Little Doors Read Online Free PDF Page B

father.
    “Your son’s skull never fully developed. It’s open. In fact, it ends approximately above his eyes. Consequently, his brain never developed either. Such specimens—ah, children—usually possess only a small portion of gray matter above the spinal cord.”
    Billy’s father thought a moment. “I take it this is a critical problem.”
    “It’s normally fatal. Children with this trauma usually don’t live beyond an hour or so.”
    “This is bad news,” said Billy’s father.
    “Yes, it is,” agreed the Doctor. “Do you want me to tell your wife?”
    “No. I will.”
    Billy’s father went to his wife’s room, where she was resting. She looked angelic and fulfilled. He told her what the Doctor had said.
    When Billy’s mother was done weeping, her husband left her to inquire what forms he had to fill out in connection with their son’s death, or stillbirth.
    He found their Doctor surrounded by a group of his fellows, all conferring with animation and wonder.
    “I can’t understand it—”
    “Not in the literature—”
    “Autonomic functions are being supported somehow—”
    “Do we dare attempt a bone graft?”
    “I doubt it would take.”
    “He surely can’t live his life without one.”
    “The possible infections alone—”
    “Not to mention the cosmetic appearance—”
    Billy’s father interrupted politely. “Doctor, please. What kind of paperwork is there to be done before my son can be buried?”
    All the doctors fell silent. Finally, Billy’s Doctor spoke.
    “Well, you see, it hasn’t happened yet.”
    Billy’s father’s brain hurt. Once more he was forced to say, “I don’t understand …”
    “It’s your son. He hasn’t died. He’s breathing normally. His EKG is fine. No brain activity, of course. Not surprising, since he hasn’t got one. Doesn’t respond to visual stimuli either. But he’s alive. And he gives every indication of continuing to live for an indefinite period.”
    Billy’s father considered long and hard. “This is good news, then. I guess.”
    “I suppose so,” the Doctor agreed.
    “I’ll go tell my wife.”
    Billy’s father returned to his wife’s bedside. He told her the news.
    Billy’s mother seemed to take the new development in stride.
    “We’ll call him Billy,” she said when they had finished discussing what this meant for their lives.
    “Of course,” said Billy’s father. “It’s what we planned all along.”
     
    * * *
     
    Billy came home from the hospital a week later.
    It had turned out that he did not need any special equipment to survive. As the doctors had finally concluded, he possessed just enough gray matter to insure the continuation of his vital functions.
    Billy’s mother was thus able to carry home her child, who was wrapped in a gay blue blanket, on her lap in the car, while her husband drove.
    Once home, Billy was installed in the nursery his parents had prepared before his birth. It was a very nice and pleasant sunny room, with popular cartoon pictures on the wall.
    Unfortunately, Billy could not appreciate these decorative touches. When he wasn’t sleeping he lay motionless on his back, his dumb, passive, blank eyes—which, however, were a beautiful, startling green—fixed implacably on an unvarying point on the ceiling.
    He stared at the point so long and hard that Billy’s father began to imagine he could see the paint starting to blister and peel under his son’s unfathomable eyes, slick and depthless as polished jade.
    In addition to this fixity of vision and lack of interest in his surroundings, young Billy exhibited few of the gestures or reactions of a normal baby. He seldom moved his limbs, and had to be rotated manually to avoid bedsores. This chore his parents performed conscientiously and tenderly, on a regular schedule.
    Also, Billy made no noises of any sort. He was utterly silent. No gurgles or whimpers, cries or primitive syllables, ever issued from his lips. Billy’s parents knew he