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She couldn't grasp it.
"But you can't. Timmie-Timmie-"
"Please don't get so upset, Miss Fellowes."
"The world's only living Neanderthal, and you're talking about sending him
back?"
"As I've said. We've learned all we can. Now we have to move along."
"No."
"Let me get you something, Miss Fellowes."
"No," she whispered. "I don't need anything."
She was trembling. She rose and stumbled across the room in a kind of
nightmare and waited for the door to open, and walked through the antechamber
without looking either to the right or to the left.
Send him back?
Send him back?
Were they out of their minds? He wasn't a Neanderthal any more, except on the
outside. He was a gentle good-natured little boy who wore green overalls and
liked to look at picture tapes and books that told tales out of the Arabian
Nights. A boy who tidied up his room at the end of the day. A boy who could
use a knife and a fork and a spoon. A boy who could read.
And they were going to send him back to the Ice Age and let him shift for
himself in some Godforsaken tundra?
They couldn't mean it. He didn't stand a chance, back in the world he had come
from. He was no longer fitted for it. He no longer had any of the skills that
a Neanderthal needed to have, and in their place he had acquired a great many
new skills that were absolutely worthless in the
Neanderthal world.
He would die there, she thought.
jeopardize Timmie. He had seen it, and she hadn't. She had simply blinded
herself to the possibility. She had carefully ignored every obvious clue that
pointed to the blunt realities Hoskins had just been explaining to her. She
had allowed herself to assume, against all the evidence, against all reason-
that Timmie was going to be spending the rest of his life in the twenty-first
century.
But Mannheim knew it wasn't so.
And he had been waiting all this time for her to call him.
"I need to see you right away," she told him.
"At the Stasis headquarters?"
"No," she said. "Somewhere else. Anywhere. In the city somewhere.
You pick the place."
They met at a small restaurant near the river, where Mannheim said no one
would bother them, on a rainy midweek afternoon. Mannheim was waiting for her
when she arrived. It all seemed terribly clandestine to Miss
Fellowes, vaguely scandalous: lunch with a man who had made all sorts of
trouble for her employer. And-for that matter-lunch with a man. A man she
scarcely knew, a young attractive man. Not like Edith Fellowes at all to be
doing things like this, she told herself. Especially when she thought of that
dream she had once had, Mannheim knocking at her door, swooping her off her
feet when she answered-
"Every day. And now he can read."
Page 121
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Really!" Mannheim's eyes twinkled. He has a very nice smile, Miss
Fellowes thought. How could Dr. Hoskins have thought he was such a monster?
"That's an amazing step forward, isn't it? I bet the anthropology boys were
startled when they found out about it."
She nodded. She turned the pages of the menu as though she had no idea what it
was. The rain intensified outside; it drummed against the window of the little
restaurant with almost malevolent force. They were practically the only
customers.
Mannheim said, "I like the chicken in red wine sauce here, particularly.
And they do some fine lasagna. Or maybe you'd like the veal."
"It doesn't matter. I'll have whatever you're having, Mr. Mannheim."
He gave her an odd look. "Call me Bruce. Please. Shall we get a botde of
wine?"
"Wine? I never drink wine, I'm afraid. But if you'd like to get some for
yourself-"
He was still looking at her.
Over the drumbeat of the rain he said, "What's the trouble, Edith?"
(Edith?)
For a moment she was unable to say anything.
"I understand that that sad little captive child is finally going to be
returned to his proper people, to his mother and father and sisters and
brothers, to the world he belonged to and loved. That's something to
celebrate. Waiter! Waiter! I'd like a bottle of Chianti-make it a half-bottle,
I
guess, my friend won't be having any-"
Miss Fellowes stared at him in dismay.
Mannheim said, "But you look so troubled, Miss Fellowes. Edith. Don't you want
Timmie to return to his people?"
"Yes, but-but-" She waved her hands in a helpless gesture.
"I think I see." Mannheim leaned across the table toward her. He glowed with
sympathy and concern. "You've cared for him so long that you find it hard to
let go of him now. The bond between you and Timmie has become so strong that
it's a real shock to you to hear that he's being sent back. I
can certainly understand how you feel."
"That's part of it," Miss Fellowes replied. "But only a very small part."
"What's the real problem, then?"
At that moment the waiter arrived with the wine. He made a great show of
displaying its label to Mannheim and of pulling the cork, and poured a little
into Mannheim's glass to taste. Mannheim nodded. To Miss Fellowes he said,
"Are you sure you don't want any, Edith? On a foul rainy day like this-"
"No, that isn't it. Not as far as I know, and I don't think it would be. But
it would be fatal for Timmie. Look, he's civilized now. He can tie his
shoelaces and cut a piece of meat with a knife and a fork. He brushes his
teeth morning and night. He sleeps in a bed and takes a shower every day.
He watches picture tapes and now he can read simple little books. What good
are any of those skills in the Paleolithic era?"
Suddenly solemn, Mannheim said, "I think I see what you're getting at."
"And meanwhile," she went on, "he's probably forgotten whatever he knew about
how to live under Paleolithic conditions-and very likely he didn't know a lot
to begin with. He was only a little child when he came to us. His parents, his
tribal guardians, whoever, must have still been taking care of him. Even
Neanderthals wouldn't have expected a boy of three or four to know how to hunt [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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She couldn't grasp it.
"But you can't. Timmie-Timmie-"
"Please don't get so upset, Miss Fellowes."
"The world's only living Neanderthal, and you're talking about sending him
back?"
"As I've said. We've learned all we can. Now we have to move along."
"No."
"Let me get you something, Miss Fellowes."
"No," she whispered. "I don't need anything."
She was trembling. She rose and stumbled across the room in a kind of
nightmare and waited for the door to open, and walked through the antechamber
without looking either to the right or to the left.
Send him back?
Send him back?
Were they out of their minds? He wasn't a Neanderthal any more, except on the
outside. He was a gentle good-natured little boy who wore green overalls and
liked to look at picture tapes and books that told tales out of the Arabian
Nights. A boy who tidied up his room at the end of the day. A boy who could
use a knife and a fork and a spoon. A boy who could read.
And they were going to send him back to the Ice Age and let him shift for
himself in some Godforsaken tundra?
They couldn't mean it. He didn't stand a chance, back in the world he had come
from. He was no longer fitted for it. He no longer had any of the skills that
a Neanderthal needed to have, and in their place he had acquired a great many
new skills that were absolutely worthless in the
Neanderthal world.
He would die there, she thought.
jeopardize Timmie. He had seen it, and she hadn't. She had simply blinded
herself to the possibility. She had carefully ignored every obvious clue that
pointed to the blunt realities Hoskins had just been explaining to her. She
had allowed herself to assume, against all the evidence, against all reason-
that Timmie was going to be spending the rest of his life in the twenty-first
century.
But Mannheim knew it wasn't so.
And he had been waiting all this time for her to call him.
"I need to see you right away," she told him.
"At the Stasis headquarters?"
"No," she said. "Somewhere else. Anywhere. In the city somewhere.
You pick the place."
They met at a small restaurant near the river, where Mannheim said no one
would bother them, on a rainy midweek afternoon. Mannheim was waiting for her
when she arrived. It all seemed terribly clandestine to Miss
Fellowes, vaguely scandalous: lunch with a man who had made all sorts of
trouble for her employer. And-for that matter-lunch with a man. A man she
scarcely knew, a young attractive man. Not like Edith Fellowes at all to be
doing things like this, she told herself. Especially when she thought of that
dream she had once had, Mannheim knocking at her door, swooping her off her
feet when she answered-
"Every day. And now he can read."
Page 121
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Really!" Mannheim's eyes twinkled. He has a very nice smile, Miss
Fellowes thought. How could Dr. Hoskins have thought he was such a monster?
"That's an amazing step forward, isn't it? I bet the anthropology boys were
startled when they found out about it."
She nodded. She turned the pages of the menu as though she had no idea what it
was. The rain intensified outside; it drummed against the window of the little
restaurant with almost malevolent force. They were practically the only
customers.
Mannheim said, "I like the chicken in red wine sauce here, particularly.
And they do some fine lasagna. Or maybe you'd like the veal."
"It doesn't matter. I'll have whatever you're having, Mr. Mannheim."
He gave her an odd look. "Call me Bruce. Please. Shall we get a botde of
wine?"
"Wine? I never drink wine, I'm afraid. But if you'd like to get some for
yourself-"
He was still looking at her.
Over the drumbeat of the rain he said, "What's the trouble, Edith?"
(Edith?)
For a moment she was unable to say anything.
"I understand that that sad little captive child is finally going to be
returned to his proper people, to his mother and father and sisters and
brothers, to the world he belonged to and loved. That's something to
celebrate. Waiter! Waiter! I'd like a bottle of Chianti-make it a half-bottle,
I
guess, my friend won't be having any-"
Miss Fellowes stared at him in dismay.
Mannheim said, "But you look so troubled, Miss Fellowes. Edith. Don't you want
Timmie to return to his people?"
"Yes, but-but-" She waved her hands in a helpless gesture.
"I think I see." Mannheim leaned across the table toward her. He glowed with
sympathy and concern. "You've cared for him so long that you find it hard to
let go of him now. The bond between you and Timmie has become so strong that
it's a real shock to you to hear that he's being sent back. I
can certainly understand how you feel."
"That's part of it," Miss Fellowes replied. "But only a very small part."
"What's the real problem, then?"
At that moment the waiter arrived with the wine. He made a great show of
displaying its label to Mannheim and of pulling the cork, and poured a little
into Mannheim's glass to taste. Mannheim nodded. To Miss Fellowes he said,
"Are you sure you don't want any, Edith? On a foul rainy day like this-"
"No, that isn't it. Not as far as I know, and I don't think it would be. But
it would be fatal for Timmie. Look, he's civilized now. He can tie his
shoelaces and cut a piece of meat with a knife and a fork. He brushes his
teeth morning and night. He sleeps in a bed and takes a shower every day.
He watches picture tapes and now he can read simple little books. What good
are any of those skills in the Paleolithic era?"
Suddenly solemn, Mannheim said, "I think I see what you're getting at."
"And meanwhile," she went on, "he's probably forgotten whatever he knew about
how to live under Paleolithic conditions-and very likely he didn't know a lot
to begin with. He was only a little child when he came to us. His parents, his
tribal guardians, whoever, must have still been taking care of him. Even
Neanderthals wouldn't have expected a boy of three or four to know how to hunt [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]