Orson Card - Maps in a Mirror - The Short Fiction of Orson Scott Card

He pulled out his purple card and watched people move aside, opening a path for him through the crowd. The huge trees on Main Street even seemed to recoil.

Maynard stopped and went to the bathroom on one of the trees. “Not a bad idea,” Reuben said. “Let ’em all drop dead. Let the enemy come down and take over everything. They deserve it.”

It was when Reuben was eating a sandwich at the restaurant in the overhead station that he thought of what an enemy invasion would mean. It was all right to think of huge blond men with white eyes dragging his father off in chains. But when he thought of them coming to his mother, he set down his sandwich, got off his chair, and left, flashing his purple card at the checkout lady, who smiled at him with fear in her eyes.

He took the overhead to Murray, where he transferred to the overhead up Cotton-wood Canyon. It was full of sightseers and retired people heading up to their cabins.

He got off at the seventh stop and walked up a winding asphalt path to a large house nestled among huge pines on the north slope of the canyon. The house was all wood—it could only belong to a millionaire many times over. Reuben chuckled to think of his father’s wealth.

He went to the door but did not touch the knob. Instead he stood and thought for a moment. They must have expected him to come here sometime. The doorknob would be keyed so that his palm or fingers would trigger an alarm. He remembered the household routine.

He knelt on the welcome mat close to the door, where the camera would not catch his face—only the top of his head, which would make him look like a little boy. He pushed the doorbell strip with his elbow.

A woman’s voice spoke. “Who is it?”

“Groceries,” Reuben answered.

“Today?” The woman paused. “This is Thursday. There aren’t supposed to be deliveries on Thursday.”

“They send me, I come,” Reuben answered.

“All right,” the woman sighed. The door slip open. Reuben came in on his knees. Once past the door he stood up. He could hear the kitchen intercom saying, “Just leave them on the table, please.” But he did not go into the kitchen. Instead he climbed the stairs in the living room and went down a short hall to the door that stood ajar. Inside the room someone was typing. Reuben went to the door and pushed it farther open. Well, there—

His mother sat at the typewriter, her long dark hair falling on the keys as she leaned over her work. He had often seen her like that, years ago when he had lived at home.

Then she felt his presence in the door and looked up. She was beautiful, with soft features and large eyes and a white scar down her left cheek.

She looked at him for a moment, and then fear and recognition entered her eyes at the same time.

“Reuben,” she whispered.

“Mother,” he said, stepping into the room.

She got up and moved back toward the window.

“Wait,” he said.

“Stay there,” she said.

“Mother, listen to me.”

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” she said, her voice husky with fear. “They’ll take away your card. They’ll put you in a—place.”

“Not if you listen to me. Not if you help me.”

She shook her head, her face white. She touched the scar on her cheek.

“Mother, I’m sorry,” Reuben said. “Please believe me. Please trust me.”

“Go away,” she said. A tear ran down her cheek.

“Mother, I love you,” Reuben said, reaching out his hand. “See? My hands are empty. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“No.”

“Mother, you’ve got to listen to me!”

She closed her eyes. “I’m listening,” she whispered desperately.

And for the third time that day Reuben told the story of the short dumpy man and the message on the envelope. He told her about the doctor and about his father.

“Do you believe me?” Reuben asked.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Is it true?” she asked softly.

“Every word,” Reuben said, wanting to shout, but keeping his voice to a whisper. “I didn’t make any of it up.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

Reuben’s heart sank again, only this time the pain and tightness in his chest and throat were more than he could bear. Tears came to his eyes.

“Well you’ve just got to,” he said. No sound came, but his mother saw his lips move. She took a step toward him and then stopped, seeing what no one had seen for five years. Tears on Reuben’s cheeks.

“Show me,” she said. “I’ll go with you and you show me.”

Reuben nodded, and then he fell to his knees and began to cry, saying, “You’ve got to believe me,” over and over again. When he stopped crying, his head dizzy and his throat thick, he realized that his mother’s arms were around him. Suddenly ashamed, he stood up and stepped away. He looked in her eyes and saw that even though she was looking lovingly at him, his sudden movement had made her afraid again. “What time is it?” he asked.

“Two-fifteen,” she said.

“There’s time. Come with me and I’ll show you.” They walked down the hill together to the overhead.

They got to the park a half hour later. He led her to a waiting place he had used before. “We’ll toss sticks for Maynard. It’ll look natural. Just pretend you’re my—”

She nodded. “All right,” she said.

In ten minutes the woman with the poodle came. Maynard looked over wistfully, but kept playing with the sticks. Reuben told his mother not to watch the woman. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her give a dog biscuit to Gertrude, then shake the box and toss it to the ground by the bench. Just like the last two weeks.

Then the woman got up and moved away. Reuben knelt by Maynard. “All right, Maynard,” he said. “Earn your biscuits. Get the box.”

Then Reuben stood and threw a stick toward the bench. Maynard took off after the stick, but when he got near the box he stopped and sniffed around, went to the bathroom on the bench, then picked up the box and ran back to Reuben.

“Bad dog,” Reuben said loudly, but Maynard understood, waiting patiently for the biscuit that Reuben surreptitiously dropped. Then Maynard set down the box and picked up the biscuit. Reuben grabbed the box and said to his mother, “All right. Let’s go. Slowly and naturally, in case they’re watching.”

They walked away from the park without looking back, and caught the overhead for Magna. On the first stop Reuben told her to get out, and he followed her to the overhead to Kearns. They hopped a few more overheads, then got on one heading back downtown. Only then did Reuben look at the box.

“What does the box mean?” asked his mother.

Reuben shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never picked up one of these before. I just know that she leaves this, and the guy picks it up and throws it away.”

And then he felt a terrible fear that the box would be meaningless and that his mother would think he had made it up, that he was really crazy. And she would tell the doctor, and the doctor would know that he had broken the rules and gone to see her, and he would lose his pass and go to the hospital, and he would rather die.

He reached into the box and found something taped to the inside. He peeled off the tape and pulled out three microfiches. It was too small to read, of course, but his mother looked at them and her face went white.

“There’s really something there,” she said.

She hadn’t believed him.

She turned to him and smiled. “Reuben, Reuben, I hoped so hard that it would be there.”

He felt strange. Her smile was so warm that he felt his face flush with heat that pulsed rapidly. She had hoped that they would find something.