Lucy (26 page)

41

HARRY TOOK JENNY AND AMANDA
back to see the lawyer, Sy Joseph, and to begin the process of filing the lawsuit. Jenny contacted Senator Martin Cochrain, and he agreed at once to squeeze her into his busy schedule. The trip to Washington was three days away. Harry had agreed to go. The time seemed to be taking forever to pass. But at least Jenny felt that she was doing something, taking directed action toward a goal. There was even a hopeful ray of light when Joseph called to say that a recent Supreme Court decision suggested that habeas corpus might eventually be reestablished in the United States.

“But don’t get your hopes up just yet,” he added. “They’ve written similar opinions in the past and the government has just ignored them.”

Early one morning Jenny was in her study trying to get some work done. There had been an odd autumn storm in the night, and as the lightning and thunder shook the neighborhood, she had been filled with sadness as she remembered Lucy’s rain dance, which had brought the police screaming up the alley. Now the clouds had peeled away to reveal blue sky. The air was clear. As the sun retreated to the south, the birch leaves had turned bright yellow, and Jenny recalled the quiet evenings that she’d spent with the girls when they were still in school. She recalled one night in particular when Lucy had recited one of her favorite passages from Edna St. Vincent Millay:

Not the feet of children pushing
Yellow leaves along the gutters
In the blue and bitter fall
,
Shall content my musing mind
For the beauty of that sound
That in no new way at all
Ever will be heard again
.

“Because when you die, you go,” Lucy had said. “But where does your voice go? Nothing else in the world can make those particular sounds. Just like when a thunderstorm goes, there will never be exactly the same thunderstorm again. Every day, things happen that have never happened before. And there are things that happen that will never happen again.” She paused, then said, “Like me.”

And Jenny wondered, What had happened to that beautiful mind, a mind that would never happen again? Where was Lucy’s voice now, which had sung Italian arias in the garden?

As she sipped her coffee, she wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t found Lucy or if she had decided to leave her in the jungle. Could she have lived among the bonobos without her father? She certainly knew their ways. Her mother was dead, but Lucy knew enough to understand that she’d have had to leave her family and go to mate with someone from another group. Would another family of bonobos have accepted her? Lucy had told Jenny about the time that Leda took her to see another family. So evidently Leda thought that Lucy would be accepted. She would have been expected to breed in the new family. Could she have become pregnant? She might be sterile. But if she had become pregnant, what sort of child would she have had there in the forest? Would a new race have arisen, one that her father had never even considered? Perhaps a race of talking bonobos instead of a race of people with bonobo-like qualities.

Jenny remembered from Stone’s notes that Leda had bred with other bonobos after Lucy was born. They were out there now, teenage bonobos, who had some of Leda’s human genetic material. What would their future be? Would they learn to talk? To make tools? Who would be living in that rain forest a thousand years from now? With a jolt of alarm at these thoughts, Jenny stood suddenly, knocking over her coffee cup.

“Shit.”

She yanked a fistful of tissues from the box and mopped the desk, then knelt to clean the hardwood floor. The coffee had stained the Congolese rug that she’d brought home some years before. As she soaked up the coffee with the tissue, she saw something orange behind a small file cabinet that she kept beneath the desk. Crawling farther under the desk, she reached it. As she drew it out of the cobwebs, she realized that it was one of Donald Stone’s notebooks. How did it get there? Could she have kicked it under there when his notebooks were strewn all over her study? It was certainly possible given her state of agitation that day. It could have simply been pushed off of her messy desk and fallen there. Or perhaps the burglars had dropped it in their haste. She stood, examining it more closely.

Amanda was at the door. “What’s that? Is that one of his notebooks?”

“Yes, it was behind the file cabinet. I have no idea how it got there.”

Amanda took it from Jenny and studied the cover. “Lucy should have that. One of the last ones.”

“Yes. If only we could get it to her.”

“Maybe send it to Donna. For safekeeping.”

“Safer than here.”

Jenny and Amanda stood reading it with their heads together. It was, in effect, a letter to Lucy, a final accounting.

“Did you see the news this morning?” Jenny asked.

“No, what?”

“Senator Rhodes, the guy with the toolbox at the hearing? His bill passed. Lucy is officially not a human.”

“What does it mean?”

“Presumably, they can do anything to her that they could do to an animal.”

Amanda put her hand over her mouth. Her face creased with anguish, but she made no sound. Jenny put her hand on her cheek, and Amanda fell against her.

42

LUCY WAS RETURNED
to the cage, where she discovered that someone had installed a metal cot and welded it to the bars. She could smell the sharp odor of flux. The mattress was neatly made with white sheets, a single pillow, a thin blanket. A portable toilet had been placed in a corner of the cage with a roll of toilet paper on the floor beside it. Lucy sat on the edge of the cot in a blue hospital gown and hugged herself.

She had vowed to waste no more energy bemoaning her fate or feeling terrified. Her fear had turned to anger now, a seething, steady rage at what was being done to her. She saw now what her father had done to her. He’d been right.
Homo sapiens:
Watch your back. And seemingly with the best of intentions, he’d done just the sort of evil that he’d warned her people might do to her. He had made her live. She would not have chosen that. But she was in the world, and now she vowed to plan and think her way out. She was determined to act deliberately and boldly when the time came. She did not yet know what the weak link was in this web of iniquity, but she would find out.

Eisner came at midday. He still wore his surgical mask. “How are you feeling? I hope you find the new bed to your liking. They’re still working on your other accommodations.” She merely stared at him. “Is there anything special you’d like to eat? I understand that you like breakfast cereals. I can have anything you like brought to you.” He paused, but Lucy said nothing. “I’m going to let you recover for another couple of days before we begin testing. We’re going to do a standard Penfield map to start with. Do you know what a Penfield map is?”

Lucy was not going to volunteer anything. She would simply wait for an opportunity and act when it came. Eisner watched her for another moment.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll perk up. I know you must be tired. I’ll let you rest now. I’ve been called to Washington, so I won’t be able to see you for a day or two. My aides and nurses will take care of you in my absence. The same ones you’ve already met. I want to build trust, and I don’t want you to have to get used to new people. So I’ve given strict orders. No one but the ones you already know will be allowed in here until I return. There will be another veterinarian on call in case of emergency. But I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Then he turned on his heel and left. It was the first time that it had occurred to Lucy that Eisner was not an MD. He was a vet. And the implication was clear: They could not have asked an MD to work on an animal.

She sat and watched the sunlight fall through the skylight and make its arc across the floor. The operating-room equipment had been removed and new equipment installed. A padded gray chair with a head brace and shackles. Many new electronic devices on wheels had been moved in around the chair. Lucy looked at the chair and saw herself in it, thinking, No, no. This is not me. This is not my end. I still have other plans.

Eisner had said, “Higher powers want you destroyed.” And: “I’m determined to protect you for as long as I can.” Lucy understood. A month, a year, ten years—who knew how long they could torture her? But eventually she would be destroyed. No trace of her would remain. She understood it all now. She had disappeared from the outside world of her own free will. She had run away and was lost in the forest. Drowned in the river. Jenny and Amanda and Harry would search, plan, scheme, grieve. And Lucy would be ash, circling the globe on the wind. No creature like her would ever exist again. Nor would there be any evidence that she had existed. She would have been a species of one.

All day long, Lucy thought as she watched the sun cross the floor. She recited poetry, plays, stories in her head to keep her mind active. “Wer, wenn ich schriee, hörte mich denn aus der Engel Ordnungen?” One of Eisner’s aides came and slid a tray of food through the slot and left. Lucy ignored it. Food would be dead weight, undigested in the rush of adrenaline that she felt certain would seize her. In The Stream she could sense that something was coming, but she did not yet know what form it would take. She felt ready for anything.

Her mind descended into darker literature as the day went on.

Tu fermeras l’œil, pour ne point voir, par la glace
,
       
Grimacer les ombres de soirs
,
Ces monstruosités hargneuses, populace
       
De démons noirs et de loups noirs
.

Then she rose once more with hope and confidence. “Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs …”

She had settled into acceptance and was reciting Whitman as the light gradually faded to pink. “I have instant conductors all over me …” Darkness fell at last. The sodium vapor lights snapped on and buzzed menacingly high above her. In preparation for whatever she might have to do, Lucy drank the bottle of water that the aide had left with the dinner tray. She looked at the food, congealed in grease. An idea was forming in her head, but it was still unclear.

She heard the key hit the lock and held herself still, waiting. When the man entered, she knew at once that he meant her harm. He was giving off all the signals that precede an attack. The way he moved, the eyes, the bitter smell of his sweat—all that hit her like a slap. He was a big man, in his forties, dark brown hair cropped short, pale blue eyes. He had a strong square jaw, a broad nose, and a thick neck. She sat still, assessing him. He watched Lucy as he crossed the room at an angle to the cage. He wasn’t coming directly toward her. What was he doing?

He opened a metal cabinet with a key. He brought out the rifle. She felt herself begin to tremble as she realized that he was going to dart her. Why? Where would he take her once she was sedated? Had Eisner asked him to do this? He would have mentioned it. He’d been just as forthright as he was indifferently cruel. But as she watched the man, she realized that he was not going to shoot. He was doing something else. But what was it? She knew that he didn’t belong there. He wore jeans and a plaid shirt. No scrubs, no lab coat, no surgical mask.

Carrying the rifle, the man returned to the door and left. Perhaps he was taking the rifle somewhere else to sedate an animal. Lucy’s mind was racing, her heart pumping, as she deliberately slowed her breathing and tried to think. No, that was wrong. She knew that he meant her harm—her specifically, not someone else. But he had done nothing. He was preparing something. He would return. And then he would do something appalling. She was sure of it. Perhaps he was going to put more anesthetic in the gun. Or poison. The possibilities tumbled through her mind, but she knew that it would do no good to guess. What had Eisner said? No one but the aides would be allowed in. So who was this man? “Higher powers want you destroyed.” Lucy knew that somehow she had to take away the advantage of the gun. Otherwise, she was certain to be killed. She had to make the man open the cage and come inside. She had to meet him one on one.

Think, she told herself. Think. Think. She remembered a conversation that she’d once had with her father about prayer. She had been reading about prayer and he told her that since they didn’t believe in gods, they didn’t pray. But Lucy had argued with him. She said that she prayed even without believing in gods. “To what? To whom?” he had asked.

“To the forest,” she said. “I pray to the forest to arrange things in a beneficial way.”

He had paused deep in thought and said, “I never thought of it that way. I never called it prayer, but I do that, too. The forest is the source of everything. Yes, I guess you’re right,” he said, and laughed at himself. “I guess we all pray even if there are no gods.”

And Lucy thought, Maybe he was wrong. Maybe there is a god. So now Lucy prayed to her god or her long-lost forest. For enlightenment. For wisdom. What could she do before that man returned that would force him to open the door of the cage? She sat very still, listening to the beating of her pulse in her ears. As she was waiting on the universe for an answer, she heard voices in the hall.

“No,” one voice said. “Don’t clean up in there tonight. I’ve sent the aides home. I don’t want anybody in the room with that hybrid.”

“Sure, Doc. Sure thing, Doc.” Lucy recognized the voice of the night cleanup man.

“Goodnight, then.”

“Night, Doc.”

Was it the on-call vet that Eisner had mentioned? He wasn’t supposed to come unless there was an emergency. She knew: He wanted no witnesses. Lucy felt a deep lethargy come over her. She simply wanted to sleep. Then all at once the answer rose from the mist of her mind like the first rays of sunlight in the forest morning.

Lucy stood and crossed the cage. She took the tray of dinner from the compartment and flung the food onto the floor. Mashed potatoes spread in white blotches like fungus. She stepped on the food and smeared it around. She tore the sheets and mattress and scattered the shreds around the cell. She reached up and dragged the bandage off of her head. She ripped the wires out of her skull. She winced at the sharp pain as her scalp tore. She took off her hospital gown, soaked up the blood that was flowing from her head, then put it back on. Then she smeared blood over her face and neck and arms. She lay on the floor as far from the cage door as she could, arranging her body in an awkward way as if she’d fallen. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. She heard the muffled sounds of the building’s ventilation system.

She felt her heart fill with a dread that spread through her stomach and thighs as the quiet grew. She thought back to the forest, to the time that the female leopard had come and snatched poor little Offie, the savagery of the bonobos’ counterattack. Offie was dead, but they had massed and charged the cat anyway, throwing stones and screaming. At last Lucy found what she needed: Rage. Rage at the thought of what those people were going to do. All at once, she was wide awake, filled with strength and energy. But she kept still. She made her mind a blank. She could see herself as if she were looking down on the cage from high above: A dead girl, filthy and smeared with blood, lying on a concrete floor, her neck jerked back in an attitude of anguish.

She was not sure how long she lay like that before she heard the key slide into the lock again. She held her breath. She dared not look. This would either work or it would not. There was no middle ground. She heard footsteps, then a sharp intake of breath and the word “Shit.” She heard footfalls. “What the hell—” She heard a clatter as the man set the rifle down. She heard a metallic jingling and then the sound of the big key turning the tumblers in the cage door.

She heard him say, “Goddamnit.”

She could feel her heart hammering. She allowed herself to view him through barely slit eyelids. She saw the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw, a small mole on his neck, as he approached to look more closely at her. She felt an electrical crackling of energy surge through her belly and legs.

This is what she learned in the jungle. Some things are automatic. When a big cat is onto you, you have to pick the right moment. You have but one chance to act. Even more than her strength, that was what had made her a good wrestler. You don’t really decide. You simply act from a place that is below the level of consciousness. An impulse rises within you that is irresistible because it is right, and if it’s not right, you simply don’t contribute any more to the gene pool. That’s what Lucy felt at that moment. It was the same feeling that she’d had the first time she went to Amanda’s house and the dog Cody had wanted to kill her. She knew that one of them would die on that spot. And that was fine. The one right thing that she had to do rose within her. There was no other choice. Now she felt the same. What she did was absolute and irrefutable. The forest had arranged it this way.

As the man leaned over her, Lucy rolled back, pulling her knees to her chest, and kicked him in the head with both feet. His head snapped back sharply. She heard it crack as he went flying across the cage and hit the bars. His head made the whole cage clang and vibrate as he went down with a heavy sigh, his neck askew. Lucy was on her feet and out of the cage. She grabbed the nearest heavy object she could find, a cinderblock. Everything was going in slow motion, sharp and clear. She turned and stepped back into the cage. She stood over him, the concrete block above her head, ready to smash his skull. She waited for him to move, but his neck was broken. He stopped breathing. The scent of his blood was sharp and metallic. She watched it flow into the drain where the janitor had washed the feces and urine.

Panting, glowing with sweat, Lucy dropped the cinderblock to the floor. She took off her hospital gown and rinsed it quickly with the hose. Then she tied it tight around her and picked up the cinderblock again. She flew across the bars of the cage, over the top, and up the steel beams that gripped the walls. She reached the skylight at the top and threw the cinderblock through the glass. She watched the glittering pieces fall and crash in slow motion onto the cage below. They broke into smaller fragments and settled around the body. She drew herself up onto the roof and ran to the edge. She took a quick look at the distance and then jumped rather than climbing down. She landed and rolled, then popped to her feet and was gone in the night.