The Lord of Opium

Thunder shook the building, and the lights dimmed briefly. The air outside must be fresh and cool, but inside it was stale. Matt had closed all the windows to keep from being observed. “She also responds to music—well, one piece of music,” he said.

“Like Mr. Orozco,” said Listen.

Matt remembered that this was Eusebio’s other name. “Yes. She dances to it and when it’s over, she falls asleep. I leave her alone for a while because I think she needs to rest.”

“Wow! It’s like Sleeping Beauty.”

“I thought you didn’t like fairy tales,” said Matt.

Listen stuck out her tongue. “Sor Artemesia says it’s ‘cultural history.’ She says it’s no different from anthropology, which is a respectable science.”

Clever Artemesia, thought Matt. She’d found a way past Listen’s prejudice. “You like Mirasol, don’t you?” he said.

“Sure! She saved me from the Bug. She can’t help being a crot.” (Matt winced inwardly at the word.) “Mirasol’s like Mbongeni. He can’t help being brainless, ’cause Dr. Rivas made him that way.”

For a minute the enormity of what Listen had just said didn’t sink in on Matt. “You knew that?” he said in amazement. “And you still like Dr. Rivas?”

Listen squatted next to Mirasol and stroked her hair as you might a dozing cat. “She’s really pretty when she’s asleep.”

Matt nodded. That thought had occurred to him, too. Awake, you noticed the eejit eyes and the utter passiveness. You couldn’t get past it. Asleep, you could see that she was outstandingly beautiful.

“Dr. Rivas told me about Mbongeni ages ago,” said Listen. “It was when the other Mbongeni was operated on.” She stopped stroking Mirasol’s hair and turned away. “People hate clones. They’re mean to them and say all kinds of nasty things about them. I was lucky because my original died before I was born, but Mbongeni wasn’t. Dr. Rivas said that it was right to keep him a happy baby, ’cause then he’d never know when people were insulting him. And he is happy. I play with him all the time, and I wish you’d let me go back there.”

“What other Mbongeni?” asked Matt.

Listen put her arms around her knees and squeezed her eyes shut. “Not telling.”

“There was another clone, wasn’t there? An older one.” Matt bent down and spoke directly into her face. Listen scooted around until her back was to him. “It’s no good keeping your eyes closed. I know what happened and so do you. Glass Eye Dabengwa came to the hospital and the other Mbongeni was operated on.”

“Didn’t see any Glass Eye Dabengwa. The other Mbongeni was sick. Dr. Rivas said so. He had a bad heart, and they had to take it out.”

The little girl was shaking, and so Matt held her. He rocked her back and forth, saying, “That’s all right. We won’t talk about it anymore.” He cursed the doctor for exposing her to things no child should know. He had a good idea where Listen’s night terrors came from. “I’m sorry I asked you the question. Let’s wake up Mirasol, and I’ll take you horseback riding.”

“Now? It was raining buckets when Fidelito and I went into the tunnel.” Listen gave a sigh and settled into Matt’s arms.

“It’ll be fun,” he assured her. “We’ll get wet and the horse will get wet. It’s like swimming in the air.”

This interested the little girl, who had learned to swim in the huge Alacrán pool. Sor Artemesia taught her and watched while she and Fidelito, who’d been taught by his grandmother, splashed around.

“Watch this,” said Matt. He clapped three times and said, “Waitress, wake up!” Mirasol shot to attention, ready for orders.

Listen crowed with delight. “It’s magic! I mean, ‘cultural history.’ Can I watch her dance?”

“Not today,” Matt said. “I don’t know how good it is for her to do it too often. And Listen”—she turned toward him—“let’s keep Mirasol’s dancing our secret.”

“Okeydokey,” she agreed. “Only, I get to see her next time.”

“Okeydokey,” said Matt.

34

THE GREENHOUSES

They left Mirasol in the kitchen with Celia and walked to the stable. The rain swept down, with periods of calm between the storm cells. Matt taught the little girl how to measure how far away a lightning bolt was. “When you see a flash, count one-thousand-and-one, one-thousand-and-two, and so on until you hear the thunder. Every five counts means it’s a mile away,” he said. As an afterthought he added, “If it’s closer than half a mile, we’ll go back to the stable.” He didn’t plan to take her far.

Listen squealed when the rain hit her, but once she got used to it she jumped around in a frenzy of glee. She splashed through puddles and squelched through mud. It was the happiest Matt had ever seen her.

An eejit brought them a Real Horse at the stable. “It’s awfully big,” Listen said.