He smiled at Bleys again.
"That means that, while I can bathe in the summer, the winter months make it difficult—and we're just now finishing our winter as you know. When summer comes, my water tank outside will be warmed enough by the sun to deliver water safe for me to wash in. Until then, I try to stand at least at arm's length from people."
"I don't mind," said Bleys, "particularly, I don't mind most things once they're explained:"
Gregg smiled again.
"You know," he said, "I think I may have hopes for you after all."
He began to shuffle out of the room. Then he paused and turned back.
"Oh, by the way, I'd suggest you wait here until Walser Doyle has picked me up and taken me off. It'll be easier for you if the rest of the congregation doesn't know for a while you felt the need to have a talk with me. Oh, and by the way, when you tell Henry about our talk, it'll do no harm if you refer to what I told you as
instruction.
It's a word that'll make Henry more comfortable."
"I'll remember," said Bleys, "and I'll wait here until you're gone—oh, excuse me. There's one more thing. Do I go to church with the others?"
"If you wish to, of course. Now just let yourself out after I'm gone," said Gregg, disappearing slowly through the doorway. "This house is never locked night or day. It hasn't been for more than forty years."
Bleys sat back down in his chair and waited.- It was not more than two minutes later by his watch that he heard a motorized vehicle pull up to the front of the parking lot, close to the small brown house. The front door opened and a voice called.
"Gregg!"
"Coming, Walser!" Bleys heard Gregg's voice answer.
There was the sound of Gregg's shuffling footsteps heard faintly in the distance, a word or two spoken too low for Bleys to understand. Then the front door opened and closed, shutting off the voices entirely. A moment later Bleys heard the vehicle start up again and leave the area.
He waited a few moments more until it should be out of sight, then went out himself by the front door.
He did not go immediately back toward Henry's farm, however. Instead he made a tour of the house from the outside and located the black-painted tank fastened high on one outer wall by a rear comer. It was in shade at this time of day, for the house was so placed that that wall was more east-facing than anything else.
Bleys went back into the house. It took him some searching, but eventually he uncovered a hammer, a screwdriver and some other tools. A little more searching down in the basement discovered a stepladder, which he brought up and carried outside.
Mounted on the stepladder, he found that the tank, pretty much as he had guessed, was fastened to the house by a couple of straps, each one secured at each end by a screw, and the pipe running to it up and along the outside of the wall was the usual flexible plastic used for plumbing connections.
He was starting to unscrew the first of the eight screws that held the straps, when he realized that with the tank full of water, he could probably not lift it. He searched and found both an intake valve and a drain valve on the bottom of the tank. He closed the intake and let the water out, before finishing the unscrewing of the screws.
With the empty tank in his arms, he loosened the flexible pipe and bent it around the corner of the building just to see if it would reach. It would.
He fastened the water tank in place temporarily with one screw. Then he climbed down, moved the stepladder around the comer of the building and climbed it again. Reaching around the comer of the building, he took out the single screw and shifted the tank to the south-facing side of the building.
The sun would not only hit it more strongly now, but would hit it most of the day, both winter and summer. He fixed it firmly in place, closed the drain valve and turned the intake valve to refill the tank. Once he heard the water reach the top and stop automatically—it must have, he thought, some kind of float inside to warn it when it was nearly full—he went back down the ladder.
He folded up the ladder and, carrying it and the tools, went back to look at the side from which he had taken the tank, originally. The holes made by the screws that had held both tank and pipe there were visible—but only if you looked closely for them from the ground and knew where to look. Satisfied, he took tools and ladder back into the house, replaced them where he had found them, and turned back down the road to Henry's.
CHAPTER
9
Bleys walked back
toward H
enry's farm from Gregg's small h
ouse by the church. The late winter day had turned out cloudless, with a touch of the first fierce heat of the short summer to come.
Bleys seemed to find it kindling a matching fierceness in him. Gregg had as good as told him that he could never be a Friendly because he could not believe in a God; and it would follow, therefore, that there was no use in his trying to become one of them.
There was more to his need to be a Friendly than a wish to prove Gregg wrong. He had already felt strongly that there was something he wanted to make out of his life—and would make, even though everybody on all the inhabited worlds told him it wasn't possible.
His future simply had to be something far greater than someone like Gregg, or even Henry or Dahno, could imagine. If it was necessary for him to be a Friendly to reach it, then he would be a Friendly. But he would also find a way to God, or find a God, if necessary to do that.
That much was settled. He deliberately set it aside as a thing fixed and done with. He made himself think back instead to his talk with Gregg, and what he might be able to use from it that would help him to his goal.
Now that he thought about it, the bent and crippled man had told him almost more by his personality and attitude than he had in what he had said. An important point was the difference between him and Henry, considering they belonged to the same church—which had led Bleys to believe earlier that they would think exactly alike.
This one discovery had opened up for Bleys a whole new picture of the people here. It had triggered off an understanding that they all were prisoners of what they believed in. It was not a case, as he had first thought, from Henry's actions, of those same beliefs letting them do things that otherwise would be unacceptable. That was evidently what Fanatics did that was wrong.
This changed everything. It made people like Henry and Gregg simply a different kind of the same sort of grown-up Bleys had dealt with all his life.
In each case, each person was a prisoner of what he had chosen to be. Once you understood what that was, it was simply a matter of finding out what let each one do what he did and kept him from doing other things. Then, once you knew, you could use your knowledge of this to understand them on a much deeper level.
Even Bleys' mother, with all her denial of her Exotic background, had been an Exotic in every way she lived and acted.
In Henry's case, Bleys would have to learn all about his way of life; and in the church community's case, what it was they all agreed on.
All this was undoubtedly true as well of Joshua and Will; though at this point they did not seem to pose Bleys any particular problems. Just the opposite. They were a comfort and a help, both of them.
Whether Dahno had done what Bleys planned to do in becoming a Friendly was still hidden from him. But it, too, would be discoverable eventually. Dahno himself would know this, of course, and Dahno himself would be on guard against Bleys finding out about it. But in the long run, if Dahno allowed a close association between himself and his younger half-brother, he could not help giving away what both moved him and limited him.
Since Dahno had once been in Bleys' situation, probably he in turn would be trying to search out the pattern to Bleys. Whatever happened, Bleys must not let him know that he had planned to use being a Friendly as a means to some larger end. It would be a chess match between them, with Dahno's age and experience giving him a large advantage.
Bleys got back to the farm in time to take over the cleaning and beyond that the disposing of the noon meal; and then set himself to concentrating on the two things that he already knew had a strong influence over Henry. One was a matter of the .motor he was trying to build. Another was clearly an intention on his part to bring up not only his sons, but Bleys, within the same way that he approved of himself.
Bleys went about the rest of his day's work back at the house with his mind considering idea after idea.
"Did you learn a great deal from Teacher Gregg?" asked Henry that night at dinner.
"Yes, Uncle," said Bleys, "I thank God for your sending me to receive instruction from him."
In that moment Bleys decided to take a chance. It was doubtful that Henry would check with Gregg as to exactly what he said to Bleys and what Bleys said to him.
"I must begin going to church with you, next church-day," Bleys said, "and when convenient I'd like to talk to him again. He said it would be all right."
"In that case, you shall," said Henry. "We can always make time for that."
Bleys had already learned enough about his uncle to know that a statement like the one Henry had just made was not likely to be forgotten, or as a promise, broken. Bleys let himself fall, accordingly, into the daily routine of the farm, ready to wait for the right moment in which to suggest to Henry
that the time might be right for another visit by him to Gregg.
However, before the next church-day came around, a day or so later Dahno came again on one of his visits, once more carrying small gifts of engine parts for Henry. Once more he took Bleys off on a trip into Ecumeny; and they had the afternoon together in which to talk.
Bleys was happy to see him. There was one thing that he had felt he must speak to Dahno fairly quickly about. School would be opening soon, and he did not want to be crowded in with the other local youths. He waited until they were settled at an eating place in Ecumeny, before bringing up the subject.
"We're only a few weeks away from full summer now," he said to Dahno, "and you know mat the only thing that keeps Joshua and Will and me out of the local school, is the fact that in winter things can be grown and other things done around the farm. I think it would be a lot better if I wasn't sent to that school. For one thing it's probably a little school that doesn't go very high in the grades. For another thing, even the best I could do to hide it, they'd catch on very quickly to the fact that I wasn't like the rest of them."
"Good thinking," said Dahno, thoughtfully.
"I think," said Bleys, choosing his words as carefully as he would place his feet in trying to cross a room floored with eggs, "the idea of my being different is bound to come out sooner or later; but it would be better if they just thought that I had some sort of quirk. Don't you think so?"
"Yes," said Dahno slowly, "I do think so. Not that I can see any immediate problems coming from it, but it's always better not to take chances if you don't havevto. Particularly, if you're going to have to stay there for another three or four years."
Bleys felt a cold thrill run through him at the thought of three or four years. He was still young enough so that three or four years sounded like a lifetime sentence.
"I'll be going to the church on Sundays with Henry, Joshua and Will," Bleys went on. "But if, aside from that, I had to leave the farm as little as possible, then things would be disturbed as little as possible, wouldn't they?"
"Don't go assuming I'll agree with you, like that," said
Dahno. "You know, I just might disagree with you. However, in this case I think you're right. The less Uncle Henry's foreign nephew is found to be different, the better. Also it means that you'll be following a schedule different from that of the other two boys, and that'll give us more and more opportunity for me to bring you into the city and get you trained in, when the time comes."
"I was thinking of that too," said Bleys. "Also, there's the fact that I probably know more than anyone else who'll be a student there—probably more than the teacher himself."
"As far as book learning goes," said Dahno, "that, anyway, is probably true enough."
He thrummed his fingertips on the table for a moment, thoughtfully.
"Yes, you're right," he said, "you'd stand out like the ugly duckling in the barnyard; and there's nothing to be gained by that; and possibly something to lose. But there's two things to deal with if you don't go to their school. One is, you'll need to continue your education some other way. The second thing is, and more important, there'll have to be an excuse for your staying home."
"I could be a sort of
idiot savant,
" suggested Bleys eagerly, "you know what I mean. Someone with one talent, but otherwise not too bright—"
"I know what you mean," said Dahno. "Have you forgotten who I am? All right, we'll handle the first problem of your education at long distance. I'll get hold of a tutor for you, here in Ecumeny, and have him lay out a course of study for you. I can bring you the study materials, the books for your reader and anything else that's needed when I come out on these visits. That takes care of that—"
"Just one other thing," interrupted Bleys quickly, "in addition to the reader with the books and the other study materials, could I have any books I ask for myself? And Henry mentioned something about there being a place called a District Library—"
"Oh yes," Dahno interrupted in his turn, "when these two worlds were first settled, the corporation paying for transportation and the terraforming and everything else, set up free District Libraries. The local people were to go to them for information on how to raise their crops, breed their animals and build things right on up through large construction; and city- and even country-wide finance. You'd like access to that too?"
"If you don't mind," said Bleys, with quick diffidence.
"Why should I mind?" Dahno said. "The more you prepare yourself, the better use you'll be to me when the time comes. By all means study everything under the stars, Little Brother. I'll only approve."
"Thank you, Dahno," said Bleys.
"Never thank me," said Dahno. "Anything I do for you I do as much for my own benefit as for yours—in fact I do it more for my own benefit than for yours. Now, as regards coming up with a good reason for Henry to keep you home, and let you study instead of helping around the farm. That may take some thought."
He sat silent for a moment, and Bleys sat in silence also, to let him think. Then a smile spread across Dahno's face again. He looked at Bleys.
"How do you feel about being sick for a day or two?" he said.
"You mean, pretend to be sick?" said Bleys.
He felt a very similar chill to the one he had felt earlier. He was sure that if Henry discovered that his sickness was not real, it might be something that would justify the strap being brought into play again, this time against him.
"Certainly not," said Dahno, still smiling. "We'll locate something to make you literally sick; with a high temperature and an upset stomach for a couple of days. Wait until someday on the farm where you either work very hard, or spend a lot of time outdoors in the sun, then take the medication. At the very least Henry'll have definite proof you're sick. Tell him that it's something that happens to you often; and that I can explain it. That I told you that if it ever happened to you to have him call me collect here in Ecumeny and I'd tell him what to do."
Bleys curled up a little inside at the thought—not so much at running a temperature—but of being nauseated. He hated it when his body was anything but a fully obedient and unconscious servant of his. Above all he hated throwing up.
"Does it have to be that kind of sickness?" he asked. "Can't I just run a fever?"
"No," said Dahno, decisively, "you need more than that. Enough to make Henry call me, instead of the local medician they've got out there. Tell him no local medicine there'll fix you. Tell him you can't take it; it'd be dangerous to you. Tell him that I'm the only one who can bring out the proper kind of medicine for you."
"All right," said Bleys.
As he had confronted the problem of facing up to his mother, Bleys faced the fact that the business of taking the medication was inescapable. He had his own way of doing this. He simply placed the necessity of taking the medicine in the category of things unavoidable, and put it out of his mind.
"In fact," Dahno was saying, "we can pick up the stuff I want you to take, yet today, so you can carry it back with you when you go."
Even as he spoke, he was turning to his wrist monitor, to use it as a phone. He had its mute on, so Bleys could not hear what he said into it; but after a few moments he dropped his wrist and turned back to Bleys.
"We'll go now," he announced, getting up from the table. "We have to cross to the other side of the city to pick it up. Then it'll be time to take you back to the farm."
The pills turned out to be three small brownish things, so small that it was hard for Bleys to believe that they would have much effect on him. He was to take only one at any time. Nonetheless, the day came, a little less than a week later, when he had been told to leave the cleaning up to Will and go out with Joshua early in the afternoon to move the goats from their winter to their summer pasture some two thousand feet up the side of a nearby small mountain. He took advantage of the opportunity, waiting until he was almost back at the farm before he surreptitiously swallowed one of the pills.
It went down with no trouble; and for about half an hour he felt no different and was beginning to wonder if perhaps he should not take a second pill. Then he began to feel the first flush of heat in his body; and within fifteen minutes after that came the first slight twinge of nausea.
Within the hour, he had vomited several times. Henry was away from the farm with the goat-cart on business of his own; but Joshua, taking charge, ordered Bleys to bed, and told Will to put cool cloths on his head until their father could get home and arrive at a more definite decision of what was to be done for Bleys.
Bleys ended up that night by being very sick indeed. Henry had arrived home just before dinner, and been surprised to find Bleys in bed.
Joshua was outside working, out of sight, so the first person to tell Henry about things was Will. Henry was puzzled. Sickness was uncommon among their people.
He took a look at Bieys, produced a medical thermometer from some storage place and took Bleys' temperature. It was two and a half degrees above normal and seemed to be climbing.
"We'll have to get in Medician Kris Roderick," Henry said, looking at the thermometer. "It may be nothing, but on the other hand I'll feel better if Roderick's looked at him."
Bleys protested feebly, stammering out the story that Dahno had said he should tell his uncle.
"Well, all right," Henry said at last, "I can call the city from the local store. I'll be back just as soon as I can."
When he returned after talking to Dahno, he was clearly resigned to waiting for Dahno's arrival—which might be late that night, or might not be until the following morning.
He questioned Bleys again about this sickness of his, and its history. But Bleys only repeated that it was something that hit him occasionally when he overexerted himself. Henry finally gave up and left him to himself, except for the ministrations of Will and Joshua, who were taking turns putting cold cloths on his head.
Eventually, the boys went to bed, and Henry took over the business of putting the cool cloths on Bleys' head and also helping him to a sort of chamber pot in which he could vomit, when the waves of nausea got too bad. He stayed up with Bleys all night long, and was surprisingly gentle in his ministrations to him.
Bleys was vomited empty early in the evening, and continued to retch without being able to bring anything more up through the rest of the dark hours. Altogether he spent a miserable night. But with the morning, fairly early—in fact not much later than a couple of hours after sunrise—-there was the roaring of the hovercar coming up the road to the farm, and a little while later Dahno was with him.
"Well, well, got it again, have you?" Dahno said gently, coming up to his bunk. "Well, this won't cure it right away, but it'll make you feel better and let you get some sleep."
He produced three more white pills not much larger than the ones that he had originally given Bleys to make him sick; and he held Bleys' upper body upright in the bunk with one huge hand, so that the boy could wash one of the white pills down with a cup of water.
He laid Bleys easily back down on the bedcovers. Bleys lay there, hardly caring what had happened to him or what might happen next
...
but with surprising quickness, whatever Dahno had given him began to take effect. The nausea finally began to disappear from him; and he felt his body cooling.
He was obsessed with a desire for sleep—so exhausted, that he had not taken into account really how tired Henry must be from sitting up with him all night. Without even thanking Dahno or Henry, he closed his eyes; and sleep pulled him down into a very profound slumber.
He was much better the next day, but still got dizzy when he tried to sit up and he needed someone to help him walk even as far as the chamber pot. The day after that he no longer felt sick in any way, but was still very weak, so that he spent most of the day in bed.
He made a mental note that the next time he was involved with Dahno in any matter which required him to take drugs, he would try to find the source of the drug himself and make sure he knew what he was getting, or else insist on talking to