"Adam Pierce," said the Negro.
"What do you do, Adam?"
The boy pushed his glasses up on his nose again, frowning. "I go to
C.C.N.Y. Summers, I'm the Wild Man from Zululand in the sideshow, and I
shill for the coaster when I'm not on duty. It helps out my family some,
for me to be making money in the summers."
"Are you taking subjects that might help us?" asked Full.
"I major in English. I'm going to teach it when I graduate. Then I take
psych, biology, the usual courses."
"Hmm," said Watkins, looking at the end of the room through which the
Mexican had been taken. "Psych and biology. Could be some use here."
"What we need is a locksmith," said Summersby. He felt himself
unwillingly drawn into the group, sharing their problems that were not
his, and it angered him. He fished out a bent pack of cigarettes, lit
one and was about to put the rest away.
"Nothing but a torch would help. I know a little about locks myself."
Watkins grinned genially. "I'm out of smokes," he said, and Summersby
gave him the pack. He took one and passed it to Full, who declined. Adam
took one. The boy reached up and pushed at his glasses again; a look of
irritation appeared on his face. "Say," he muttered, "is this room a
little wobbly, or is it my eyes?"
"Wobbly?"
"Wavy. See how those tree trunks are blurred?"
"You need your glasses changed, Adam," said Watkins.
"No, sir." Adam took them off and started to polish them on a
handkerchief; then his brown eyes opened wide. "I can see!" he said. The
others stared at him. "My astigmatism's gone! My glasses make everything
blur, but I can see plain as noon without 'em. Look, I've had
astigmatism since I was a kid!"
"What happened?" asked the woman, addressing her husband. "How could
that be, Calvin?"
"Don't know, dear."
"My headache is gone," she said. "I never realized it till this boy
mentioned his eyes."
"Mrs. Full has suffered from an almost constant headache for years,"
said Calvin, and sniffed twice. "My post-nasal drip is missing, too. Do
you suppose my sinus trouble is cleared up?"
"That's what must have been happening those two days we were out," said
Watkins, knocking ash from his cigarette. "We were put through a
hospital or something. I feel good, even if I'm damned hungry."
Summersby looked from one to another, detesting them; against his will,
against sanity and decency that fought for recognition, he detested
them. He had a heart for which there was no help, a heart no two-day
period of miraculous cures could touch. Their puny ailments had been
relieved, but he was still at the slow, listless task of dying.
"Listen," said Watkins jubilantly, "whoever or whatever brought us here,
it's a cinch they don't mean to harm us. They wouldn't mend us if they
were going to hurt us, would they?"
"In two days," said Adam, nodding hard. "Two days! How could they do
it?"
There was an air of near-gaiety about them that repelled Summersby. In a
desperate rebellion against these boons handed out to everyone but
himself, he tried to hurt them. "What do you do to a duck before you
cook it? Clean it. Think that over."
Adam Pierce looked at him levelly. "No, sir. If that duck has sinus
trouble or bad eyes, you don't have to fix that up before you eat it.
No, sir."
"What about the Mexican?" Summersby asked. "What's happened to him?"
Then the wall slid open again and they all started forward; Summersby
looked after them bitterly, feeling the resentment drain out and leave
only the old hopelessness, the apathetic disregard of everything but
death.