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Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
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Strange Dark Alchemy
Part 2
“If it’s a clear enough night, perhaps we can go up on the roof and put my telescope through its paces.”
“Telescope?”
“It’s perfect. I don’t sleep well. Some nights I prowl around the building. I think I know most of the secrets of this facility. I’ve burrowed into places locked and sealed for 30 or 40 years. Other nights, I spend on the roof. Nobody knows it’s there except the people who installed it, and now you.”
I smiled and laughed. “By now, I’ll guess you have no fear of the dark.”
“None,” he laughed. “How did you know?”
“Before coming here, I worked as the overnight shift chemist at a recklessly run chemical plant. Every time I drove to work I expected to find a half-mile wide crater where the production facility used to be.”
“Morale must have been sky-high,” he said sarcastically.
“Oh, it was. I called the plant ‘Hell’. Some nights I never sat down. Mind you, these were twelve-hour shifts. Others, I had time to wander around the mostly abandoned fifteen acre site, by myself, in all kinds of weather. I found all kinds of things tucked away in obscure corners. Night became the same as day for me.”
“You have some surprises of your own.”
“At the time, working there was a miserable experience, but it left me strong, independent, and not afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of much of anything any longer.”
“Not even me?”
“I’ve never been afraid of you.”
“That makes you possibly unique.”
“I do my job. I don’t make trouble. Why should I be afraid of you?”
“You shouldn’t. Tell me, what do you think of my stronghold?”
“Most of the people here have never considered that you have somewhere to sleep.”
“What do they think I do?”
“Many of them believe you’re always awake.”
“I’ve pushed the possibilities of my life since the ‘accident’. If I had not, I’d still be confined to an oversized glovebox. Breedlove wanted to keep me in the lab. Adam just wanted me to die.”
I had not missed the special attention he had given ‘accident’, implying that it was anything but an accident. “What exactly happened to you?”
“I’m forbidden to tell the specifics to anyone, but simply put, Adam happened to me. I think I was crazy for months after ‘X’. Between the sedatives Breedlove fed me, and the dire outlook described when I was aware and alert, I should have stayed crazy, except that I knew Grey and the girls needed me. Every time I felt myself sinking into despair or infection, I thought about them, and rallied myself to keep fighting.”
“What about their mother?” I wasn’t sure I should have asked that, but he hadn’t made those children by himself.
“Adam again. He persuaded her to leave me, so he could make her the Princess of Genomex. As he does with most things, however, Adam quickly moved on from Jackie.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t have any of that in mind when I asked.” I felt as if I had stumbled upon evidence of family shame, carefully hidden. Nothing in Genomex lore hinted at this.
“I know you didn’t. But I wanted to tell you.” I knew that was true when he said it. But I could not imagine why he would want to tell me.
“There are people at Genomex who are convinced hatred of Adam and of mutants is all you live for.”
Eckhart smirked. “Good. That is the lie I want them to believe. Oh, I do loathe Adam, but if that was all I held in my heart, my descent into madness would have been steady, certain, and swift, and I would not have been able to fight off my demons.”
I believed him. As destructive as Adam had been in Eckhart’s life –and I did not yet know the whole of it—Adam’s comeuppance was no reason for living. I knew from the way he talked about his children where the roots of his heart were lodged.
There was a large, comfortable chair facing the only window. I claimed it and began reading one of the photocopied papers I had brought with me about ion chromatography. The paper served only to put me to sleep. Most technical writing serves well to induce sleep. When I awoke, it was fully dark outside, and a blanket had been draped over me.
I checked the time, and cursed silently, following the light to Eckhart’s bedroom.
I was relieved to find him sitting up in bed, wide awake, papers spread out in front of him.
“Well! Some watchdog!” But he smiled, and I knew he was being playful. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice. Had I known twenty-four hours before that this man could be playful? Had any of the Genomex lore suggested it?
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You volunteered to lose a lot of sleep tonight. Waking you would have been cruel.”
He gathered up the papers. “Deirdre and Michelle think they should go to different colleges and develop independent selves. It’s a good idea, but I’m not sure they’re ready for it. They’re inseparable now.”
“How often do you communicate with them?” I imagined a phone call on weekends.
“Almost daily. We all have web cams.”
“You’re closer to them than I imagined.”
“Some evenings I help them with their homework.”
“Thank goodness for technology.”
“Yes. It’s not ideal, but it works surprisingly well. They know my health is difficult to maintain. I believe they understand.”
At first I thought he was still dressed, but as I looked more closely, he clearly wasn’t.
“Where did you find black pinstripe pajamas?”
“I had them custom-made. One day I overheard Mayakovsky telling his rude joke about me probably sleeping in black pinstripes. The next time you come within hearing of that joke, laugh, because you’ll be laughing with me. Yes, I’ve noted for some time that you aren’t one of the people who laugh at me. I know who laughs at the rude jokes and who doesn’t.”
“Mayakovsky is a barbarian who knows a lot about molecular biology.”
“Which is good, since his competence extends nowhere else.”
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“My head hurts a great deal.” He felt his forehead, obscured by his ‘hair’. “Which it should, since there is quite a swelling there. I still have no memory of being at that meeting.”
“That might take a little time to return. The swelling will have to go down first. Do you think you can sleep?”
“Maybe.”
“Good.” I pointed to the timer around my neck. “I’m going to set it for two and a half hours.” I turned and left.
Two and a half hours I came back, and woke him.
“What is my name?”
“Rebecca Steyn.”
“Nicely done. I’ll be back in two hours.”
“Cruel.”
“Necessary.”
Two hours later I had enough trouble waking him that I began to worry, enough to start digging through my pockets for the phone numbers Hibbing had given me.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Mason.”
“Very good. You were deeply asleep. You came close to taking a trip to a hospital.”
“O, no.”
“O, yes.”
Some time after that, but not a full two hours, he woke me, then sat in the floor in front of the chair where I was curled up. The suite of rooms was very chilly. He was wrapped in a blanket.
“I’ve been thinking, Dr Steyn,” he said, face barely illuminated by the faint light.
“Always a dangerous thing to do,” I said, adopting his own tone of mock seriousness. “A risky habit to cultivate. Do you have any idea how much trouble one can get into merely by thinking?”
“I know. But it occurred to me that while you now know all kinds of things about me, I know very little more about you than I did yesterday.”
“What would you like to know?” I asked.
“How is it you are free tonight to sit and watch that I do not slip into the infinite sleep? Why aren’t you home with a family, the two kids, the dog, the cat, and the spouse. I know I am being rude. I am a rude man. I do not pretend otherwise.”
“Bluntly put, why am I unattached?”
“Yes.”
“I was attached once. Being alone is much preferable to being attached to the wrong person. Getting free of him required a small fortune. Now, I believe I’m that way because men don’t like me. Not because I don’t like them. Not because I like women.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“I believe it. I live by it. So do most of my women friends. Hardly any of them are married or attached.”
“But that doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes, it does. Men don’t generally like smart women. I’m very smart, very competitive, and in to win. I won’t flatter and I won’t play dumb. I will not ‘settle’. I enjoy my own company a great deal.”
“Not every man wants stupid company. Not this man.”
I laughed softly. “You are well known for your intolerance of fools. It is one of the central themes of Genomex mythology.”
“My mission is a serious one. I have to get the best out of my people for their own good as well as mine. Do you intend living behind your walls the rest of your life?”
“Walls?”
“Walls. I’m a wall-builder myself. I plainly see what you are doing. I cannot be fooled.”
“Is that your head injury talking?”
“No,” he said.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Mostly sure.”
“I was married for four years to someone who morphed into a monster, and did some very bad things to me. Non-trivial bad things, including a murder attempt. I would require unusual motivation to consider changing my ways. My scars have scars. Parts of me have never healed and never will. I don’t dwell upon those years, but I’d be a silly woman to learn nothing from them.”
I had told these things to hardly anyone, ever, and in my present life, only Samihah knew. She had known her share of grief and pain. Neither of us reflected frequently upon our past bad days, but we understood one another better than anyone who was comparatively unscathed and unscarred by their lives.
Is that why I’m telling these things to Mason Eckhart, of all people? Because I sense his emotional damage at least matches his physical damage? Because I believe he might understand? Why does it matter that he understand? It hasn’t mattered since 1992.
“I’m always amazed when I come upon people whose lives have been greased glides across glass. They never seem to be very hardy. How does the quote from Dune go? ‘There should be a science of discontent. People need hard times and oppression to
develop psychic muscles’.”
I smiled weakly. “I don’t know if I could survive developing any more psychic musculature. I haven’t become crazy, mean, or destructive. For that I am thankful. I’ve just gone into hiding.”
“I wish I could say that, but I have a good idea just how nasty I’ve become.” He nearly smiled. “I’m not fishing for a contradiction. I know how I am. But I haven’t always been this way.”
“I believe you.”
“If I came and called to you from outside those walls, would you at least listen to what I was saying? Or would you ignore me, pretend I wasn’t there, and wait for me to go away?”
“I would listen to you.”
I was surprised with my answer, and what it implied. I had lied to myself from the beginning of this indescribable evening. How is it possible to deceive oneself? But I had done so. I was where I wanted to be and in the company of whom I wished.
Run, Rebecca.
“I know the law. If I say anything more, I run the risk of finding myself in a courtroom. Aside from that, you volunteered your time to do a kind thing, and few people do me kindnesses. I don’t wish to repay that by making you uncomfortable. Whatever your reasons, I know it wasn’t about fawning over me for special favor. I don’t think you would know how to fawn. Do you wish me to stop?”
Yes, I’m terrified.
“No. The only attorneys I ever want to talk to again are my cousins Mike and Gary.”
“You won’t sue me or Genomex if I continue?”
So cautious.
“No.”
“Modern life is so full of pitfalls and minefields.”
“I appreciate that.”
“If you wish me to stop at any time, I will do so. You’re on my ground here; the advantage is mine. That’s unfair to you and I do not wish to be unfair.”
“Strange that words should have such power over us, but they do. If I can’t listen to anymore, most likely it is due to my past history, not you. My scars have scars.”
“As do mine.” He hesitated. “I noticed you soon after Breedlove hired you.”
Fifteen years ago.
“You did?” This revelation was a shocker.
“Yes. I don’t believe I was the only one.”
I shrugged in the near darkness. “I’m not aware of anything like that. I could have been invisible, as far as I could tell. I’ve always been invisible wherever I go, whatever I’m doing. I assume that I am invisible, that no one will notice me or anything I do. I certainly don’t expect anyone to notice I’m a woman, except in the case of professional jealousy. There are a lot of dinosaurs roaming through the corridors of corporations.”
“Well, you’re not invisible. Not to me. Not to others. I don’t know how this notion of invisibility arose, but I assure you, it is false. Even if you did not perceive it, I was aware of the interest other men had in you. I noticed something else as well: your inherent kindness and decency. Most people are myopically self-focused. The way you took Dr Shah under your wing when her husband died was extraordinary.”
“I strive to do the right and just thing. I always have. Good old reliable Rebecca.”
“That’s clear. The self I present outside these sealed doors is a carefully constructed persona intended to inspire fear and maintain discipline. Genomex isn’t an ordinary corporation; I’m fighting a kind of secret war. When people look at me, they see a monster, a cold, aloof man with hardly any humanity left.”
“Better for the Prince to be feared than loved,” I said.
“Exactly so.”
“I read the same book.” I smiled; he smiled back. “And you do it so well.”
“Is that a compliment?” he asked.
“From me, yes.”
“But you weren’t taken in, were you? You saw something other than a monster before today. What did you see that others missed?”
“I study people constantly, wherever I am. I heard stories about you before lunch my first day at Genomex. I did not believe such a person could exist. When I learned you were real, I studied you with great care. I write fiction. I have to understand motivation. I have to understand people.”
“Does this mean we’ll all end up in a novel?”
“No. People always fret that they will find themselves in print that way, but that isn’t the way it’s done. My characters are all synthesized, wholly new.”
“That’s a relief. So what did you see in me that compelled you to help me in front of those people? I know some of them would like me dead. I know some are actively scheming against me. You might have done the same for a stranger, but I’m not a stranger, and I work hard at being forbidding and unapproachable.”
“If the persona you presented was your genuine self, you would have to be insane. But your performance is not flawless. Your lapses, if one was quick enough and astute enough to perceive them, revealed a human buried safe and deep. There is a whole body of near-legend about you and your inhumanity.”
“I can imagine.”
“The stories say nothing about the possibility of a human being inside somewhere, but I found one anyway, and liked what I found. Even your warm and fuzzy persona has many admirable qualities.”
Eckhart laughed at my last comment. “You are insightful. I watch people carefully, and must, for my own survival. But you haven’t created an extreme persona to keep people at a safe distance. I cannot imagine indifference to you.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make this difficult for you. I’m not handling this well at all. You’re not the only one protecting yourself behind a professional veneer.”
“If I resigned Monday morning, removing myself from influence upon your career, your attitude towards me would not change, would it?”
“No.” I was surprised by the question.
“There have been women drawn to my power, who either wanted to share that power, or they wanted me to advance their careers.
“I’d be more comfortable if one of us worked somewhere else.”
“That makes sense. There have been women drawn to my persona, women who liked the cruelty they perceived. I will not allow myself to be used or manipulated. My job…this secret war…sometimes demands harsh, brutal conduct. I have the resolve and the stomach for those tasks, but I derive no perverse pleasure from them. I do not desire the company of anyone who delights in the suffering of others.”
“They misperceived you, and their perceptions were not flattering.”
“Exactly so. I am a good deal more complicated than my persona.”
“You must have confused them,” I said.
“They weren’t around for long.”
“I’m not scheming for career advancement. My ambitions and inclinations are not within the sphere of GSA functions.” I smiled, but the statement was one I wanted him to understand with unshaded, absolute clarity.
“I know that. Although you’d be good at it, with your high levels of rationality, subtlety, powers of observation and broad education.”
“That’s a compliment, yes?”
“Very much so,” he said.
“Cloak and dagger is not my style.”
“Are you sure? You’ve spent years quietly, patiently, unobtrusively collecting Genomex mythology, sifting it, sorting it. And what do you do in your labs, putting your instruments through their paces? You solve puzzles, don’t you? Solving puzzles is no small part of what I do. My puzzles involve people.”
“That’s true,” I realized.
“I try to discern patterns and rules in human conduct. You’ve noted I’m a formal personality?”
“Yes. I like that. Casual attitudes and presumptuous familiarity make people crude and banal.”
“I do not care for presumptuous people and I presume very little. I dislike anyone entering my personal space, setting bare hands on my things, and I abhor being touched. None of this applies to you, but I will not presume you share a reciprocal level of comfort.”
“How did you know I dislike being touched?” I asked. I thought I had been subtle .
“I’ve watched you avoid contact with people.”
“I thought no one noticed. People take offense once they understand you’re avoiding their touch.”
“Don’t worry. You do well. I am far worse about it than you. I do not want to be touched through my clothes or even on the gloves, with two barriers between the other and me.”
“It’s all about maintaining a safe distance,” I offered. “How do other people do these things so easily?” I asked. “I’ve watched them carefully and never understood.”
“I don’t believe you can be hurt unless you had an emotional investment. The people who never make such investments never get hurt badly and never scar. Once the scars are inflicted, everything becomes difficult.”
“Perhaps the truth is that simple.”
He reached out to me with his biopolymer shielded, black glove covered right hand.
I started to stretch out my hand to him, but hesitated.
“On my honor, I swear I will never intentionally harm you.”
“I believe you.”
“Have some small measure of faith. Even I have that.”
“I believe that, too.” I grasped the dark gloved hand.
“How were you able to help me if you’re this afraid of people?”
“I did not have time to think. I understood what was happening to you and I did what I had to do for my cousin Gary when there weren’t any adults around. I haven’t always been this way.”
“None of us has. Life changes us. The people who happen to us change us.’
“Yes,” I said softly.
“The temperature in here is programmed to be coldest in the middle of the night. The principle of discouraging microbial growth is sound, but I’m never comfortable Aren’t you cold here? I am.”
“Yes. Do you have at least one other blanket you could throw over me?”
“I do, but listen: the forced air system always generates a draft.” He hesitated, uncertain of how, or whether to proceed. “Dr Steyn, we should keep talking before one or both of us retreats behind the walls we’ve built. I know exactly what this sounds like, but on my honor, it is not: we’d both be a lot warmer under several blankets in the other room.”
I was stunned. “Together?”
“Yes. Listen to me. Trust is fragile and rare. I will not squander the possibility of your trust before I’ve had a chance to earn it.”
I felt trapped. I panicked and let go of his gloved hand.
“Oh, no. I’ve frightened you. Maybe worse, maybe done you more harm. That was not my intent.”
“No,” I shook my head. “Not you. Other people have beat me up emotionally. You don’t need to know the details. My most useful response has proven to be flight.”
“I can have you through those doors in 90 seconds.”
“No. I’m sorry I’m like this.”
I felt lost and confused, and I did not like the feeling.
“I am not afraid of you, Mr Eckhart. You have qualities I admire. I like you. You’re rational. You’re fair. You respect me and my work.”
“I’m not accustomed to praise.”
“Everything I said, I meant. It’s true.”
“I’m a proud man, and a thoroughly chilled one. I may never be this brave again. I may never whack my head that hard again. Please.” He held out his hand again.
I panicked. “I don’t know.” I was remembering Rosamund and Alboin’s empty little collars.
“I cannot beg.”
“I would not expect that, not from you.”
Eckhart stood up, and draped the second blanket around me. “Sleep well, Dr Steyn. See you in two hours.”
“It’s not you. Really it isn’t. I am sorry.”
“As am I. I do understand. I’m deeply damaged myself.” He turned away from me in the darkness, gliding silently.
When he had left the room, it felt suddenly empty, and I surprised myself by finding the emptiness intolerable. I wasn’t sure what I could do to change anything. I gathered the two blankets around me, and followed him.
I startled him, which wasn’t easily done.
“Are you leaving?” he asked, setting aside a book.
“No.” I spread the blankets out on top of the bed and crawled beneath the covers.
“I gave up hope on you,” he said.
“Surprise.”
“Yes.”
I was fully dressed, of course, but he wasn’t exaggerating the chill of the place. He was seated upright with his book. I snuggled up next to him. I could see his eyes.
“I feel silly,” I said. “You look worried.”
“I am. Don’t think any of this is easy for me.”
I was surprised to discover that he was warm. I had not anticipated that, expecting something more reptilian. The thought came u nbidden, and seemed very unfair. He closed the book, and set it and his glasses aside, then slid down beside me.
“I’m not much one for optimism, and I cannot promise I will never hurt you, because I’m too imperfect.”
“My ability to trust is nearly gone. That’s why I prefer working with numbers and things that are easily quantified, things that don’t change and aren’t unreliable, like people.”
“Whoever did this to you needs killing.” He wasn’t joking. He was serious.
“The world would be a better place with him out of it. It sounds funny now, but someone I believed was a thoroughly decent person offered to put me in touch with a bad biker type who would do the job for fifty dollars plus gas money.”
“People can be so surprising. Were you tempted?”
“No. I just wanted to be away from him and be free.”
“Commendable of you.”
“I don’t hurt people back because they’ve hurt me. I just remove myself to a safe place.”
“Yet you’re here.”
“Is this a safe place?”
“Safer than you can imagine, Dr Steyn.”
“No,” I interrupted him. “Please don’t call me that. It’s the middle of the night, and I’m in your bed. Call me Rebecca. As much as I understand and appreciate your formality and lack of presumption, in some settings only the familiar will do.”
“Rebecca.”
“Much better.”
“Rebecca, I don’t want to make any mistakes. I’ve made enough of those. What I want to do is court you.”
This sounded old-fashioned or strange or both. I didn’t know what to say. No one talked like this. Was he making cruel fun of me after all? No good deed goes unpunished. I was deeply suspicious of everyone but especially so of men. Too much had happened to me. Too many things had happened to female friends and coworkers, among whom I counted no less than three who had survived murder attempts by husbands or boyfriends. And there were those two little empty collars sitting on top of my dresser.
“Rebecca?”
I realized I had been silent a long time, and that I was near to panic. I should be home, safe behind several locks. And I had forgotten to set my VCR. I was angry with myself, several different ways. I did not tolerate fools any better than Eckhart did, especially when I was the fool.
“Rebecca?” Mason sounded panicky himself. How long had I been lost in my own thoughts?
“Mason, I’m sorry. I was lost in some memories, bad ones. I’ve lived a long time in an emotional wilderness. I do my work as well I know to do, but outside of the time I spend with Samihah, I’ve become reclusive and feral. I’ve never been important to anyone except for the work I could perform or the paycheck I could turn over to them for ‘joint’ savings that turned out not to include me. Time and again I’ve been beaten up emotionally.”
“So have I. I could easily decide all women were faithless, fickle users, but I don’t believe you’re that way. Hence, the importance of trust, which is difficult to come by and easy to destroy.”
I’d never forget the utterly convincing story Jeff told about Alboin and Rosamund sleeping in their favorite window that morning when he left for work. Or how badly he felt for my loss, because he knew how much I loved those cats. I believed every word.
I wanted to believe every word. When I found the collars in the trash just a few minutes later, I knew everything Jeff said to me could be a lie. I didn’t confront him with the collars, because he’d only confabulate some more. There were a lot more lies left for me to discover. This was just the begining.
“What is it, Rebecca?”
“The past returning, unbidden.”
“The past has a way of doing that. What kind of flowers do you like?”
“Carnations.”
“You shall have them.”
“No one ever asks what I want.”
“That’s about to change.”
Mason was trying very hard and I wasn’t helping. No matter how I tried to remain focused upon the present, my past kept intruding.
Nevertheless, I knew the last thing I wanted to do was hurt Mason. “Should I even be here?” I asked. I was easily the greatest source of infection in the room.
“My doctors disagree on my tolerance for infection. Some of them believe the hours I spend outside of these quarters will kill me. Others say I’m actually building tolerance. I have evidence that the optimists are correct that I have not shared with them.”
I surprised myself by sleeping through until morning. I never did that. Typically I awake several times and listen carefully. Some nights I even got out of bed and inspected the exterior doors. Waking up was more than a little disorienting, because the setting was unfamiliar and I wasn’t alone. I had slept alone for years, ever since breaking up with an engineer who told me he was doing me a favor by dating me. Who needs that kind of favor? I realized I enjoyed my own company more than that of the wrong person. Then I noted that I was fully dressed.
Then it all came back: I had never gone home. I was still at work. I turned and looked at Mason.
With all the tension gone from his face, Mason looked different. Younger. Certainly not menacing. I could look at him and believe the things I’d learned about him during the last sixteen hours represented the authentic Mason, the one hidden deeply from nearly everyone.
I was pleased, greatly pleased, with the way events had turned. Nevertheless, I was nagged by the oddness of everything. Who would believe it?
Why do the odd things happen to me? And the odd people? Am I somehow seeking them out?
I surprised myself thinking such thoughts about Mason, who, after all, had never done anything to bring harm to me in all the years I had worked for him, and who had taken some serious emotional chances overnight. I felt cruel and disloyal.
But Mason is odd. And so am I.
Nevertheless, no one wants to be peculiar. Even an eccentric like me did not want oddness to pervade every aspect of my life, I concluded. And I knew that this was going to be odd, bizarre, strange, and if trends continued, sweet.
I can still bolt now, and retreat to perfect safety.
How could I be so brave about things that deeply frightened other women, yet readily stampeded by others?
Repetitive conditioning, I answered myself. I come by my attitudes honestly. I endured a lot of years getting beat up, until I built walls high enough and thick enough to keep out anything. Well, I may have come by my emotions honestly, but that made them no less annoying. Or inconsistent.
Save yourself. Nothing good can come of this. You function with apparent flawlessness on the job. Nobody has any inkling what a fragile, damaged tangle you are inside. How much more can you take?
Arguing with myself made me even more annoyed.
So, I decided there was only one thing to do, and that was to start the day over. Go back to sleep and wake up later so it would feel like a different day. I wouldn’t be reflecting upon my doubts if I went back to sleep. Everything might look better the next time I wake up.
If that weird white hair is a wig, how is it that it hasn’t moved a millimeter? Can that really be hair, no matter what company lore indicates?
I decided to give him something to think about. I snuggled very close and put an arm about him. And fell back asleep.
“I’ll be back. Fear not.” I smiled.
Mason didn’t look convinced. He looked worried.
“Mason, I never make promises I don’t fully intend to keep. I don’t say things because I believe people want to hear them. There are things I must take care of at home.”
“Very well.” He tried to wear a smile over his doubts, but the effort fell short of intentions.
I hadn’t given him reason to doubt me, but he was correct in emphasizing the need for developing trust. I had given him plenty of reasons to think my fears might overcome my rational intent and sincerity. How did Irulan say it? “A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate of care that the balances are correct.”
I didn’t want to make any mistakes, especially of the self-sabotaging sort. Many times people will choose a familiar pain instead of a possible solution in the unfamiliar.
Mentally I calculated how long I would require for chores and errands, and told Mason when I thought I would return.
I did have things to do at home. I left Genomex fully intending to return promptly, but events did not happen that way.
My answering machine was loaded. Some of the messages could be dealt with later, but not the one from my sister-in-law Sherri. Sherri never said anything in twenty words that could be expanded to two hundred, or even more dramatically, to two thousand. Her message might be important, judging by her breathless tone, but from past experience it was not. Still, you never know…
I steeled myself to the chore of talking to this woman. Sherri was bright but unfocused. Nothing in Sherri’s life had required her develop focus.
As I had suspected, the matter was less than life and death. My brother Steve had been promoted, and they were about to move, again, this time to some place in Ohio near Columbus. Sherri was already thinking ahead to a bigger house and the joys of decorating.
Sherri thought I was strange because my walls were lined with bookshelves, different styles and sizes acquired at various stages in my life. Sherri was most appalled by my collection of video and audio electronic toys, all stacked on commercial grade metal shelving.
She did not have to say out loud how hideous she found this arrangement. I was just being my pragmatic Rebecca-self. After spending a lot of money on equipment, I wasn’t going to trust it to flimsy but nice to look at shelving. The open backs of the metal shelves helped dissipate heat. Sherri’s eyes glazed over when I talked about dissipating heat. If she fried out a piece of electronics, she put it in the trash and bought a replacement.
Sherri could not have set up a VCR with the threat of someone holding a sharp stick to her jugular, and neither could any of her women friends, but she didn’t know any men who had some of the toys I had. One day I tried to explain the difference between a DVD and a VCD to Sherri. Well, to be fair, Steve didn’t know, either, and I had come across people at Radio Shack who had never heard of VCDs.
Sherri thought it was very unnatural for a woman to know all of these things. I just thought it was fun.
She had never heard of a woman who had three computers, all in working order, including one (Sherri-shudder) in my bedroom.
Sherri and I were almost different species.
I assured her that the natives in Ohio were friendly and mostly wore shoes now, and that her American plastic money would be enthusiastically welcomed there in the malls. Yes, they even had shopping malls in Ohio now.
I had to return Samihah’s phone call, and that took some time as well. Samihah wasn’t a problem like Sherri, however, since she was organized and direct. Samihah had no time to waste. Samihah wanted to give a birthday party for Ali, no, Alan, she had changed all of her son’s names to sound home-grown so they would fit in better at their schools. Her sons were all home grown, and very American, but Samihah was taking no chances, given recent history.
She hadn’t told the family back in the old country about changing the boys’ names or about how she was attending a Unitarian church. Sometimes distance is a good thing.
The birthday was about a month away, and she wanted the party to be perfectly, thoroughly American, not just for Alan’s friends, but to leave an assuring impression with their parents as well.
We discussed fancy cakes and ice cream. I did not notice how much time passed as Samihah put together her project plan for the party. I told her I’d help with the party itself. I frequently did things with Samihah and her boys. I was fond of Samihah and this also allowed me opportunity to vicariously experience family living.
When I was done at the condo, I had to pick up a package at the post office that required a signature, but it turned out to actually be sitting in a second post office. More time burned. More obscure electronic toys acquired.
All of this consumed a good deal more time than I had estimated. Temperamentally, I am compelled to be early; I was raised to believe making people wait for you was rude.
I did not know how Mason would take my late return. If he lapsed into his Handmaiden-of-Satan persona used with people who failed him, demanding compliance at any cost, I was going to wish him well with his concussion and leave, without further discussion. Forever. I was not going to tolerate bad behavior from anyone. Then, I would somehow talk my way into spending the balance of the day with Samihah, and do my best to banish Mason –and disappointment—from my mind. I always have a plan.
I was relieved to see that he did not wear a black suit on weekends. He was instead wearing, surprise, black jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. Another perennial Genomex mystery solved, but I could not tell anyone.
“I didn’t think you were coming back.”
He sounded lost, not angry. Other men might have said this to make me feel guilty, but from Mason at this moment, it was all about raw hurt.
“I am sorry. I had to chase a package through two post offices, call my Planet Fluffbrain sister-in-law, and hear about their next move in excruciating detail, and call Samihah to plan Alan’s birthday party.”
“Alan?”
“Her middle son. You might remember him as Ali. He’s now Alan.”
“Ah.”
“I do a lot of things with Samihah and her boys.”
“I was concerned. You are habitually punctual.”
“I’m here now. I did not have the extension here, or I would have called. Calling 7777 Security seemed unwise.”
I knew about his mother’s suicide and about how his wife cleaned out their house while he was at work. He expected women to abandon him.
“Yes.”
“Try not to read anything into the way things worked. No meaning was intended.”
“I don’t think you’d lie to me.” He tried to smile.
“How is your head feeling?”
“Tender.”
“You hit the table edge with great force.” I reached out my right hand but stopped short of touching him. “May I?”
“Go ahead.”
I found the swelling without difficulty. And I noticed something else.
“I still have no recollection of that meeting,” he said.
“Well, it was a very boring meeting. You might want to substitute a one-page memo from each of us, copied to all. The swelling may have to go down before your memory is restored. Shouldn’t you be putting ice on this?”
“Too messy.”
“I could go to a drugstore and get a gel-pack. I should have looked at this before I left.”
He looked astonished.
“And I will come back. Promptly.” I smiled.
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind.”
”I don’t. But first, a question: that’s hair growing out of your head, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he laughed. “I think you’re the first one to notice.”
“Genomex mythology says it’s a wig.”
“Up until about a year ago, it was a wig. Then my own hair started growing back, except that it was unpigmented. My doctors could not explain hair growing again any more than they could explain why I am now making some red and white blood cells. I’ve been told for years that my condition was permanent and that there was no possibility of improvement.”
“Are they tracking these data? Do the data indicate a trend towards improvement?”
“So far. I’m trying not to think about it overmuch. Living this way is a drain. I don’t know how well I could cope if indicators changed and I started to backslide. That would be like crawling partway out of deep pit, only to fall all the way back to the bottom.”
“Maybe you need new doctors, ones who aren’t locked into earlier conclusions and who will think in terms of possibilities.”
“You’re probably correct. The difficulty lies in how I describe the ‘accident’ adequately enough to help anyone unfamiliar with my condition without divulging classified information. Breedlove was insistent about that. The technology involved is still classified, and I am still bound by security agreements.”
“But that’s hardly fair to you, not if there is a chance of enhancing and hastening your improvement.”
“You’re very partisan, aren’t you?”
“My loyalties, once given, are personal and not easily broken. People have told me I was the best friend they ever had.”
“And?” He noted the tone of my voice.
“That didn’t stop them from doing bad things to me later.”
“I’m none of those people, Rebecca.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Give me a chance.”
Fortunately, there was a drug store a few blocks past the Genomex gate. Unfortunately, as I was re-entering the building, Dr Mayakovsky was exiting.
Joe Mayakovsky really wasn’t a bad guy. He did some highly original work, gave proper credit to his technicians, was utterly honest, and avoided corporate politics, although he was an infamous gossip. He was also loud, coarse, fond of childish practical jokes, and lonely. Naturally, he was drawn to petite, shy, soft-spoken Dr Shah. Samihah found him unsubtle, and incapable of taking a hint.
“Good Morning, Rebecca!”
“Good Morning, Joe.”
“No rest for the wicked, eh?”
“A watched autosampler never fails. Turn your back on them for too long, however, and out come the gremlins. I’m just making sure a 68 sample run goes to completion.”
That wasn’t a lie, but I wasn’t going directly to that instrument, and ordinarily I would not have returned until Sunday morning, when even fewer people were likely to be around.
“I’ve been here for hours. I’m going to get lunch, and come back and push back the frontiers of science.” He grinned.
Mayakovsky could be funny and amusing when he talked like this, but from past experience I knew the conversation had the potential of taking an unexpected swerve and making a powered dive into bathroom humor.
“Well, do have a nice lunch. I must get going, Joe.”
“Thanks. I’ll drop by your office later.”
I hadn’t considered the conclusions which some might draw from my comings and goings at odd hours into the complex. I did have a habit of checking automated operations on weekends. Expensive instrumentation is great when it is working and maddening when it fails. But I didn’t do this every weekend.
The people I worked with knew my car. If they saw it in the parking lot all the time, they would start telling me I was working too hard. Then they’d think I was up to no good, possibly doing corporate espionage for a biotech competitor. Corporate espionage is real. Mason would find himself listening to Concerned Employees offering up abundant speculation about my activities. Messy. I don’t like messy.
“There! I was not gone long, was I?”
“You were not.” Mason almost purred. I did not recall ever hearing quite that tone from him.
“Let’s get these chilling. You have two gel packs, one to use and one to be cooling down.”
“Thank you, Rebecca.”
“I try to do the right thing.”
“You do very well.”
“Not everyone would agree,” I said.
I tossed the gel packs into the refrigerator, which brought to mind another problem that my typically thorough, problem solving mind typically detected easily. I did not eat much, but I was going to want to eat something and I had no idea how I was going to manage that here.
Mason had followed me to the fridge—which had cute little magnets shaped from halves of a 25 mm Gelman syringe filters—and was standing right behind me. I turned about to face him.
I smiled. “Do you own any clothes that are not black?”
“A few. Some old things from a previous life. I used to wear perfectly ordinary clothes. I used to want to give the impression of being completely ordinary.”
“I have difficulty imagining you other than the way you are now.”
“That’s all you’ve ever seen. I worked hard at trying to be ordinary, trying to be part of a family, to have what I didn’t have growing up. Were you part of a close family?”
“No. We weren’t a touchy-feely kind of family. Truth be told, I never have been able to figure out what my parents were doing married to each other. They barely spoke to one another. They weren’t hateful or unpleasant, but they shared the same space without being together in it.”
“Well, they must have shared more than the same space at least twice.”
“Reality does imply that much, doesn’t it?” I laughed. “Until I was about thirteen years old, I used to hunt for ‘my’ adoption papers if I was left home by myself. About then it was obvious I shared facial features of both of them, and I gave up the search. I was crushed by the realization. Am I correct in thinking that we could have been in this very same place years ago?”
That was daring of me, but I would not have asked without believing there was a good chance of it being true.
“Yes. Despite my skills in getting what I must from people—how dreadful that sounds—I could never think of a ruse to reach you that did not risk a lawsuit or worse, making a f0ol of myself. I did leave some…hmm…tokens on your desk last Valentine’s Day.”
“Tokens?”
“The candy hearts with phrases.”
“That was you?”
“Yes. I went through several dishes in accounting to find the specific ones I left.”
“I didn’t know what to think. I assume that I am invisible. I thought maybe the cleaning crew had picked them up from the floor and had not quite gotten around to throwing them away.”
“Oh, no.”
“That’s what I thought then, but it doesn’t make good sense, does it? The self-protective lies we tell ourselves are the worst of all. But I kept them. The hearts.”
“You did?”
“They’re in a vial in my desk. I wanted them to be more meaningful than something picked up off the floor, but I could not imagine how they could be otherwise.”
Seeing Mason this way, so vulnerable and human after the years of dealing with the grim, formidable persona was a revelation. Except for the first few weeks after being introduced to him, when I believed his forbidding exterior perhaps might be who he was, I strongly suspected a human lurked deep inside, well-hidden, safely protected. But I never hatched fantasies about the possibility of that person being sentimental, even, dare I say it, sweet?
Everyone holds all kinds of surprises, aspects of ourselves we rarely reveal, not because we carry a burden of shameful secrets but because nearly all of us are fearful of appearing silly in the eyes of other people. We have a horror of ridicule.
Mason Eckhart was one of the proudest, most dignified individuals I had known. Admitting that not only had he left the hearts but had painstakingly selected those specific hearts was for him a daring risk since he did not know me well at all. I might not be the woman he thought I was or wished for me to be.
I might have been a degreed barbarian: competent, superficially sophisticated, self-focused…and crude. I had worked with a number of technical women who fit this description, and many, many more technical men.
I was not that kind of human, however. Mason’s revelation of self did not make me think he was weak or silly, but that his human self had a wider range of possibilities and expression than I had dared hope. I also found it lent me the courage to make a confession of my own, sure now of not being humiliated. Or nearly certain.
“I have an admission of my own. Last month, you should have found a chocolate rabbit in your company mailbox.
For several moments he said nothing, and I was left to wonder if I had been misinterpreting him, missing essential data, or simply deluding myself. People had done such hurtful things to me I always doubted my ability to reliably evaluate them. Panic began to edge into the fringes of my thoughts. Except when I was alone, and in full control of events, panic was always lurking.
Or had someone simply swiped the bunny before he could find it?
“The Portentous Choco-Bunny of Mystery was from you?”
“Yes. I saw it at Lenzotti’s and decided you had to have it. Please take this the right way: it reminded me of you.”
“That’s what Dr Varady said. She said it was me as a bunny.”
“You’ve discussed the bunny with Laura Varady?”
“At length. I showed it to her, too. I could not imagine who would give me a chocolate rabbit. From all appearances, no one here much likes me except Varady. I’ve made certain of that. I’ve worked hard at making things so.”
And succeeded.
He continued. “We had more than one discussion of the bunny. I was bedeviled by the mystery. Several nights I wandered all over the facility, considering personalities and individuals, and trying to match one of them with the rabbit.”
“I didn’t mean for you to lose sleep.”
“Of course you didn’t. I wanted badly to link you with it, but there wasn’t any evidence to support what I had to dismiss as wishful thinking. I wanted you to be the bunny-bringer, but you were so angry with me every time I made you attend one of those absurd Communicate with the Community Dinners.”
I rolled my eyes. “The food was indescribable and the content of the presentations mostly lies. I don’t know how Thomasina can speak so many untruths without embarrassing herself.”
“I know. But I wanted to see you, and I had the authority to compel you to attend…so I selfishly abused that power.”
“You could have asked me to lunch.”
“And risked rejection and ridicule, a possible lawsuit, or perhaps all three? No.”
“That’s what Samihah told me the awful dinners were about.”
“You’ve discussed me with Dr Shah?”
“Only in terms of the horrible dinners. She’s my closest girl-buddy. Women talk like this to each other, Mason. She doesn’t know about the rabbit. I couldn’t admit anything about that to anyone, not even Samihah.”
“Isn’t it unfortunate that when we do something kind we are so afraid of appearing foolish?”
“Frequently, Mason, that is exactly how things work out. The world is full of cruel people who will inflict an emotional scar that endures a lifetime, just to generate brief laughter.”
“Who did that to you?”
“My father.”
“Can’t go on blaming parents indefinitely.”
“I don’t. I worked hard at getting past my raising by wolves. But my dread of looking foolish is deeply etched. That’s why I’m such a recluse.”
“You never seemed unhappy about it.”
“I like my own company.” Which was true.
“Do you like mine?”
“Very much. But I suspect you’re perfectly at peace all by yourself as well.”
“I am.”
“That’s not a bad way to be, Mason.”
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Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
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