Part 39 (1/2)
”Enid didn't know what to do with him, but she couldn't set him loose again on the street. 'Do you live near here?' she asked, but he just kept crying. So she carried him to a store and bought him a cookie with some of the money she had for her own groceries, and he chewed on that and stopped crying. But still he didn't tell his name or where he lived.
”Then some idle teenagers spied her. They were white, and that was likely to mean trouble, because the white folk tended to think that brown folk weren't really people, and had no rights. They were boys, and that meant more trouble, because boys were always out for thrills, and sometimes thought it was a thrill to rape a black girl.
” 'Whatcha doing, baby?' one of the boys called, and she couldn't tell whether he was addressing her or the little boy or both. She carried the child quickly away from there.
”But the boys followed, taunting her. She couldn't get away from them on the busy street, and no one else seemed to care. But if she went into an alley, not only would that be taking the child away from the place she had found him, so that his mother would not know where he was when she came looking for him, she would be exposing herself to whatever the white boys might choose to do to her when unrestrained by public view. That was no good.
”So she crossed the street, in an effort to avoid them, the child in her arms. But she didn't see a car coming at her. Suddenly there was the blaring of a horn and the squealing of tires. She threw herself to the side and managed to avoid the vehicle, but in the process fell into the gutter. She only had time to clasp the child tightly and hunch her body, so that she took the brunt of the fall instead of him. Her shoulder hit the curb and she heard something snap; then the pain started.
”She sat in the filthy water, her dress ruined, holding the little boy as well as she could. He was crying again, his face burrowing into her other shoulder. She was crying too, now, hurt and humiliated. How had she ever gotten into this?
”The gang of white boys closed in for the kill, hooting and jeering. 'Brown b.i.t.c.h's where she likes it!' Taking a bath!' 'Polluting the water!' One of them bent to scoop a splash of water at her face. 'Hey, b.i.t.c.h, wanna drink?'
”Then a pair of feet stopped at the curb, beside her. Enid cowered, fearing a blow. 'What's this?' a gruff masculine voice growled.
”Enid clasped the child more tightly, turning away from the man, so that the kick would score on her rather than on the little boy. But it was a great brown hand that came down instead, touching the boy. 'No!' Enid cried. 'Don't hurt him! Please don't hurt him! Hurt me instead!'
”The white boys, seeing the involvement of the newcomer, abruptly scattered. Enid, glancing fearfully up, saw a ma.s.sive, muscular, brute-faced hulk of a man scowling down at her. This was even worse! The white boys had meant cruel mischief; they would have let her be after humiliating her enough. This man was all business, a virtual ogre.
” 'You don't even know this kid!' the man said. 'What's he to you?'
” 'He was lost!' she cried. 'Please, he's just a little child, let him go! I'll do anything you want!'
” 'Okay,' the man said. 'Hand him up to me.'
”Enid stared at him. 'You'll let him go?'
” 'No way,' the man said, reaching with both hands to take the boy from her grasp. She tried to cling to the child, but pain racked her right shoulder and she could not. She had been betrayed even in this. She bowed her head and wept into the flowing gutter water.
” 'Daddy!'
”Then hands were coming down to touch her. 'You're hurt,' the man said. 'Come on, gal, let me heave you up.'
”Enid was beyond all resistance. His hands slid around her body and his mighty arms heaved. She came up like a feather, dripping. Then the man was carrying her to his car, the little boy running along beside.
”At last it penetrated. 'He called you ”Daddy”!' she said.
”He set her in the car, and pulled the seat belt across. 'Now you hold tight while I get you to a doctor.' He lifted the little boy and strapped him in the back. 'You married?'
”Enid had to laugh through her pain. 'Me? Of course not!' She did not need to point out that plain girls like her did not get snapped up quickly; that was obvious.
”He got into the driver's seat. 'See, it's hard to know the b.i.t.c.hes from the real women when you're going for the light-heavy champions.h.i.+p. I never had much judgment. I thought my woman was real, but she hardly had my baby out of her before she split with half my money. I swore I'd never be fooled by a gold-digger again, but I don't know how to find the other kind. The s.l.u.ts, they can look good for one-night stands, but I wouldn't want any of them near my boy. I love my boy! But with training, I don't have much time anyway, and what I know about taking care of a kid isn't much. I turn around and he's gone, and pretty soon he'll get killed if I don't do something. I need a woman bad-and I think I just found one.'
”Enid rode beside him, hardly believing that her life had so quickly and radically changed. But it had.”
Geode had stopped protesting as the story proceeded. Increasingly it had become apparent that this was the kind of story none told. He could not imagine such stories for himself; his fouled-up dream had shown him that.
How could the firefly tell such a story if none were not there? Yet how could he be sure her mind had survived, when he doubted his own sanity? If he guessed wrong, he could kill all that remained of his love-or be fooled into letting the monster escape. Neither was tolerable.
”What are you?” he asked.
”I am what you call the firefly. I feed on living flesh, and dissolve it without killing it, so that it becomes my substance. When I have enough, I form a sac and fill it with the excess. I bury that, and my egg slowly a.s.similates it and becomes a new firefly. This is the life cycle of my kind.”
”Where did you come from?”
”I hatched beside water. My kind may have lived in water, but I came out on land and survived. That is all I know.”
It seemed to make sense. This wasn't really a monster, just a different kind of animal. ”Are you intelligent?”
”I do not know the meaning of the term. I a.s.sume the characteristics of those I feed on, and pa.s.s those characteristics on to the egg I lay, for they are inherent in the living substance. In this manner I adapt to new conditions. If intelligence is a characteristic of the one I have imbibed, then I have it, until I give it to the egg.”
”If you are not intelligent by yourself, how can you talk to me like this?”
”I do only what the new substance enables me to do while it is with me. I can talk to you, I can tell you stories, I can love you. I know you will do me harm if you do not realize this, so I am telling you.”
Again Geode was in doubt. He loved none; he didn't want her dead. That could cause him to invent ways to see her as alive, even though he had seen her bones. He could not afford a mistake. But how could he be sure?
”How can I be sure of you?” he asked.
”You can never be sure of me, nor I of you. But I could tell you a tale you have heard before, so that you know there is no other source for it. The story of none, for example.”
”My memory is another source for it.”
”Then I can tell you a story you have not heard.”
”You just did. Someone else could have made that up.”
”Then I can tell you a tale derived from elements you request, in the way only none could do.”
That seemed possible to him. none had been able to do that, and still surprise him with the outcome. If the firefly had picked up only what was in none's memory, it would not be able to integrate his input with her storytelling ability. ”Tell me a tale of telepathy and childhood.” For it had seemed to him that his own situation might have been explained by that: if he could read the minds of animals, he could communicate with them, and it might seem as if they were talking with him. Instead of being crazy, then and now, he might be telepathic. Animals, monsters-it would not matter whether their mouths could form human words, they would still be able to speak in this manner.
”There was a child, a little girl named Sela, who was telepathic,” the firefly said. none always had a female viewpoint unless he requested otherwise, and she oriented a great deal on children. ”She picked up the thoughts of all who were near her, and their feelings. When someone in the house was happy, Sela was happy, and when someone was angry, she was angry, even as a baby. When someone was ill, she felt the discomfort, and when the person nearest her slept, Sela was apt to sleep too.
”The other members of the family were not telepathic. Sela could read their minds, but they could not read hers. Thus they thought her strange. Even as a baby, she reacted oddly. Once her parents made love in the next room, and Sela felt the s.e.xual thrills of both and writhed in her crib and moaned with desire. When her father climaxed, Sela cried out with fulfillment. Then her mother, who had not climaxed, came to the crib, and Sela scowled with unfulfillment.
”Sela's behavior could not be explained by others, and indeed, the feelings constantly coming in to her mind overrode the normal feelings of a baby. As a result, Sela was not able to learn the way normal babies did, and-”
”No!” Geode exclaimed. He knew where this was leading: the girl would be thought crazy, and would be inst.i.tutionalized, and perhaps find secret love with an aide at the sanitarium, who would then be fired for his abuse of his position. He didn't want to hear it.
”If the story is wrong, it can be changed,” the firefly said.
”No, I want a different story, not like that. No telepathy, no young child. Male viewpoint-older male. Make it a king.” That was as far away from telepathy and insanity as he could think of at the moment.
The firefly paused. ”This is difficult,” it said.
Which was exactly what none would have said. She had little affinity with older men, unless they related to young girls, especially s.e.xually.
The firefly began to speak.