Authors: Piers Anthony
A communications board provides helpful messages: “My—–hurts.” A girl is moved to Ward 7. A nerve is blocked. A companion is chosen. A support brace to therapists becomes elven armor in a girl’s imagination. Someone moves her left hand for the first time. A letter appears with a mysterious signature. A whistle sounds. And the first word is spoken, “Hi.”
Apull 3, 1989
Dear Jenny
,
What’s that? Why didn’t I send this letter in care of the Monster Under the Bed in the Cute Care section of Cumbersome Hospital, as I have before? Well, it’s a long story. You see I have a feature of my computer program that will put on a whole address when I type one word. That way I can type “Jenny” and it puts it all there in half an eyeblink. I use it mostly for business letters, but since I’ve been writing fairly often to you, I decided to put you in too. Then when I print out the letter, I can copy that address for the envelope. But if I set it up with the Bed Monster and all, I might accidentally type that onto the envelope, and then I’m not sure exactly where the letter would go, but I’m afraid it would not reach you as quickly. So give the Bed Monster my regrets; this letter is in care of someone else.
I was going to write to you yesterday, Sunday, and phone the hospital to learn how you were doing, but things happened. My day started well, because when I rode my bicycle out to pick up the newspapers (we’re so deep in the forest that our mail box is three quarters of a mile away) I saw a cloud sitting on the ground. It had come down to rest for the night, where it thought no one would see, but it overslept and I saw it resting about three feet above the ground, and the tops of the trees showing above it. It’s a rare thing to catch a cloud napping like that; mostly they stay way up high and pretend that they never sleep at all.
I decided it was time to listen to that record with the beautiful picture on the album, the one with the huge stone musical instruments and the castle in the background, and the girl in the red dress dancing—well, maybe she’s just standing there enjoying it, with the wind blowing her hair off to the side, just the way you’re going to, one of these days, after you get better—but to do that I had to put together the record player, after postponing that chore for about a year. So I got it set up, and the tape player too—what a mass of wires and connections and things, all threaded through impossible-to-reach little holes in the back! That’s almost as bad as combing the tangles out of your hair after you’ve been through a windstorm. That used up my morning, but I did listen to the record. That hammer dulcimer actually sounds delicate, not at all like a carpenter’s hammer on metal. Oh I knew better, but somehow that’s how I thought of it. It’s nice enough music, and it does sound as if there’s a heartbeat in it. Maybe I’ll get one of those dulcimers, though I have no hope of playing it decently. If you and I ever meet, you can play it decently. My daughter Cheryl was home from college this week, and she’s taking a class in the recorder, and she was practicing on it, tootling away at all hours of the day and night. My parents used to play the recorder, and I think it’s great if my daughter does too. The more music the better. This morning on the radio I heard
Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring
, and that’s one of the loveliest pieces I’ve heard. I was trying to read the newspaper, but I just had to stop and listen. Oh, I know, that sounds like a cumbersome title, but believe me, the music is beautiful, and if you ever get a chance to listen to it, do so. For that matter, if you ever have a chance to listen to Grieg’s Peer Gynt—I’m not sure I’ve spelled that right, but it’s such wonderful music that it almost gives me hope for the world.
Anyway, that’s how my morning went. Then the phone rang: two of my readers were in town and wanted to visit. Okay, I meant to talk with them for an hour, but I always talk three times as much as is good for me—it’s a trait I share with your mother, I think—and it was close to three hours before they left. Then I had to mow our lawn. We’re deep in the forest, but we do have a little lawn around the house, in patches; it was even, but the horses grazed parts down to bare dirt, until we confined them to the pasture. That finished my afternoon. Then I had to finish Chapter Three of
Isle of View
, and that was only 500 words but I kept running into things I had to figure out, so it took time. So I never got to this letter, and never called the hospital. I hope you didn’t miss me. So now I’m doing it first thing this morning.
Yes, I wrote Chapter Two, with Jenny Elf. She managed to scare off the goblins by picking cherry bombs from a nearby cherry tree and tossing them behind the goblins, who fled. Then she untied Che Centaur and told the cat to find a safe place, and then the two of them followed the cat. Your folks were going to ask you about the name of that cat, but you had such a big day that day, with everyone visiting (and listening to my last letter? Ouch—I hope I didn’t say anything naughty!) that there wasn’t time for that. I understand you are doing so well that they may move you out of Cute Care. All those nurses there will be so lonely when you go! Anyway, Jenny and Che and the cat do make it to the raft on the With-a-Cookee River, but mean Fracto drives them back to shore and the goblins capture them. Tune in next week, when maybe I will have written the next Jenny chapter and saved her from a fate worse than a flu shot.
I’m enclosing a comic strip, “Curtis.” I don’t read comics much these days, except for “Calvin and Hobbes,” but the newspaper is just now starting this one up, so that they can have a black comic to go with all the white comics they have. I think I’m going to like it, and you can see why. We vegetarians can get obnoxious when we try.
Last night I looked out back, and there were dozens of fireflies flashing green. That’s the first time I’ve seen them here. Maybe the freshly mowed lawn attracted them. Folk who hate bugs should try watching fireflies some time.
Remember Elsie the Bored Cow? Then I saw another one, Hownow Brown, and my wife saw a third, and we realized that there must be a hole in the fence. Those cows belong to the sheriff, and he checked and found that the air-boats had shoved a hole in his fence where it’s at the pond, and the cows were getting through. So they weren’t lost, they were just heading for the farthest and greenest pastures.
Tell your mother that I got her letter of Marsh 29 and I hope she’s well enough this week to come in and see you. Maybe she’ll be able to read this letter to you. Of course that means I can’t say things about her, the way I have in other letters; she might be listening. She asked about the article I wrote for THE WRITER that mentioned you, so I’m enclosing one of the messed-up copies my computer ran off. You are mentioned on page 7; tell her she doesn’t need to bother reading the rest of it, which is mostly about technicalities of writing. I don’t know when it will be published, but at least this will let you folk know what I said.
Keep getting better, Jenny! I understand you even waved to your daddy the other day. I guess that’s better than wiggling a toe at him.
Apull 9, 1989
[This letter was addressed to Jenny at Warp 7-A, Sick Bay,
Enterprise.]
Dear Jenny
,
What’s that? You don’t recognize the pun? It relates to Star Trek, where they are always zooming into space at Warp Factor 7 or something. When I heard you had moved to—oh,
Ward?
Sorry, I misheard. And they have a barrier up to block off the nerds—what? Oh, nerves. I thought you said—well, never mind.
I have some good news, which you may already have heard. I wrote to Richard Pini, and he phoned me and said it was fine to use an Elfquest elf in Xanth. In fact, he said they would send you a note. I gave him your address; I thought it was all right. So if the one thing you wanted more than a note from Xanth was one from Elfquest, now maybe you have it.
Remember how your mother wrote me a four page letter when you smiled, and six pages when you laughed? When you got better enough to leave Cute Care, she called me and talked for seven pages. I think she’s having trouble keeping up with you.
I’m still working on Isle of View. I am now in Chapter 5, “Chex’s Checks,” and right now Chex is trying to get past the evil cloud Fracto, who naturally wants to stop her from getting wherever she’s going. Grundy Golem is with her, yelling insults at Fracto, so it’s getting pretty stormy. I’ll be back with Jenny Elf in the next chapter, but first I have to get through this one. Writing a novel can be almost as much work as recovering from a coma, I think. Well, maybe not that much. Some day maybe you’ll write a novel, and you can let me know then. Chex is going to fly so high, trying to get over Fracto, that she winds up on the moon, and not the honey side of it either. Did you ever get all four feet mired in green cheese? Even Grundy’s big mouth isn’t going to be much help there!
Remember when I told you about our rows of pine trees, and the blueberries that were getting mowed down? Well, a lot of blueberry bushes did get flattened, but a number survived because they were between the trees where the mower couldn’t reach. Now they have berries, and we’ll be able to pick them before long. Spring comes early to Florida, you see. You know, as I look at those pine trees, and see all the rows, it’s as though each row is a life, going straight through to the other side, with the trees alongside marking off the years. Some go a long way, and some only a short way. Each seems unique, yet if you step into the next row, there it is with its own life, just as nice. I think that if we could step from one person’s life to another, as we can between the rows, we would see how similar they are, even though each is the only one that seems real to it, and each probably believes that if it closed its eyes, all the others would have no existence. It’s sort of funny and sort of sad and sort of awesome too.
We had a little bat visit. We found it on our garage door a few evenings ago, hanging from the top of the screen. It must have been too tired to make it home, so it stopped at our house. It turned its head and looked at us, but didn’t fly away. We left the garage open, but it stayed where it was all night, and the next day. I’m afraid it’s dead now. We would have helped it if we could, but we don’t know much about bats except that they are good to have around. They’re like flying mice, really. So I guess we’ll have to bury it. Some don’t make it out of the hospital, unfortunately. I considered calling it Brick Bat, after the one in
Heaven Cent
, but that might be unkind.
Remember all those fireflies that turned up in our forest? They’re still here; every night they flash all around our house. I woke up one night and there was one flashing in our bedroom. I thought about catching it in a glass and taking it out, but I was afraid that in the dark I’d hurt it, so I waited till morning—and then couldn’t find it. I hope it found its own way out, because houses really aren’t the place for fireflies. We have fireflies by night and dragonflies by day. I was talking with some folk outside, and a dragonfly came and perched on my shoulder. They’re so pretty, with their four wings and their different colors! I saw six blue ones at once, one day. When we go out, they are always curious just what we’re doing, and sometimes they will sit on our hands if we hold them up.
I’m enclosing a cartoon about the awful oil spill this past week in Alaska. Do you watch the news on TV? Maybe you should. Two recent headlines have been about the oil spill and nuclear fusion. Do you want a lecture on how they’re connected? No? Too bad, because I’m going to give it anyway, and maybe you’ll be interested when you see how it relates to you.
You see, our world needs a whole lot of energy, for everything from jet planes to hospitals. They get most of it from fossil fuels like oil, and when they ship that oil, accidents happen. You know how bad drunken drivers are? You would not be in that hospital now, if the driver who hit you hadn’t been drinking. It’s a mean, bad business, drinking and driving, and there’s a group trying to stop it, called MADD. That stands for Mothers Against Drunk Driving. Well, the captain of that oil tanker was drunk, and his ship cracked up and leaked oil into the sea, and now thousands of innocent birds and seals and fish are dying because they got soaked in oil. So we need to stop the drunk drivers—but also to stop the shipment of oil, so it can’t foul the ocean.
The trouble is, we need that oil, for a squintillion things. So what do we do? Well, another source of power is nuclear energy. But that can foul things up awfully too, when some drunk driver pulls the wrong switch, and radiation gets all over the place. But there is one kind of nuclear power, nuclear fusion—that’s pronounced New-Clear Few-Shun—that hardly makes radiation at all, and could make enough energy to take care of all our needs for just about forever. It’s what makes the sun shine, after all. The trouble is, it is very hard to make fusion work on Earth; it takes about a billion dollars worth of equipment, and they still don’t have it working. Except that now these scientists have found a way to do it simply and cheaply at room temperature. Maybe. They have set up something a bit like a car battery, that makes so much heat it melts the equipment, and they think that only fusion could account for that. We can’t be sure until other scientists duplicate the effect, to be sure it really works. But if it does work, it may mean that we won’t need oil any more, and no more poor ducks will die in the spills. That’s why, in the cartoon, the animals are hoping that fusion will work.
So there was the lecture. Now you know why you should be interested in nuclear fusion. Because you care about animals. Maybe you’ll grow up to be a cartoonist like that, who helps folk understand what’s at stake.
I understand you may have a roommate now. I hope you get along okay. My daughters have roommates at college. Anyway, keep getting better, Jenny!
Apull 14, 1989
Dear Jenny
,
Ha: I finally got my new ribbon, so the letter will print out dark instead of light. See, look at it—isn’t that nice? No, don’t squinch your eyes shut! I’ll hold my breath until you look. One, two, threemph, fourmth, gasp—ha, you looked! Now let me catch my breath.