breakers died, looking out toward the water; and from time to time he bowed, touching his forehead to the damp sand; then Nicholas could hear his voice, faintly, over the crashing and hissing of the waves. In general, Nicholas approved of prayer, having observed that those who prayed were usually more interesting companions than those who did not; but he had also noticed that though it made no difference what name the devotee gave the object of his devotions, it was important to discover how the god was conceived. Ignacio did not seem to be praying to Dr. Island-he would, Nicholas thought, have been facing the other way for that-and for a time he wondered if he were not praying to the waves. From his position behind him he followed Ignacio’s line of vision

out and out, wave upon wave into the bright, confused sky, up and up until at last it curved completely around and came to rest on Ignacio’s back again; and then it occurred to him that Ignacio might be praying to himself. He left the palm trunk then and walked about halfway to the place where Ignacio knelt, and sat down. Above the sounds of the sea and the murmuring of Ignacio’s voice hung a silence so immense and fragile that it seemed that at any moment the entire crystal satellite might ring like a gong.

After a time Nicholas felt his left side trembling. With his right hand he began to stroke it, running his fingers down his left arm, and from his left shoulder to the thigh. It worried him that his left side should be so frightened, and he wondered if perhaps that other half of his brain, from which he was forever severed, could hear what Ignacio was saying to the waves. He began to pray himself, so that the other (and perhaps Ignacio, too) could hear, saying not quite beneath his breath, “Don’t worry, don’t be afraid, he’s not going to hurt us, he’s nice, and if he does we’ll get him; we’re only going to get something to eat, maybe he’ll show us how to catch fish, I think he’ll be nice this time.” But he knew, or at least felt he knew, that Ignacio would not be nice this time.

Eventually Ignacio stood up; he did not turn to face Nicholas, but waded out to sea; then, as though he had known Nicholas was behind him all the time (though Nicholas was not sure he had been heard perhaps, so he thought, Dr. Island had told Ignacio), he gestured to indicate that Nicholas should follow him.

The water was colder than he remembered, the sand coarse and gritty between his toes. He thought of what Dr. Island had told him-about floating-and that a part of her must be this sand, under the water, reaching out (how far?) into the sea; when she ended there would be nothing but the clear temperglass of the satellite itself, far down.

“Come,” Ignacio said. “Can you swim?” Just as though he had forgotten the night before. Nicholas said yes, he could, wondering if Ignacio would look around:. at him when he spoke. He did not.

“And do you know why you are here?”

“You told me to come.”

“Ignacio means here. Does this not remind you of. any place you have seen before, little one?”

Nicholas thought of the crystal gong and the Easter` egg, then of the microthin globes of perfumed vapor that, at home, were sometimes sent floating down the` corridors at Christmas to explode in clean dust and a cold smell of pine forests when the children struck them with their hopping-canes; but he said nothing.

Ignacio continued, “Let Ignacio tell you a story.: Once there was a man-a boy, actually-on the Earth, who-“

Nicholas wondered why it was always men (most often doctors and clinical psychologists, in his experience) who wanted to tell you stories. Jesus, he recalled,: was always telling everyone stories, and the Virgi Mary almost never, though a woman he had one known who thought she was the Virgin Mary had al ways been talking about her son. He thought Ignacio looked a little like Jesus. He tried to remember if his mother had ever told him stories when he was at home, and decided that she had not; she just turned on the comscreen to the cartoons. .

“-wanted to-“

“-tell a story,” Nicholas finished for him.

“How did you know?” Angry and surprised.

“It was you, wasn’t it? And you want to tell one now.”

“What you said was not what Ignacio would have said. He was going to tell you about a fish.”

“Where is it?” Nicholas asked, thinking of the fish Ignacio had been eating the night before, and imagining another such fish, caught while he had been com

ing back, perhaps, from the Point, and now concealed somewhere waiting the fire. “Is it a big one?”

“It is gone now,” Ignacio said, “but it was only as long as a man’s hand. I caught it in the big river.”

Huckleberry-“I know, the Mississippi; it was a catfish. Or a sunfish.”-Finn.

“Possibly that is what you call them; for a time he was as the sun to a certain one.” The light from nowhere danced on the water. “In any event he was kept on that table in the salon in the house where life was lived. In a tank, but not the old kind in, which one sees the glass, with metal at the corner. But the new kind in which the glass is so strong, but very thin, and curved so that it does not reflect, and there are no corners, and a clever device holds the water clear.” He dipped up a handful of sparkling water, still not meeting Nicholas’s eyes. “As clear even as this, and there were no ripples, and so you could not see it at all. My fish floated in the center of my table above a few stones.”

Nicholas asked, “Did you float on the river on a raft?”

“No, we had a little boat. Ignacio caught this fish in a net, of which he almost bit through the strands before he could be landed; he possessed wonderful teeth. There was no one in the house but him and the other, and the robots; but each morning someone would go to the pool in the patio and catch a goldfish for him. Ignacio would see this goldfish there when he came down for his breakfast, and would think, `Brave goldfish, you have been cast to the monster, will you be the one to destroy him? Destroy him and you shall have his diamond hose forever.’ And then the fish, who had a little spot of red beneath his wonderful teeth, a spot like a cherry, would rush upon that young goldfish, and for an instant the water would be all clouded with blood.”

“And then what?” Nicholas asked.

“And then the clever machine would make the water

clear once more, and the fish would be floating above” the stones as before, the fish with the wonderful teeth, ; and Ignacio would touch the little switch on the table,

and ask for more bread, and more fruit.”

“Are you hungry now?”

“No, I am tired and lazy now; if I pursue you I will not catch you, and if I catch you-through your own slowness and clumsiness-I will not kill you, and if I kill you I will not eat you.”

Nicholas had begun to back away, and at the last; words, realizing that they were a signal, he turned and

began to run, splashing through the shallow water. Ignacio ran after him, much helped by his longer legs, his hair flying behind his dark young face, his square teeth-each white as a bone and as big as Nicholas’s thumbnail-showing like spectators who lined the railings of his lips.

“Don’t run, Nicholas,” Dr. Island said with the voice of a wave. “It only makes him angry that you run.” Nicholas did not answer, but cut to his left, up the beach and among the trunks of the palms, sprinting all the way because he had no way of knowing Ignacio was not right behind him, about to grab him by the neck. When he stopped it was in the thick jungle, among the boles of the hardwoods, where he leaned,.; out of breath, the thumping of his own heart the only’

.

sound in an atmosphere silent and unwaked as Earth’s long, prehuman day. For a time he listened for any sound Ignacio might make searching for him; there was none. He drew a deep breath then and said, “Well, that’s over,” expecting Dr. Island to answer from somewhere; there was only the green hush.

The light was still bright and strong and nearly, shadowless, but some interior sense told him the day, was nearly over, and he noticed that such faint shades as he could see stretched long, horizontal distortions of their objects. He felt no hunger, but he had fasted be-‘ fore and knew on which side of hunger he stood; he was not as strong as he had been only a day past, and by

this time next day he would probably be unable to outrun Ignacio. He should, he now realized, have eaten the monkey he had killed; but his stomach revolted at the thought of the raw flesh, and he did not know how he might build a fire, although Ignacio seemed to have done so the night before. Raw fish, even if he were able to catch a fish, would be as bad, or worse, than raw monkey; he remembered his effort to open a coconut-he had failed, but it was surely not impossible. His mind was hazy as to what a coconut might contain, but there had to be an edible core, because they were eaten in books. He decided to make a wide sweep through the jungle that would bring him back to the beach well away from Ignacio; he had several times seen coconuts lying in the sand under the trees.

He moved quietly, still a little afraid, trying to think of ways to open the coconut when he found it. He imagined himself standing before a large and raggedly faceted stone, holding the coconut in both hands. He raised it and smashed it down, but when it struck it was no longer a coconut but Maya’s head; he heard her nose cartilage break with a distinct, rubbery snap. Her eyes, as blue as the sky above Madhya Pradesh, the sparkling blue sky of the egg, looked up at him, but he could no longer look into them, they retreated from his own, and it came to him quite suddenly that Lucifer, in falling, must have fallen up, into the fires and the coldness of space, never again to see the warm blues and browns and greens of Earth: 1 was watching Satan fall as lightning from heaven. He had heard that on tape somewhere, but he could not remember where. He had read that on Earth lightning did not come down from the clouds, but leaped up from the planetary surface toward them, never to return.

“Nicholas.”

He listened, but did not hear his name again. Faintly water was babbling; had Dr. Island used that sound to speak to him? He walked toward it and found a little rill that threaded a way among the trees, and followed

it. In a hundred steps it grew broader, slowed, and ended in a long blind pool under a dome of leaves. . Diane was sitting on moss on the side opposite him; she looked up as she saw him, and smiled.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello, Nicholas. I thought I heard you. I wasn’t mistaken after all, was I?”

“I didn’t think I said anything.” He tested the dark water with his foot and found that it was very cold.

“You gave a little gasp, I fancy. I heard it, and I said to myself, that’s Nicholas, and I called you. Then I thought I might be wrong, or that it might be Ignacio.”

“Ignacio was chasing me. Maybe he still is, but h think he’s probably given up by now.”

The girl nodded, looking into the dark waters of they pool, but did not seem to have heard him. He began to work his way around to her, climbing across the snakelike roots of the crowding trees. “Why does Ignacio want to kill me, Diane?”

“Sometimes he wants to kill me, too,” the girl said.

“But why?”

“I think he’s a bit frightened of us. Have you ever talked to him, Nicholas?”

“Today I did a little. He told me a story about a pet fish he used to have.”

“Ignacio grew up all alone; did he tell you that? On= Earth. On a plantation in Brazil, way up the Amazon —Dr. Island told me.”

“I thought it was crowded on Earth.”

“The cities are crowded, and the countryside closes to the cities. But there are places where it’s emptie than it used to be. Where Ignacio was, there would have been Red Indian hunters two or three hundred

years ago; when he was there, there wasn’t anyone,` just the machines. Now he doesn’t want to be looked at, doesn’t want anyone around him.”

Nicholas said slowly, “Dr. Island said lots of people wouldn’t be sick if only there weren’t other people around all the time. Remember that?”

a “Only there. are other people around all the time; that’s how the world is.”

“Not in Brazil, maybe,” Nicholas said. He was trying to remember something about Brazil, but the only thing he could think of was a parrot singing in a straw hat from the comview cartoons; and then a turtle and a hedgehog that turned into armadillos for the love of God, Montressor. He said, “Why didn’t he stay there?”

“Did I tell you about the bird, Nicholas?” She had been not listening again.

“What bird?”

“I have a bird. Inside.” She patted the flat stomach below her small breasts, and for a moment, Nicholas thought she had really found food. “She sits in here. She has tangled a nest in my entrails, where she sits and tears at my breath with her beak. I look healthy to you, don’t I? But inside I’m hollow and rotten and turning brown, dirt and old feathers, oozing away. Her beak will break through soon.”

“Okay.” Nicholas turned to go.

“I’ve been drinking water here, trying to drown her. I think I’ve swallowed so much I couldn’t stand up now if I tried, but she isn’t even wet, and do you know something, Nicholas? I’ve found out I’m not really me, I’m her.”

Turning back Nicholas asked, “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”

“I don’t know. Two, three days ago. Ignacio gave me something.”

“I’m going to try to open a coconut. If I can I’ll bring you back some.”

When he reached the beach, Nicholas turned and walked slowly back in the direction of the dead fire, this time along the rim of dampened sand between the sea and the palms. He was thinking about machines.

There were hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of machines out beyond the belt, but few or none

of the sophisticated servant robots of Earth-those were luxuries. Would Ignacio, in Brazil (whatever that was like), have had such luxuries? Nicholas thought not; those robots were almost like people, and living with them would be like living with people. Nicholas wished that he could speak Brazilian.

There had been the therapy robots at St. John’s; Nicholas had not liked them, and he did not think Ignacio would have liked them either. If he had liked his therapy robot he probably would not have had to be sent here. He thought of the chipped and rusted old machine that had cleaned the corridors-Maya had called it Corradora, but no one else ever called it any-F thing but Hey! It could not (or at least did not) speak, 1 and Nicholas doubted that it had emotions, except possibly a sort of love of cleanness that did not extend to its own person. “You will understand,” someone was saying inside his head, “that motives of all sorts can be divided into two sorts.” A doctor? A therapy robot? It did not matter. “Extrinsic and intrinsic. An extrinsic motive has always some further end in view, and that end we call an intrinsic motive. Thus when we have reduced motivation to intrinsic motivation we have reduced it to its simplest parts. Take that machine over there.”

What machine?

“Freud would have said that it was fixated at the latter anal stage, perhaps due to the care its builders exercised in seeing that the dirt it collects is not released again. Because of its fixation it is, as you see, obsessed with cleanliness and order; compulsive sweeping and scrubbing palliate its anxieties. It is a strength of Freud’s theory, and not a weakness, that it serves ` to explain many of the activities of machines as well as

the acts of persons.”

Hello there, Corradora.

And hello, Ignacio.

My head, moving from side to side, must remind you of a radar scanner. My steps are measured, slow,

and precise. 1 emit a scarcely audible humming as 1 walk, and my eyes are fixed, as 1 swing my head, not on you, Ignacio, but on the waves at the edge of sight, where they curve up into the sky. 1 stop ten meters short of you, and 1 stand.

You go 1 follow, ten meters behind. What do 1 want? Nothing.

Yes, 1 will pick up the sticks, and 1 will follow-five meters behind.

“Break them, and put them on the fire. Not all of them, just a few.”

Yes.

“Ignacio keeps the fire here burning all the time. Sometimes he takes the coals of fire from it to start others, but here, under the big palm log, he has a fire always. The rain does not strike it here. Always the fire. Do you know how he made it the first time? Reply to him!”

” “

No.

“No, Patrdo!”

” `No, Patrao.’”

“Ignacio stole it from the gods, from Poseidon. Now Poseidon is dead, lying at the bottom of the water. Which is the top. Would you like to see him?”

“If you wish it, Patrdo.”

“It will soon be dark, and that is the time to fish; do you have a spear?”

“No, Patrdo.”

“Then Ignacio will get you one.”

Ignacio took a handful of the sticks and thrust the ends into the fire, blowing on them. After a moment Nicholas leaned over and blew, too, until all the sticks were blazing.

“Now we must find you some bamboo, and there is some back here. Follow me.”

The light, still nearly shadowless, was dimming now, so that it seemed to Nicholas that they walked on insubstantial soil, though he could feel it beneath his feet. Ignacio stalked ahead, holding up the burning sticks

until the fire seemed about to die, then pointing the ends down, allowing it to lick upward toward his hand and come to life again. There was a gentle wind blowing out toward the sea, carrying away the sound of the surf and bringing a damp coolness; and when they had been walking for several minutes, Nicholas heard in it a faint, dry, almost rhythmic rattle.

Ignacio looked back at him and said, “The music. The big stems talking; hear it?”

They found a cane a little thinner than Nicholas’s wrist and piled the burning sticks around its base, then added more. When it fell, Ignacio burned through the upper end, too, making a pole about as long as Nicholas was tall, and with the edge of a seashell scraped the larger end to a point. “Now you are a fisherman,” he said. Nicholas said, “Yes, Pardo,” still careful not to meet his eyes.

“You are hungry?”

“Yes, Patrdo.”

“Then let me tell you something. Whatever you get is Ignacio’s, you understand? And what he catches, that is his, too. But when he has eaten what he wants, what is left is yours. Come on now, and Ignacio will teach you to fish or drown you.”

Ignacio’s own spear was buried in the sand not far from the fire; it was much bigger than the one he had made for Nicholas. With it held across his chest he went down to the water, wading until it was waist high, then swimming, not looking to see if Nicholas was following. Nicholas found that he could swim with the spear by putting all his effort into the motion of his legs, holding the spear in his left hand and stroking only occasionally with his right. “You breathe,” he said softly, “and watch the spear,” arid after that he had only to allow his head to lift from time to time.

He had thought Ignacio would begin to look for fish as soon as they were well out from the beach, but the Brazilian continued to swim, slowly but steadily, until it seemed to Nicholas that they must be a kilometer or

more from land. Suddenly, as though the lights in a room had responded to a switch, the dark sea around them became an opalescent blue. Ignacio stopped, treading water and using his spear to buoy himself.

“Here,” he said “Get them between yourself and the light.”

Open-eyed, he bent his face to the water, raised it again to breathe deeply, and dove. Nicholas followed his example, floating belly-down with open eyes.

All the world of dancing glitter and dark island vanished as though he had plunged his face into a dream. Far, far below him Jupiter displayed its broad, striped disk, marred with the spreading Bright Spot where man-made silicone enzymes had stripped the hydrogen from methane for kindled fusion: a cancer and a burning infant sun. Between that sun and his eyes lay invisible a hundred thousand kilometers of space, and the temperglass shell of the satellite; hundreds of meters of illuminated water, and in it the spread body of Ignacio, dark against the light, still kicking downward, his spear a pencil line of blackness in his hand.

Involuntarily Nicholas’s head came up, returning to the universe of sparkling waves, aware now that what he had called “night” was only the shadow cast by Dr. Island when Jupiter and the Bright Spot slid beneath her. That shadow line, indetectable in air, now lay sharp across the water behind him. He took breath and plunged.

Almost at once a fish darted somewhere below, and his left arm thrust the spear forward, but it was far out of reach. He swam after it, then saw another, larger, fish farther down and dove for that, passing Ignacio surfacing for air. The fish was too deep, and he had used up his oxygen; his lungs aching for air, he swam up, wanting to let go of his spear, then realizing at the last moment that he could, that it would only bob to the surface if he released it. His head broke water and he gasped, his heart thumping; water struck

his face and he knew again, suddenly, as though they had ceased to exist while he was gone, the pulse beat pounding of the waves.

Ignacio was waiting for him. He shouted, “This time you will come with Ignacio, and he will show you the dead sea god. Then we will fish.”

Unable to speak, Nicholas nodded. He was allowed three more breaths; then Ignacio dove and Nicholas had to follow, kicking down until the pressure sang in his ears. Then through blue water he saw, looming at the edge of the light, a huge mass of metal anchored to the temperglass hull of the satellite itself; above it, hanging lifelessly like the stem of a great vine severed from the root, a cable twice as thick as a man’s body; and on the bottom, sprawled beside the mighty anchor, a legged god that might have been a dead insect save that it was at least six meters long. Ignacio turned and looked back at Nicholas to see if he understood; he did not, but he nodded, and with the strength draining from his arms, surfaced again.

After Ignacio brought up the first fish, they took turns on the surface guarding their catch, and while the Bright Spot crept beneath the shelving rim of Dr. Island, they speared two more, one of them quite large. Then when Nicholas was so exhausted he could scarcely lift his arms, they made their way back to shore, and Ignacio showed him how to gut the fish with a thorn and the edge of a shell, and reclose them and pack them in mud and leaves to be roasted by the fire. After Ignacio had begun to eat the largest fish, Nicholas timidly drew out the smallest, and ate for the first time since coming to Dr. Island. Only when he had finished did he remember Diane.

He did not dare to take the last fish to her, but he looked covertly at Ignacio, and began edging away from the fire. The Brazilian seemed not to have noticed him. When he was well into the shadows he stood, backed a few steps, then-slowly, as his instincts

warned him-walked away, not beginning to trot until the distance between them was nearly a hundred meters.

He found Diane sitting apathetic and silent at the margin of the cold pool, and had some difficulty persuading her to stand. At last he lifted her, his hands under her arms pressing against her thin ribs. Once on her feet she stood steadily enough, and followed him when he took her by the hand. He talked to her, knowing that although she gave no sign of hearing she heard him, and that the right words might wake her to response. “We went fishing-Ignacio showed me how. And he’s got a fire, Diane, he got it from a kind of robot that was supposed to be fixing one of the cables that holds Dr. Island, I don’t know how. Anyway, listen, we caught three big fish, and I ate one and Ignacio ate a great big one, and I don’t think he’d mind if you had the other one, only say, `Yes, Patrdo,’ and `No, Patrdo,’ to him-he likes that, and he’s only used to machines. You don’t have to smile at him or anything-just look at the fire, that’s what I do, just look at the fire.”

To Ignacio, perhaps wisely, he at first said nothing at all, leading Diane to the place where he had been sitting himself a few minutes before and placing some scraps from his fish in her lap. When she did not eat he found a sliver of the tender, roasted flesh and thrust it into her mouth. Ignacio said, “Ignacio believed that one dead,” and Nicholas answered, “No, Patrdo.”

“There is another fish. Give it to her.”

Nicholas did, raking the gob of baked mud from the coals to crack with the heel of his hand, and peeling the broken and steaming fillets from the skin and bones to give to her when they had cooled enough to eat; after the fish had lain in her mouth for perhaps half a minute she began to chew and swallow, and after the third mouthful she fed herself, though without looking at either of them.

:‘Ignacio believed that one dead,” Ignacio said again.

“No, Patrao,” Nicholas answered, and then added, “Like you can see, she’s alive.”

“She is a pretty creature, with the firelight on her face-no?”

“Yes, Patrao, very pretty.”

“But too thin.” Ignacio moved around the fire until ` he was sitting almost beside Diane, then reached for the fish Nicholas had given her. Her hands closed on it, though she still did not look at him.

“You see, she knows us after all,” Ignacio said. “We s are not ghosts.”

Nicholas whispered urgently, “Let him have it.”

Slowly Diane’s fingers relaxed, but Ignacio did not a take the fish. “I was only joking, little one,” he said. 4 “And I think not such a good joke after all.” Then when she did not reply, he turned away from her, his eyes reaching out across the dark, tossing water for something Nicholas could not see.

“She likes you, Patrao,” Nicholas said. The words were like swallowing filth, but he thought of the bird ready to tear through Diane’s skin, and Maya’s blood soaking in little round dots into the white cloth, and continued. “She is only shy. It is better that way.”

“You. What do you know?”

At least Ignacio was no longer looking at the sea. Nicholas said, “Isn’t it true, Patrao?”

“Yes, it is true.”

Diane was picking at the fish again, conveying tiny flakes to her mouth with delicate fingers; distinctly but almost absently she said, “Go, Nicholas.”

He looked at Ignacio, but the Brazilian’s eyes did not turn toward the girl, nor did he speak.

“Nicholas, go away. Please.”

In a voice he hoped was pitched too low for Ignacio to hear, Nicholas said, “I’ll see you in the morning. All right”

Her head moved a fraction of a centimeter.

Once he was out of sight of the fire, one part of the beach was as good to sleep on as another; he wished he had taken a piece of wood from the fire to start one of his own and tried to cover his legs with sand to keep off the cool wind, but the sand fell away whenever he moved, and his legs and his left hand moved without volition on his part.

The surf, lapping at the rippled shore, said, “That was well done, Nicholas.”

“I can feel you move,” Nicholas said. “I don’t think I ever could before except when I was high up.”

“I doubt that you can now; my roll is less than one one-hundredth of a degree.”

“Yes, I can. You wanted me to do that, didn’t -you? About Ignacio.”

“Do you know what the Harlow effect is, Nicholas?”

Nicholas shook his head.

“About a hundred years ago Dr. Harlow experimented with monkeys who had been raised in complete isolation-no mothers, no other monkeys at all.”

“Lucky monkeys.”

“When the monkeys were mature he put them into cages with normal ones; they fought with any that came near them, and sometimes they killed them.”

“Psychologists always put things in cages; did he ever think of turning them loose in the jungle instead?”

“No, Nicholas, though we have … Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I guess not.”

“Dr. Harlow tried, you see, to get the isolate monkeys to breed-sex is the primary social function-but they wouldn’t. Whenever another monkey of either sex approached they displayed aggressiveness, which the other monkeys returned. He cured them finally by introducing immature monkeys-monkey children-in place of the mature, socialized ones. These needed the isolate adults so badly that they kept on making approaches no matter how often or how violently they

were rejected, and in the end they were accepted, and the isolates socialized. It’s interesting to note that the founder of Christianity seems to have had an intuitive grasp of the principle-but it was almost two thousand years before it was demonstrated scientifically.”

“I don’t think it worked here,” Nicholas said. “It was more complicated than that.”

“Human beings are complicated monkeys, Nicholas.”

“That’s about the first time I ever heard you make a joke. You like not being human, don’t you?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”

“I always thought I would, but now I’m not sure. You said that to help me, didn’t you? I don’t like that.”

A wave higher than the others splashed chill foam over Nicholas’s legs, and for a moment he wondered if this were Dr. Island’s reply. Half a minute later another wave wet him, and another, and he moved farther up the beach to avoid them. The wind was stronger, but he slept despite it, and was awakened only for a moment by a flash of light from the direction from, which he had come; he tried to guess what might have caused it, thought of Diane and Ignacio throwing the burning sticks into the air to see the arcs of fire, smiled -too sleepy now to be angry-and slept again.

Morning came cold and sullen; Nicholas ran up and down the beach, rubbing himself with his hands. A thin rain, or spume (it was hard to tell which), was blowing in the wind, clouding the light to gray radiance. He wondered if Diane and Ignacio would mind if he came back now and decided to wait, then thought of fishing so that he would have something to bring ` when he came; but the sea was very cold and the waves so high they tumbled him, wrenching his bamboo spear from his hand. Ignacio found him dripping with water, sitting with his back to a palm trunk and staring out toward the lifting curve of the sea.

“Hello, you,” Ignacio said.

“Good morning, Patrdo.”

Ignacio sat down. “What is your name? You told me, I think, when we first met, but I have forgotten. I am sorry.”

“Nicholas:”

“Yes.”

“Patrao, I am very cold. Would it be possible for us to go to your fire?”

“My name is Ignacio; call me that.”

Nicholas nodded, frightened.

“But we cannot go to my fire, because the fire is out.”

“Can’t you make another one, Patrao?”

“You do not trust me, do you? I do not blame you. No, I cannot make another-you may use what I had, if you wish, and make one after I have gone. I came only to say good-bye.”

“You’re leaving?”

The wind in the palm fronds said, “Ignacio is much better now. He will be going to another place, Nicholas.”

“A hospital?”

“Yes, a hospital, but I don’t think he will have to stay there long.”

“But …” Nicholas tried to think of something appropriate. At St. John’s and the other places where he had been confined, when people left, they simply left, and usually were hardly spoken of once it was learned that they were going and thus were already tainted by whatever it was that froze the smiles and dried the tears of those outside. At last he said, “Thanks for teaching me how to fish.”

“That was all right,” Ignacio said. He stood up and put a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder, then turned away. Four meters to his left the damp sand was beginning to lift and crack. While Nicholas watched, it opened on a brightly lit companionway walled with white. Ignacio pushed his curly black hair back from his eyes and went down, and the sand closed with a thump.

“He won’t be coming back, will he?” Nicholas said.

“N o.”

“He said I could use his stuff to start another fire, but I don’t even know what it is.”

Dr. Island did not answer. Nicholas got up and began to walk back to where the fire had been, thinking about Diane and wondering if she was hungry; he was hungry himself.

He found her beside the dead fire. Her chest had been burned away, and lying close by, near the hole in the sand where Ignacio must have kept it hidden, was a bulky nuclear welder. The power pack was too heavy for Nicholas to lift, but he picked up the welding gun on its short cord and touched the trigger, producing a two-meter plasma discharge, which he played along the sand until Diane’s body was ash. By the time he had finished the wind was whipping the palms and sending stinging rain into his eyes, but he collected a supply of wood and built another fire, bigger and bigger until it roared like a forge in the wind. “He killed her!” he shouted to the waves.

“YES.” Dr. Island’s voice was big and wild.

“You said he was better.”

“HE Is,” howled the wind. “YOU KILLED THE MONKEY THAT WANTED TO PLAY WITH YOU, NICHOLAS-AS I BELIEVED IGNACIO WOULD EVENTUALLY KILL YOU, WHO ARE SO EASILY HATED, SO DIFFERENT FROM WHAT IT IS THOUGHT A BOY SHOULD BE. BUT KILLING THE MONKEY HELPED YOU, REMEMBER MADE YOU BETTER. IGNACIO WAS FRIGHTENED BY WOMEN; NOW HE KNOWS THAT THEY ARE REALLY VERY WEAK, AND HE HAS ACTED UPON CERTAIN FANTASIES AND FINDS THEM BITTER.”

“You’re rocking,” Nicholas said. “Am I doing that?”

“YOUR THOUGHT.”

A palm snapped in the storm; instead of falling, it flew crashing among the others, its fronded head catching the wind like a sail. “I’m killing you,” Nicholas said. “Destroying you.” The left side of his face was

so contorted with grief and rage that he could scarcely speak.

Dr. Island heaved beneath his feet. “NO.”

“One of your cables is already broken-I saw that. Maybe more than one. You’ll pull loose. I’m turning this world, isn’t that right? The attitude rockets are tuned to my emotions, and they’re spinning us around, and the slippage is the wind and the high sea, and when you come loose nothing will balance any more.”

“NO.”

“What’s the stress on your cables? Don’t you know?”

“THEY ARE VERY STRONG.”

“What kind of talk is that? You ought to say something like: `The D-twelve cable tension is twenty-billion kilograms’ force. WARNING! WARNING! Expected time to failure is ninety-seven seconds! WARNING!’ Don’t you even know how a machine is supposed to talk?” Nicholas was screaming now, and every wave reached farther up the beach than the last, so that the bases of the most seaward palms were awash.

“GET BACK, NICHOLAS. FIND HIGHER GROUND. GO INTO THE JUNGLE.” It was the crashing waves themselves that spoke.

“I won’t.”

A long serpent of water reached for the fire, which hissed and sputtered.

“GET BACK!”

“I won’t!”

A second wave came, striking Nicholas calf-high and nearly extinguishing the fire.

“ALL THIS WILL BE UNDER WATER SOON. GET BACK!”

Nicholas picked up some of the still-burning sticks and tried to carry them, but the wind blew them out as soon as he lifted them from the fire. He tugged at the welder, but it was too heavy for him to lift.

“GET BACK!”

He went into the jungle, where the trees lashed themselves to leafy rubbish in the wind and broken branches flew through the air like debris from an explosion; for a while he heard Diane’s voice crying in the wind; it became Maya’s, then his’ mother’s or Sister Carmela’s, and a hundred others; in time the wind grew less, and he could no longer feel the ground rocking. He felt tired. He said, “I didn’t kill you after all, did I?” but there was no answer. On the beach, when he returned to it, he found the welder half buried in sand. No trace of Diane’s ashes, nor of his fire. He gathered more wood and built another, lighting it with the welder.

“Now,” he said. He scooped aside the sand around the welder until he reached the rough understone beneath it, and turned the flame of the welder on that; it blackened and bubbled.

“No,” Dr. Island said.

“Yes.” He was bending intently over the flame, both hands locked on the welder’s trigger.

“Nicholas, stop that.” When he did not reply, “Look,

.

behind you.” There was a splashing louder than the= crashing of the waves, and a groaning of metal. He whirled and saw the great, beetle-like robot Ignacio had shown him on the sea floor. Tiny shellfish clung to its metal skin,’ and water, faintly green, still poured from its body. Before he could turn the welding gun toward it, it shot forward hands like clamps and wrenched it from him. All up and down the beach similar machines were smoothing the sand and repairing the damage of the storm.

“That thing was dead,” Nicholas said. “Ignacio killed it.”

-It picked up the power pack, shook it clean of sand, and turning, stalked back toward the sea.

“That is what Ignacio believed, and it was better that he believed so.”

“And you said you couldn’t do anything, you had no hands.”

“I also told you that I would treat you as society will when you are released, that that was my nature. After

that, did you still believe all I told you? Nicholas, you are upset now because Diane is dead-“

“You could have protected her!”

“-but by dying she made someone else-someone very important-well. Her prognosis was bad; she really wanted only death, and this was the death I chose for her. You could call it the death of Dr. Island, a death that would help someone else. Now you are alone, but soon there will be more patients in this segment, and you will help them, too-if you can-and perhaps they will help you. Do you understand?”

“No,” Nicholas said. He flung himself down on the sand. The wind had dropped, but it was raining hard. He thought of the vision he had once had, and of describing it to Diane the day before. “This isn’t ending the way I thought,” he whispered. It was only a squeak of sound far down in his throat. “Nothing ever turns out right.”

The waves, the wind, the rustling palm fronds and the pattering rain, the monkeys who had come down to the beach to search for food washed ashore, answered, “Go away-go back-don’t move.”

Nicholas pressed his scarred head against his knees,

rocking back and forth. °

“Don’t move.”

For a long time he sat still while the rain lashed his shoulders and the dripping monkeys frolicked and fought around him. When at last he lifted his face, there was in it some element of personality which had been only potentially present before, and with this an emptiness and an expression of surprise. His lips moved, and the sounds were the sounds made by a deaf-mute who tries to speak.

“Nicholas is gone,” the waves said. “Nicholas, who was the right side of your body, the left half of your brain, I have forced into catatonia; for the remainder of your life he will be to you only what you once were to him-or less. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded.

“We will call you Kenneth, silent one. And if Nicholas tries to come again, Kenneth, you must drive him back-or return to what you have been.”

The boy nodded a second time, and a moment afterward began to collect sticks for the dying fire. As though to themselves the waves chanted:

“Seas are wild tonight… Stretching over Sado island Silent clouds of stars.”

There was no reply.