Anthony Piers - The Caterpillar's Question.pdf - ENG - Chlorella

by P iers Anthony and Philip Jose Farmer

(poor copy) Version 1.0 (please increment by 0.1 if you modify)

Synopsis:

Tappy was thirteen, blind, crippled and mute. Jack was hired to drive her across the country to a place

where they were supposed to help her, but Jack wondered. They said she could speak if she wanted to

badly enough, that the condition was hysterical. As they drove, he found himself liking the young girl and

becoming more and more intrigued with her behavior. Why did she want to stop and walk around in the

middle of nowhere. Perhaps Jack would regret his wanting to know when they both disappeared

somewhere... else?

"Who are you?" the Caterpillar said "I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir," said Alice, "because I'm not

myself, you see."

-Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

THE CATERPILLAR'S QUESTION

An Ace Book Published by The Berkley Publishing Group 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York

10016

Book design by Caron Harris

ISBN: 0-441-09488-0

They had told Jack they thought it was psychosomatic. She could talk if she wanted to, and might even

recover the sight of one eye. But it had taken seven years to obtain the grant from the foundation, and

now she was thirteen.

He glanced at her, sitting tight and stiff in the passenger bucket.

Her dark hair was cut so short it was boyish, but the gentle bulges in the heavy man's shirt she wore

belied any boyhood or childhood. One hand toyed indifferently with the buckle of the seat belt, and under

her cotton skirt the shiny length of a metal brace paralleled her left leg. Her sharp chin pointed forward,

but of course she was not watching anything.

The horn of the car behind him blared as the light changed. Jack shifted and edged out, waiting for the

string of late left-fumers to clear. He wasn't even certain which city this was; the hours of silent driving

had grown monotonous.

"Are you ready to stop, Tappy?" But she did not answer or make any sign. He knew she heard and

understood-but he was still a stranger, and she was afraid. Had they even bothered to tell her where she

was going, or why?

Concord, maimed at the age of six, in the accident that killed her father. She had never known her

mother, and the kin that took her in had not been pleased very long with THEIR burden. Jack had no

doubt they had made this plain to girl many times.

They pulled into a roadside restaurant. His job was to transport HER to the clinic. She couldn't cover a

thousand miles Without eating. -Why hadn't they sent her by plane, so that all this driving was

Necessary? No, the plane was out of the question. Tappy surely remembered that last trip in her father's

little flier. Apparently there had been a miscalculation, and they had crashed. Jack had not inquired about

the details, for Tappy had been there listening, and he had never been one for pointless cruelty.

He got out, opened her door, unsnapped her seat belt, slipped his hands under her arms, and lifted her to

her feet. They had warned him about this, too: there was often no way to make her come except to make

her come. Anywhere. Otherwise she might simply sit there indefinitely, staring sightlessly ahead. He felt

awkward, putting his hands on her, but she did not seem to notice.

He guided her firmly by the elbow and stopped at the little sign pointing to the ladies' room, not certain

whether the girl knew her way around public facilities, and doubtful what he'd do if she didn't. He had to

ask her, rather awkwardly because of the people passing nearby, and she shook her head no. Was it wisest

to treat her as a child or as a woman? The difference was important the moment they left the isolation of

the car. He decided on the latter, at least in public places.

They took a corner table, enduring the interminable wait for their order. He was super-conscious of the

glances of others, but Tappy seemed oblivious to her surroundings. She kept her hands in her lap, eyes

downcast and he saw too clearly the narrow white scar that crossed one eye and terminated at the

mutilated ear. What did his petty embarrassment mean, compared to her problems?

"Loo kit that girl's ear's gone!" exclaimed a younger boy at a neighboring table, his voice startlingly lo ud.

There was a fierce shushing that was worse than the remark because it confirmed its accuracy. Heads

turned, first toward the boy, then toward the object of the boy's curiosity.

A slow tear started down Tappy's left cheek.

Jack stood up so suddenly that his chair crashed backward, and he stepped around the table and caught

her arm and brought her out of that place. It was as if he had tunnel vision; all he saw was the escape

route, the room and people fuzzing out at the periphery. They made it to the car, strapped in, and he

drove, arrowing down the highway at a dangerous velocity. He was first numb, then furious-but he wasn't

sure at what.

Gradually he cooled, and knew that the worst of the situation had been his own reaction. It was too late to

undo what damage he might have done, but he could at least be guided more sensibly henceforth. He

schooled himself not to react like that, no matter what happened next time.

But first he had something more difficult to do. "Tappy, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I just-" He

faltered, for she was not reacting at all. "I'm sorry."

She might as well have been a statue.

At dusk, starving, he drew up to a motel and left Tappy in the seat while he registered for two rooms. He

took her to one of them and sat her on the bed. He crossed the street and bought a six-pack of fruit drinks

and two submarine sandwiches for their supper. Class fare it was not, but it was all he could think of at

the moment.

He set things up precariously on the bed in her room, and was glad to see that she had a good appetite.

She evidently was not used to this particular menu, but was experienced with bedroom meals. His

pleasure became concern as he thought about it. Had they ever let her eat at the table, family style? He

could see why they might not have, but it bothered him anyway. There was a human being inside that

tortured shell!

His thoughts drifted to his own motives. Why had he taken this job? A week before he'd have laughed if

someone had predicted he'd be sitting on a motel bed eating supper with a blind girl almost ten years his

junior. But he hadn't realized how hard it would be for a budding artist with one year of college to get a

decent summer job.

Jack had kicked around for two, three years----he didn't know exactly where the time went----before

running into Donna. Then suddenly he had the need to make something of himself. So he went to college

and studied art. Did okay, too; he did have talent. But by the time he got it together, Donna had drifted

elsewhere. He never even got to tell her of the effect she had on his motivation. He grieved, of course,

and considered giving it up. But he discovered that life did go on, and there might even be other girls on

the horizon.

Meanwhile, he needed wherewithal to continue college; that kept him busy around the edges. He soon

realized that he was not likely to make it by washing dishes at joints that had never heard of the minimum

wage scale, or changing tires for tips, or taking any of the other menial positions for which one year of art

seemed to qualify him.

The ad had offered a thousand dollars plus liberal expenses and the use of a good car for one week's light

work. It had seemed too good to be true, and he was amazed to learn that the job hadn't been taken. No, it

didn 't involve drugs or anything illegal; it was just chauffeuring. If he had a valid license and a good

record...

Jack had little else, but he did have those. He valued his potential career as a world-famous artist too

much to mess it up with bad driving. He liked to travel; every new region was grist for his painting.

The job was to deliver Tappy to the clinic across the country.

He assumed that it was legal for him to transport this child, or they would not have hired him. He needed

the money, and didn't ask too many questions. He had had no idea that jobs like this existed! If he could

find a couple more like this, at similar pay scales, his next year of college would be assured.

They had covered four hundred miles today. At this rate he'd have Tappy at the clinic the day after

tomorrow, and could be back two days early. The pay was for the job, not the time, so he had nothing to

lose by being prompt. If the girl didn't talk, at least she wasn't much trouble. After this he'd get

sandwiches and they'd eat in the car, avoiding restaurants entirely.

Jack cleaned up the mess of crumbs and told Tappy he'd check on her in the morning. "You can find your

way around the room okay? Bathroom's in a straight line from the bed, and there's a RADIO. I'M, IN

THE NEXT UNIT IF YOU need me. Just yell."

He paused, embarrassed, remembering that SHE WAS MUTE OR chose to be. "I mean you can bang on

the wall or something. That okay?" Slowly she nodded, and he was relieved. She responded so little that

he was never quite sure she understood him. "Good."

Now get some sleep. I'll knock before I come in, so I won't catch you by surprise." That was his

concession to the woman aspect of her; she had to have time to cover up if she happened to be changing.

It all seemed simple enough.

But in the morning he found her sitting there still, shivering, the moisture squeezing hopelessly out of one

eye. She might have moved about during the night, but the dark patches under her eyes showed she had

not slept.

"Why?" he demanded incredulously. "Why didn't you summon me, if you couldn't sleep?"

She answered him only with that catatonic passivity, and a tear.

Evidently there was something he had missed.

He told her to go to the bathroom while he fetched breakfast, and she did. He told her to change her

clothing while he faced into a corner, and she did. He no longer trusted her to do things in his absence,

but he intended to treat her with propriety. They ate, and got back on the road.

Jack pondered the event of the night as he drove, deeply disturbed. He had not mistreated Tappy, and

there had been no trouble, except for the business at the restaurant. He had spoken to her and had supper

with her, and she had not been crying then. She didn't seem to be afraid of him, though he wouldn't have

blamed her for that. Indifferent, perhaps, but not fearful. So what was bothering her?

He was taking her to the clinic that might be able to give back her sight and make her talk. She should be

happy.

"Don't you want to see again?" he asked her. "I mean, there's all kinds of scenery out here. We're in New

York State now-"

She turned suddenly toward him, startling him into silence. He glanced at her, but her face showed no

emotion. After a moment she straightened out again.

There was something! This was her first voluntary response to him. She had reacted to something he had

said. Was it his question about her sight?

"You do want to see?" he repeated. But this time there was no reaction. Apparently she had acted without

thought, but now she had clamped down again.

She couldn't want to stay blind! Maybe his question had deserved no answer. Yet she had reacted. There

had to be something else. Something she knew that he didn't.

Was it really a clinic she was destined for? Or had that been something they told him to obtain his

cooperation? Now that he thought about it, there were a number of funny things about this whole

arrangement. If they had so much money for specialists, and enough to pay him so generously for

unskilled labor, why hadn't they done something about her ear? Comparatively minor cosmetic surgery

could have eliminated most of the scar tissue on her face, too. And there had to be something better than

that ugly metal brace on her leg. She wasn't paralytic; the leg should have mended by now.

And why hadn't they hired a professional nurse for this trip?

Nurses could drive. This was a gearshift car, but only because he had asked for it; he preferred to do his

own driving. They would have gotten an automatic shift for a nurse. Why had they been so happy to trust

him, a male stranger? They had hardly checked his credentials, which were minimal. The only virtue he

seemed to have was ignorance. Yet for three days Tappy was in his hands. Anything could happen.

Legally she was still a child, but she was a woman-child.

He drove on, no longer in a hurry. The doubt kept spiraling through his mind, growing uglier with every

loop. If not a clinic, what?

Tappy wouldn't talk to him, so he talked to her, just to keep his mind off whatever unthinkable thing it

sought. Maybe it was to inhibit his own suspicions. He read out the stupid billboards as they threaded

their way through the complex of Schenectady, Albany, and Troy. He cussed out the other drivers. He

kept up a meaningless monologue. Anything to fill the air with sound and keep his mind at bay.

Deviating Jack did not allow himself to wonder why he was from the direct route marked on his map. He

just drove where the scenery looked best.

Finally, as evening came to the highway, he felt a soft touch on his arm. He looked, and found her

slumped like a straw doll, sleeping.

This was the supreme compliment. Tappy would not speak, but she now trusted him enough to sleep.

Jack realized then, coincidentally, why she had reacted when he talked to her initially. It had been the

first time he had spoken to her without an imperative. He had started to describe the scenery they were

Anthony Piers - The Caterpillar's Question.pdf

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