More Than Human

‘I told you. I don’t do anything here. You do it.’

‘You hypnotized me.’

‘I did not.’ His voice was quiet, but he really meant it.

‘What was all that, then? It was… it was like it was happening for real all over again.’

‘Feel anything?’

‘Everything.’ I shuddered. ‘Every damn thing. What was it?’

‘Anyone doing it feels better afterwards. You can go over it all again now any time you want to, and every time you do, the hurt in it will be less. You’ll see.’

It was the first thing to amaze me in years. I chewed on it and then asked, ‘If I did it by myself, how come it never happened before?’

‘It needs someone to listen.’

‘Listen? Was I talking?’

‘A blue streak.’

‘Everything that happened?’

‘How can I know? I wasn’t there. You were.’

‘You don’t believe it happened, do you? Those disappearing kids and the footstool and all?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not in the business of believing or not believing. Was it real to you?’

‘Oh, hell, yes!’

‘Well, then, that’s all that matters. Is that where you live, with those people?’

I bit off a fingernail that had been bothering me. ‘ Not for a long time. Not since Baby was three.’ I looked at him. ‘You remind me of Lone.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. No, you don’t.’ I added suddenly. ‘I don’t know what made me say that.’ I lay down abruptly.

The ceiling was grey and the lamps were dim. I heard the pipe-stem click against his teeth. I lay there for a long time.

‘Nothing happens,’ I told him.

‘What did you expect to happen?’

‘Like before.’

‘There’s something there that wants out. Just let it come.’

It was as if there was a revolving drum in my head, and on it were photographed the places and things and people I was after. And it was as if the drum was spinning very fast, so fast I couldn’t tell one picture from another. I made it stop, and it stopped at a blank segment. I spun it again, and stopped it again.

‘Nothing happens,’ I said.

‘Baby is three,’ he repeated.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘That.’ I closed my eyes.

That might be it. Might, sight, night, light. I might have the sight of a light in the night. Maybe the baby. Maybe the sight of the baby at night because of the light…

There was night after night when I lay on that blanket, and a lot of nights I didn’t. Something was going on all the time in Lone’s house. Sometimes I slept in the daytime. I guess the only time everybody slept at once was when someone was sick, like me the first time I arrived there. It was always sort of dark in the room, the same night and day, the fire going, the two old bulbs hanging yellow by their wires from the battery. When they got too dim, Janie fixed the battery and they got bright again.

Janie did everything that needed doing, whatever no one else felt like doing. Everybody else did things, too. Lone was out a lot. Sometimes he used the twins to help him, but you never missed them, because they’d be here and gone and back again bing! like that. And Baby, he just stayed in his bassinet.

I did things myself. I cut wood for the fire and I put up more shelves, and then I’d go swimming with Janie and the twins sometimes. And I talked to Lone. I didn’t do a thing that the others couldn’t do, but they all did things I couldn’t do. I was mad, mad all the time about that. But I wouldn’t of known what to do with myself if I wasn’t mad all the time about something or other. It didn’t keep us from blesh-ing. Bleshing, that was Janie’s word. She said Baby told it to her. She said it meant everyone all together being something, even if they all did different things. Two arms, two legs, one body, one head, all working together, although a head can’t walk and arms can’t think. Lone said maybe it was a mixture of ‘blending’ and ‘meshing’, but I don’t think he believed that himself. It was a lot more than that.

Baby talked all the tune. He was like a broadcasting station than runs twenty-four hours a day, and you can get what it’s sending any time you tune in, but it’ll keep sending whether you tune in or not. When I say he talked, I don’t mean exactly that. He semaphored mostly. You’d think those wandering vague movements of his hands and arms and legs and head were meaningless, but they weren’t. It was semaphore, only instead of a symbol for a sound, or such like, the movements were whole thoughts.

I mean spread the left hand and shake the right high up, and thump with the left heel, and it means, ‘Anyone who thinks a starling is a pest just don’t know anything about how a starling thinks’ or something like that. Janie said she made Baby invent the semaphore business. She said she used to be able to hear the twins thinking – that’s what she said; hear them thinking – and they could hear Baby. So she would ask the twins whatever she wanted to know, and they’d ask Baby, and then tell her what he said. But then as they grew up they began to lose the knack of it. Every young kid does. So Baby learned to understand when someone talked, and he’d answer with this semaphore stuff.