Dr. Gower shook his head impatiently. "I don't mean that. I mean Linda
was actually born to you."
The words sank in, but Abby found them meaningless. Two and two did not
make five no matter how many times you added them. There was a tense
silence, but she didn't know what to say to fill it.
"That's what happened in your blank spot, Abby," Dr. Gower went on.
"You ran away from home when you were twenty-one, because your mother
was too strict, because she acted just like you're acting with Linda.
Before she could find you again, someone else had. You were pregnant."
Abby's brow furrowed. "You mean--" the thought completed itself, and
a look of horror replaced the frown. "That's a horrible thing to say,
even in a lie."
"I wish I were lying," Dr. Gower said earnestly. "You didn't remember
anything that had happened, and were still dazed for nearly a year
afterward. Your subconscious used amnesia as an escape mechanism, and
you forgot the incident, repressed it without realizing it. An escape
is sometimes possible only in the mind, where Somaticists are often
helpless. I didn't say anything before, but now I'm afraid Linda may be
made to suffer if I don't."
Abby stared at him in shocked silence. She said, after awhile. "It's
not true, it can't be."
Dr. Gower shrugged. "I'm sorry, Abby, it is. It's not Linda you're
worried about, it's yourself; you're afraid to face reality."
"Get out," Abby said slowly, hating him for that. Her voice rose the
least bit. "I won't listen to these lies."
"I thought it might help. Say goodbye to Linda for me." The door closed
behind him with a click.
Abby stared at the closed door, a small portion of her was calm, the
rest chaotic. The calm portion wondered why she should be so disturbed
by something so obviously impossible. All these years she'd been wrong
about Dr. Gower, trusting him as a friend. For what he said was untrue,
of course. It had to be. And yet why couldn't she remember things? It
was only eighteen years ago and important things had happened in that
year, but somehow her memory bypassed their happening. It was like
reading a book with several pages blank; you knew from later pages
what had happened, but the actual experience of the events was lost.
Could it be--the thought came despite her--could it be that she'd had
amnesia, that Dr. Gower had really told her the truth, that someone had
actually--
"No. He was lying," she told the room.
"He never lied before," Linda said quietly from the doorway.
"You--heard?"
Linda nodded.
Abby tried to smile. "I'm afraid, dear, that Dr. Gower is like all
men. When he couldn't have what he wanted--" her face clouded at the
thought--"he tried to shock me, to hurt me, to make me ashamed...."
"Would it make you ashamed to have me for a daughter?"
Abby's heart beat quickly. "Of course not, Linda. But the
circumstances--"
"I see," Linda said slowly. "They have a name for children like me;
that's what you're ashamed of. Or maybe, as Dr. Gower said, you're
afraid for yourself!"
"But it's not true, Linda, don't you see?" Abby insisted.
She put her arm on the girl's shoulder. Linda shook it off; tears
welling in her eyes.
"You don't even want to know," the girl accused. "You don't even care."
And she turned and ran from the room.
The escalator whispered, and Abby stood in the center of the room
looking at the empty doorway. She stood on the brink of a great
precipice, balancing precariously, and for a brief moment she found
herself believing what Dr. Gower had said. He was a fine man, and good,
and he would not lie to her. Things her brother had said came to mind,
once-harmless statements that seemed to take on new significance, as
though he'd said them to prepare her for this moment. And suddenly,
very suddenly, the world was tottering; dazedly, she made her way to a
chair and sat limply in it.
Dr. Gower was gone now, and she would never see him again. She knew
that, and she knew that despite the things she'd said, that it did
matter that he was going. But then she had Linda to think of. Or was
it really Linda that concerned her? She could take the girl along,
certainly; that would even clear up the problem of Jimmy Stone. Was it
really the marriage she feared, a fear based upon some secret mental
block in her mind? The doubt returned then, and she wasn't sure. She
wasn't sure of anything anymore. Abby had to think. She had to quiet
her nerves and the frantic jumbled thoughts that had begun to race
through her mind.
She felt dizzy and held a hand to one of the walls to steady herself
as she walked to her bedroom. From the dressing table drawer she took
a bottle of dreampills. The label was fuzzy to her eyes, but the word
_Danger_ stood out in bold letters. Abby swallowed three of the pills,
which was two more than the safe dosage, and lay across the bed, eyes
closed. The door to the room closed automatically.
"It's not true," she told herself again, a desperate urgency to her
voice. "I've got to get away from these thoughts. Got to get away.
Got--to--escape."
She felt drowsy, but the thought of what Dr. Gower had said persisted.
It couldn't be true. It couldn't. And yet it might be; it was the
possibility that disturbed her. That blank spot. Eighteen years ago.
Eighteen years...
* * * * *
She drifted into a restless sleep. Mentally, she traveled across the
familiar plains of her past to that strange dark canyon she couldn't
recall. Her mind hovered frightened above the depths, failing to
see through its darkness; then she passed to the other side, to her
childhood, to when she was a young girl and her mother was alive.
The scene burst upon her with vivid clarity, and she found herself
reliving it. It was there, all of it. The home life, protecting and yet
restraining. Her dissatisfaction. The secret determination. The running
away in the dead of night. It was all there, just as Dr. Gower had said.
"But it's a dream," she murmured, "just a dream."
Yet it seemed a reality. She could feel the cool night press upon her
as she made her way slowly through the strange-familiar darkness and
descended into the depths of the canyon. The feeling of having been
here before was with her, and it brought terror with it. She walked on,
looking to either side, listening fearfully. And then she stopped, her
blood becoming ice.
There was a man before her. She could see only his eyes, but they were
cruel eyes, savage and lustful.
Knowledge came then, bursting over her in a raging tide. She screamed
and ran, her footsteps echoing frantically as she hurried through the
darkness, looking for an opening for a protecting light. But no opening
appeared, no light came. She ran until she was exhausted, and then she
sank to the ground panting trying to still her spasms of breath. There
was a small sound, as of the scraping of a shoe and she looked into the
eyes again.
She screamed again and again and again not knowing where screams ended
and echoes began. She put her hands over her ears and screamed into the
darkness. She could feel hands reaching out for her and she shrank away
from them.
Her mind was a playground for terror. She had to escape. She had to.
(But sometimes the only escape is in the mind!)
The hands reached out. She was suddenly falling, down, down, down.
Calmness came, and a grateful thought appeared: she had escaped.
Nothing else mattered; only that....
She stopped falling. The mist grew thick, thicker; it became dense;
it became liquid. She could not feel the beating of her heart, but
her mind was calm and it looked about with a detachment that was
intellectual.
She was floating again, floating silently through a world of murky
fluid. The liquid was pressing with a force so gentle it almost did not
exist. It enveloped her like a protecting shield.
She drifted. There seemed to be no direction but outward. Her thoughts
went out and they returned with impressions. This was her world and she
was the center of it. There were no problems here, no encroachments
on existence or security. It was like a return to the womb. Womb? she
thought. She turned the word over in her mind and found the concept
alien. She regarded it intellectually, at leisure.
Time passed silently, without incident, without measurement. It had no
meaning, no referent.
Curious after awhile, she went forward, her mind impinging upon shadowy
figures behind the transparent barrier. She focussed her attention upon
them, and the image cleared.
There was a man there, and a woman, and a girl. She could hear them as
they spoke.
"I don't know why you wanted to come here, Abby," the man was saying.
"You'll see enough of these creatures on Venus."
"This one is special," the woman said slowly, tasting the words like
some unfamiliar food. "It's what made me change my mind about--things.
It must be very lonely."
"Bosh," the man scoffed gently. "Intelligent or not, an amoeba doesn't
have feelings of loneliness."
"Doesn't it?" the woman wondered. "Perhaps not at first. But being able
to probe the minds of humans and sympathize with them yet not contact
them can...."
"We'll be late for the rocket, Mother," the girl said. "Jimmy promised
he'd be down to see me off and let me know if he can go to the Venus
Academy next year."
"All right, Linda, we're going now."
At the door, the woman turned for a last look; her thoughts were
thoughts of sorrow, of pity, of--regret, perhaps.
"You'll learn much of the world this way," the thoughts came, "and
you'll have time to readjust. Knowledge will pyramid gently, and with
it will come wisdom. After awhile, escape won't be necessary. You'll
want to return then and be a part of your world. Meanwhile, I must help
my own people; this is the best way for both of us to escape."
The woman linked arms with the man and the girl then, and the three of
them went out.
Silence returned, bringing with it a troubled wonderment. Then the
murky fluid flowed past all vision, and the world returned, safe and
familiar. The thoughts returned briefly, as echoes, but they were
unfamiliar this time and meaningless.
But it was not always so, and it would not always be, for contemplation
bred curiosity, and curiosity bred knowledge, and knowledge bred
desire, and desire the ways and means of accomplishment.
Meanwhile, there was quiet, stillness, a peace she had never known. The
fluid flowed about her in a silence that held no sound, no movement. It
was womb-like, protective.
It seemed natural that she should be here.
For the moment, she was content.