Дэймон Найт - Orbit 4

And then he opened—his eyes? But there was Paul, bent over the blackened shell, touching it gently, speaking to it. Loathsome thing. How could he bear to bend so close to it?

And then he blinked. Blinked what? Slowly down, glance over these limbs?

He could not speak.

There, Paul, you bloody genius, it hasn’t worked. Something has gone wrong and I can’t even tell you that I anticipated it and did not arrange to endow you with half my worldly goods.

Ah, there at last. Paul was looking toward him. If he couldn’t speak, he could smile. He knew he must be smiling, because Paul straightened slowly and came toward him, his academic frown shattered into wonder, his hand extended tentatively.

“Are you there?” Paul’s voice gently inquiring, curious, concerned.,

Andrew smiled again.

“Can you speak?”

Can this head be moved? It’s extremely heavy, ah, but it can be shaken back and forth on the pillow, with effort, yet the effort is not painful, merely difficult.

“Don’t be anxious,” said Paul. “These delicate neural complexities of speech will need some training. Everything is there. You just need a little time. Ema!”

The girl came running, glanced at him wildly, turned away, turned back. He could have laughed, if he had been able, watching the comic graceful pirouette of alarm and curiosity and amazement.

“We must get some fluids going,” said Paul to her. “That thing—” a thumb over his shoulder toward the other form in the bed “—is not quite defunct. We can keep it operating a little longer and give him a margin.”

She vanished out the door, returned quickly with the bottled fluid and the rack. They suspended it over the other one, jabbed the needle into the papery vein.

“Get this one something to sip at. We’ve got to get it functioning!”

Ema ran out again while Paul wrapped a blood-pressure band and listened to his heart, meanwhile glancing at him with eyes that seemed filled with new unsuspected perplexities, eyes newly gentle, newly troubled and searching. Had something gone wrong?

Paul folded his stethoscope, patted his hand and waited until Ema returned with a tall glass of fruit juice. “Hold it for him,” he said to her, and she sat down beside the bed and put the straw in his mouth. Andrew drank greedily, and instantly was filled with such an intensity of pleasure that tears sprang to his eyes. All that was new and waiting and ripe functioned smoothly, joyously, and was in turn rejoiced by the cool liquid flowing into the receptive stomach. Andrew tongued aside the straw for a moment to smile reassuringly at Paul. It works, he wanted to say. You see, it does work. Don’t worry. All will be well. Poor old Paul.

Old Paul?

Andrew squinted at him, trying to manage the unsteady focusing of these sharp new eyes with their exquisitely flexible lenses. Ah, there it was! The tiny webbing of lines around Paul’s eyes. And the papery look of the skin under his chin. Old Paul. My God. Andrew turned his head and gazed at Ema, really seeing her for the first time. Here was genuine youth. This luminous skin, the high round contours of cheeks outlined in light, contours to be understood not by their bones or their lines, but by the simple fruit-like bloom of skin.

Andrew lifted one hand uncertainly. It wavered but it rose, and he studied the skin of his forearm. There it was. The moist pellucid bloom of youth.

So Paul had not lied. He had never passed through the process. He really was the fortunate possessor of a type of organism that aged very inconspicuously.

“We’ll teach you to talk,” Paul was saying. “That can be Erna’s job.”

And so he learned to speak again from Erna, who had once so diffidently played cards with him in his old person. He watched her lips form the syllables, and from the syllables his attention was drawn to the lips that formed them. How was it possible he had associated with her for a year and never seen her at all, save as someone to be sent or summoned? Why, she was lovely, brimming with whimsical grace, warm and attentive.

Beware, whispered old experience, drawing him back into the boat. The sea is the sea. Today the sun shines on it, but remember the darkness.

Oh, but life is so sweet again! All these senses—surely they should be tried for their own sakes. This body has so many potentials besides just carrying around an ego and a calculator.

Hormones, came the ironic reply. The subtle secretions of a new set of endocrines. Did I endure that year for a pretty hillbilly?

How marvelous she is! These textures, these fragrances, this animation!

Even Paul seemed to consider her a more appropriate companion for him (youth to youth, perhaps), for days went by when Andrew did not see him at all except for the daily blood-count. He did not care. He was too charmed with the small pleasures of each succeeding day, the exercises he could do in bed, shaving, eating (real food again, meat and fruit and vegetables), looking at Erna.

“Oh, but I want to get my feet on the ground,” he said moving his legs restlessly. “I want to walk out in the meadow.”

Ema had been sitting in the open window, obviously longing to go outside almost as much as she wanted to stay with him. Now she turned with a grin. “Let’s ask Paul,” she said, slipping from the window.

The next morning Paul gave him a pill and prepared him for the final operation. He awoke at noon to find himself free at last, with a small bandage on his navel, and the still sinister form of his past gone forever.

During the following week he learned to walk again, first simply getting in and out of bed, or standing up, then wobbling around the room holding fast to things. His strength increased rapidly and in five days he was able to walk up and down the corridor. A week later he was ready to try the meadow and, leaning on Erna’s round arm, he went slowly out through the daisies and beebalm and wild chicory.

“Not too far the first time,” said Ema.

“Just to the pines,” he begged, so they went down and into the shade of the pines where she helped him to sit down to rest on the brown needles. He was no sooner securely on the ground than he tightened his arm around her shoulders and dragged her down to him and kissed her on the mouth. After one start of surprise, she threw her arms around him and very happily kissed him back.

He laughed. “I knew it would be good to kiss you!”

“How could you know!”

“Because I’ve watched your mouth for weeks. It’s so sweet and fresh.” He let her sit up beside him. “And so am I! No old dental plumbing! No tobacco stains! No jaded tissues!” And he touched her cheek with his fingertips, relishing the texture of silky skin.

He remembered the first sight he’d had of her. Wild and shy as a deer. And like a deer, confidence made her playful. What did it matter if she was a mountain girl? What did education matter? She spoke well enough. Paul’s influence, perhaps. But she was young and pretty and healthy and bright. What more could a man want? Besides, she was guileless. Nothing haughty there, nothing combative. With a girl like this you could be two against the world instead of each other. Marriage was one thing he’d never tried.

“Erna,” he said, “I realize I’m too old for you. I’m sixty-eight, after all. But I want to marry you anyway.”

Her bright eyes looked into his, a little abashed. Then she grinned. She had such a fetching open-hearted smile. “You’ve got it backwards! I’m ancient compared to you. You’ll only be two months tomorrow!”

They laughed and hugged each other and then she leaned contentedly on his chest and tucked her head underneath his chin. “I’d love to marry you, Andrew. Only do you suppose we could live here in the woods?”