Zelazny, Roger - Novel 07 Read Online Free PDF

Dr.
Winchell's voice from within the house.
                   She paused, studying the flowers. Another
moment or so ...
                   "Mrs. Guise—Oh!"
                   Voices then from the courtyard. Conversation.
Dick had returned. She sighed and moved back in that direction.
                   Entering, she glanced at her husband and the
doctor, who had just seated themselves on the chairs near the geraniums. Dr.
Winchell was a young, big man, florid, overweight. His straw-colored hair was
already thinning, and he ran his fingers through it several times as they
spoke.
                   "Mrs. Guise," he said, nodding, and
he made as if to rise as she approached.
                   She seated herself on the bench across from
them, and he eased back into his seat.
                   "I was just telling your husband,"
he said, "that it is simply too early to venture a prognosis, but—"
                   Let us have the bad of it straight, Dick
interrupted.
                   Winchell nodded, glanced at Vicki. She
inclined her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his own.
                   "All right," he said, declining the
opportunity to switch away from the purely verbal. "It is not the most
encouraging situation, but you must bear in mind that he is still a child—a
very adaptable creature—and the fact that this relocation was to a spot as
isolated—"
                   "Has he been permanently damaged?"
Richard asked.
                   "I— It is impossible to answer that at
this point. You have only been here a short while and—"
                   "How long until you can tell for
certain?"
                   "Again, I can't answer you—"
                   "Is there anything you can tell me?"
                   "Richard," Vickie said. "Please
..."
                   "It's all right," Winchell said.
"Yes, as a matter of fact I can tell you more about what caused it."
                   "Go ahead."
                   "When I first saw Dennis, you lived over
twenty miles from the nearest city—a good safety margin, based on accepted
range figures for telepathic phenomena. At that distance, a telepathic child
should have been sufficiently removed from the urban thought bombardment that
he would remain unaffected. Dennis, however, exhibited all the signs of early
reception reaction and retreated into catatonia. Neither of you were undergoing
anxieties of the sort which might have induced this. At that time, it was
suggested that some physical anomaly of the locale might have enhanced
reception, or some nearer habitation be housing a broadcaster of thoughts
exceptionally distressful to the child. So we recommended you relocate to an
even remoter site and see whether the condition would clear up of its own
accord."
                   Richard Guise nodded. "Six times now we've
moved. For the same so-called reasons. The kid is thirteen years old. He
doesn't talk, he doesn't walk. The nurse still changes his pants and bathes
him. Everyone says an institution would be the worst thin g, and I am still
able to agree. But we have just moved again and nothing is different."
                   "Yes," Winchell said, "his
condition has remained virtually unchanged. He is still suffering the effects
of that initial trauma."
                   "Then the move was of no benefit
whatever," Richard said.
                   "That is not what I said. Simple
relocation could not alter what had already occurred. The purpose of the move
was to avoid further exposure to adverse stimuli and to give the child's
natural recuperative powers an opportunity to effect his return to some sort of
equilibrium. It is apparently too early to see evidence of such recovery—"
                   "Or too late," Richard said.