“I wish I knew.”
“Look… don’t worry about David. It’s been nine years since… since he recovered from that virus. All the tests show that he was completely cured.”
And she thought: Yes… cured—except for the little detail of no optic nerves. She forced a smile “I know you’re probably right. It’ll turn out to be something simple… and we’ll laugh about this when…” The front doorbell chimed. “That’s probably the doctor now.”
“Call me when you find out,” said Walter.
Margaret heard Rita’s footsteps running toward the door.
“I’ll sign off, sweet,” she said. She blew a kiss to her husband. “I love you.”
Walter held up two fingers in a victory sign, winked. “Same here. Chin up.”
They broke the connection.
Dr. Mowery was a grey-haired, flint-faced bustler—addicted to the nodding head and the knowing (but unintelligible) murmur. One big hand held a grey instrument bag. He had a pat on the head for Rita, a firm handshake for Margaret, and he insisted on seeing David alone.
“Mothers just clutter up the atmosphere for a doctor,” he said, and he winked to take the sting from his words.
Margaret sent Rita to her room, waited in the upstairs hall. There were one hundred and six flower panels on the wallpaper between the door to David’s room and the corner of the hall. She was moving on to count the rungs in the balustrade when the doctor emerged from David’s room. He closed the door softly behind him, nodding to himself.
She waited.
“Mmmmmm-hmmmmm,” said Dr. Mowery. He cleared his throat.
“Is it anything serious?” asked Margaret.
“Not sure.” He walked to the head of the stairs. “How long’s the boy been acting like that… listless and upset?”
Margaret swallowed a lump in her throat. “He’s been acting differently ever since they delivered the electronic piano… the one that’s going to substitute for his grandfather’s Steinway. Is that what you mean?”
“Differently?”
“Rebellious, short-tempered… wanting to be alone.”
“I suppose there’s not the remotest possibility of his taking the big piano,” said the doctor.
“Oh, my goodness… it must weigh all of a thousand pounds,” said Margaret. “The electronic instrument is only twenty-one pounds.” She cleared her throat. “Is it worry about the piano, doctor?”
“Possibly.” Dr. Mowery nodded, took the first step down the stairs. “It doesn’t appear to be anything organic that my instruments can find. I’m going to have Dr. Linquist and some others look in on David tonight. Dr. Linquist is our chief psychiatrist. Meanwhile, I’d try to get the boy to eat something.”
She crossed to Dr. Mowery’s side at the head of the stairs. “I’m a nurse,” she said. “You can tell me if it’s something serious that…”
He shifted his bag to his right hand, patted her arm. “Now don’t you worry, my dear. The colonization group is fortunate to have a musical genius in its roster. We’re not going to let anything happen to him.”
Dr. Linquist had the round face and cynical eyes of a fallen cherub. His voice surged out of him in waves that flowed over the listener and towed him under. The psychiatrist and colleagues were with David until almost ten p.m. Then Dr. Linquist dismissed the others, came down to the music room where Margaret was waiting. He sat on the piano bench, hands gripping the lip of wood beside him.
Margaret occupied her wing-back chair—the one piece of furniture she knew she would miss more than any other thing in the house. Long usage had worn contours in the chair that exactly complemented her, and its rough fabric upholstery held the soothing texture of familiarity.
The night outside the screened windows carried a sonorous sawing of crickets.
“We can say definitely that it’s a fixation about this piano,” said Linquist. He slapped his palms onto his knees. “Have you ever thought of leaving the boy behind?”
“Doctor!”
“Thought I’d ask.”
“Is it that serious with Davey?” she asked. “I mean, after all… we’re all of us going to miss things.” She rubbed the chair arm. “But good heavens, we…”
“I’m not much of a musician,” said Linquist. “I’m told by the critics, though, that your boy already has concert stature… that he’s being deliberately held back now to avoid piling confusion on confusion… I mean with your leaving so soon and all.” The psychiatrist tugged at his lower lip. “You realize, of course, that your boy worships the memory of his grandfather?”
“He’s seen all the old stereos, listened to all the tapes,” said Margaret. “He was only four when grandfather died, but David remembers everything they ever did together. It was…” She shrugged.
“David has identified his inherited talent with his inherited piano,” said Linquist. “He…”
“But pianos can be replaced,” said Margaret. “Couldn’t one of our colony carpenters or cabinetmakers duplicate…”
“Ah, no,” said Linquist. “Not duplicate. It would not be the piano of Maurice Hatchell. You see, your boy is overly conscious that he inherited musical genius from his grandfather… just as he inherited the piano. He’s tied the two together. He believes that if—not consciously, you understand? But he believes, nonetheless, that if he loses the piano he loses the talent. And there you have a problem more critical than you might suspect.”
She shook her head. “But children get over these…”
“He’s not a child, Mrs. Hatchell. Perhaps I should say he’s not just a child. He is that sensitive thing we call genius. This is a delicate state that goes sour all too easily.”
She felt her mouth go dry. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“I don’t want to alarm you without cause, Mrs. Hatchell. But the truth is—and this is the opinion of all of us—that if your boy is deprived of his musical outlet… well, he could die.”
She paled. “Oh, no! He…”
“Such things happen, Mrs. Hatchell. There are therapeutic procedures we could use, of course, but I’m not sure we have the time. They’re expecting to set your departure date momentarily. Therapy could take years.”
“But David’s…”
“David is precocious and over emotional,” said Linquist. “He’s invested much more than is healthy in his music. His blindness accounts for part of that, but over and above the fact of blindness there’s his need for musical expression. In a genius such as David this is akin to one of the basic drives of life itself.”
“We couldn’t leave him,” she Whispered. “We just couldn’t. You don’t understand. We’re such a close family that we…”
“Then perhaps you should step aside, let some other family have your…”
“It would kill Walter… my husband,” she said. “He’s lived for this chance.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’m not sure we could back out now. Walter’s assistant, Dr. Smythe, was killed in a ’copter crash near Phoenix last week. They already have a replacement, but I’m sure you know how important Walter’s function is to the colony’s success.”
Linquist nodded. “I read about Smythe, but I failed to make the obvious association here.”
“I’m not important to the colony,” she said. “Nor the children, really. But the ecologists—the success of our entire effort hangs on them. Without Walter…”
“Well just have to solve it then,” he said. He got to his feet. “We’ll be back tomorrow for another look at David, Mrs. Hatchell. Dr. Mowery made him take some amino pills and then gave him a sedative. He should sleep right through the night. If there’re any complications—although there shouldn’t be—you can reach me at this number.” He pulled a card from his wallet, gave it to her. “It is too bad about the weight problem. I’m sure it would solve everything if he could just take this monster with him.” Linquist patted the piano lid. “Well… good night.”
When Linquist had gone, Margaret leaned against the fro
nt door, pressed her forehead against the cool wood. “No,” she whispered. “No… no… no…” Presently, she went to the living room phone, placed a call to Walter. It was ten twenty p.m. The call went right through, proving that he had been waiting for it. Margaret noted the deep worry creases in her husband’s forehead, longed to reach out, touch them, smooth them.
“What is it, Margaret?” he asked. “Is David all right?”
“Dear, it’s…” she swallowed. “It’s about the piano. Your father’s Steinway.”
“The piano?”
“The doctors have been here all evening up to a few minutes ago examining David. The psychiatrist says if David loses the piano he may lose his… his music… his… and if he loses that he could die.”
Walter blinked. “Over a piano? Oh, now, surely there must be some…”
She told him everything Dr. Linquist had said.
“The boy’s so much like dad,” said Walter. “Dad once threw the philharmonic into an uproar because his piano bench was a half inch too low. Good Lord! I… What’d Linquist say we could do?”
“He said if we could take the piano it’d solve…”
“That concert grand? The damn’ thing must weigh over a thousand pounds. That’s more than three times what our whole family is allowed in private luggage.”
“I know. I’m almost at my wits’ ends. All this turmoil Of deciding what’s to go and now… David.”
“To go!” barked Walter. “Good Lord! What with worrying about David I almost forgot: our departure date was set just tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “Blast off is fourteen days and six hours away—give or take a few minutes. The old man said…”
“Fourteen days!”
“Yes, but you have only eight days. That’s the colony assembly date. The pickup crews will be around to get your luggage on the afternoon of…”
“Walter! I haven’t even decided what to…” She broke off. “I was sure we had at least another month. You told me yourself that we…”
“I know. But fuel production came out ahead of schedule, and the long range weather forecast is favorable. And it’s part of the psychology not to drag out leave taking. This way the shock of abruptness cuts everything clean.”
“But what’re we going to do about David?” She chewed her lower lip.
“Is he awake?”
“I don’t think so. They gave him a sedative.”
Walter frowned. “I want to talk to David first thing in the morning. I’ve been neglecting him lately because of all the work here, but…”
“He understands, Walter.”
“I’m sure he does, but I want to see him for myself. I only wish I had the time to come home, but things are pretty frantic here right now.” He shook his head. “I just don’t see how that diagnosis could be right. All this fuss over a piano!”
“Walter… you’re not attached to things. With you it’s people and ideas.” She lowered her eyes, fought back tears. “But some people can grow to love inanimate objects, too… things that mean comfort and security.” She swallowed.
He shook his head. “I guess I just don’t understand. We’ll work out something, though. Depend on it.”
Margaret forced a smile. “I know you will, dear.”
“Now that we have the departure date it may blow the whole thing right out of his mind,” Walter said.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
He glanced at his wristwatch. “I have to sign off now. Got some experiments running.” He winked. “I miss my family.”
“So do I,” she whispered.
In the morning there was a call from Prester Charlesworthy, colony director. His face came onto the phone screen in Margaret’s kitchen just as she finished dishing up breakfast for Rita. David was still in bed. And Margaret had told neither of them about the departure date.
Charlesworthy was a man of skinny features, nervous mannerisms. There was a bumpkin look about him until you saw the incisive stare of the pale blue eyes.
“Forgive me for bothering you like this, Mrs. Hatchell,” he said.
She forced herself to calmness. “No bother. We were expecting a call from Walter this morning. I thought this was it.”
“I’ve just been talking to Walter,” said Charlesworthy. “He’s been telling me about David. We had a report first thing this morning from Dr. Linquist.”
After a sleepless night with periodic cat-footed trips to look in on David, Margaret felt her nerves jangling out to frayed helplessness. She was primed to leap at the worst interpretations that entered her mind. “You’re putting us out of the colony group!” she blurted. “You’re getting another ecologist to…”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Hatchell!” Dr. Charlesworthy took a deep breath. “I know it must seem odd—my calling you like this—but our little group will be alone on a very alien world, very dependent upon each other for almost ten years… until the next ship gets there. We’ve got to work together on everything. I sincerely want to help you.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“I quite understand. Believe me, I’d like nothing better than to be able to send Walter home to you right now.” Charlesworthy shrugged. “But that’s out of the question. With poor Smythe dead there’s a terribly heavy load on Walter’s shoulders. Without him, we might even have to abort this attempt.”
Margaret wet her lips with her tongue. “Dr. Charlesworthy, is there any possibility at all that we could… I mean… the piano—take it on the ship?”
“Mrs. Hatchell!” Charlesworthy pulled back from his screen. “It must weigh half a ton!”
She sighed. “I called the moving company first thing this morning—the company that moved the piano here into this house. They checked their records. It weighs fourteen hundred and eight pounds.”
“Out of the question! Why… we’ve had to eliminate high priority technical equipment that doesn’t weigh half that much!”
“I guess I’m desperate,” she said. “I keep thinking over what Dr. Linquist said about David dying if…”
“Of course,” said Charlesworthy. “That’s why I called you. I want you to know what we’ve done. We dispatched Hector Torres to the Steinway factory this morning. Hector is one of the cabinetmakers we’ll have in the colony. The Steinway people have generously consented to show him all of their construction secrets so Hector can build an exact duplicate of this piano—correct in all details. Philip Jackson, one of our metallurgists, will be following Hector this afternoon for the same reason. I’m sure that when you tell David this it’ll completely resolve all his fears.”
Margaret blinked back tears. “Dr. Charlesworthy… I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Don’t thank me at all, my dear. We’re a team… we pull together.” He nodded. “Now, one other thing: a favor you can do for me.”
“Certainly.”
“Try not to worry Walter too much this week if you can. He’s discovered a mutation that may permit us to cross earth plants with ones already growing on Planet C. He’s running final tests this week with dirt samples from C. These are crucial tests, Mrs. Hatchell. They could cut several years off the initial stage of setting up a new life-cycle balance.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry that I…”
“Don’t you be sorry. And don’t you worry. The boy’s only twelve. Time heals all things.”
“I’m sure it’ll work out,” she said.
“Excellent,” said Charlesworthy. “That’s the spirit. Now, you call on me for any help you may need… day or night. We’re a team. We have to pull together.”
They broke the connection. Margaret stood in front of the phone, facing the blank screen.
Rita spoke from the kitchen table behind her. “What’d he say about the departure date?”
“It’s been set, dear.” Margaret turned. “We have to be with Daddy at White Sands in eight days.”
“Whooopeee!” Rita leaped to her feet, upset
ting her breakfast dishes. “We’re going! We’re going!”
“Rita!”
But Rita already was dashing out of the room, out of the house. Her “Eight days!” echoed back from the front hall.
Margaret stepped to the kitchen door. “Rita!”
Her daughter ran back down the hall. “I’m going to tell the kids!”
“You will calm down right now. You’re making enough noise to…”
“I heard her.” It was David at the head of the stairs. He came down slowly, guiding himself by the bannister. His face looked white as eggshell, and there was a dragging hesitancy to his steps.
Margaret took a deep breath, told him about Dr. Charlesworthy’s plan to replace the piano.
David stopped two steps above her, head down. When she had finished, he said: “It won’t be the same.” He stepped around her, went into the music room. There was a slumped finality to his figure.
Margaret whirled back into the kitchen. Angry determination flamed in her. She heard Rita’s slow footsteps following, spoke without turning: “Rita, how much weight can you cut from your luggage?”
“Mother!”
“We’re going to take that piano!” snapped Margaret.
Rita came up beside her. “But our whole family gets to take only two hundred and thirty pounds! We couldn’t possibly…”
“There are three hundred and eight of us in this colonization group,” said Margaret. “Every adult is allowed seventy-five pounds, every child under fourteen years gets forty pounds.” She found her kitchen scratch pad, scribbled figures on it. “If each person donates only four pounds and twelve ounces we can take that piano!” Before she could change her mind, she whirled to the drainboard, swept the package with her mother’s Spode china cups and saucers into the discard box. “There! A gift for the people who bought our house! And that’s three and a half pounds of it!”
Then she began to cry.
Rita sobered. “I’ll leave my insect specimens,” she whispered. Then she buried her head in her mother’s dress, and she too was sobbing.
“What’re you two crying about?” David spoke from the kitchen doorway, his bat-eye box strapped to his shoulders. His small features were drawn into a pinched look of misery.