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"Myself, I usually come in around intermission and ask someone for a synopsis," she explained. "So why not continue the discussion with me?—I'm always malleable, and my skandhas are in good shape."
Their eyes met, and he took a bite of toast. "Aye," he said, at length, "I had guessed as much. Well —good. What do you know of Render's work?" She adjusted herself in the chair.
"Mm. He being a special specialist in a highly specialized area, I find it difficult to appreciate the few things he does say about it. I'd like to be able to look inside other people's minds sometimes—to see what they're thinking about me, of course—but I don't think I could stand staying there very long. Especially"—she gave a mock-shudder—"the mind of somebody with—problems. I'm afraid I'd be too sympa-
thetic or too frightened or something. Then, according to what I've read—pow!—like sympathetic magic, it would be my problems.
"Charles never has problems though," she continued, "at least, none that he speaks to me about. Lately I've been wondering, though. That blind girl and her talking dog seem to be too much with him."
"Talking dog?"
"Yes, her seeing-eye dog is one of those surgical mutants."
"How interesting ....ave you ever met her?"
"Never."
"So," he mused.
"Sometimes a therapist encounters a patient whose problems are so akin to his own that the sessions become extremely mordant," he noted. "It has always been the case with me when I treat a fellow-psychiatrist. Perhaps Charles sees in this situation a parallel to something which has been troubling him personally. I did not administer his personal analysis. I do not know all the ways of his mind, even though he was a pupil of mine for a long while. He was always self-contained, somewhat reticent; he could be quite authoritative on occasion, however.—What are some of the other things which occupy his attention these days?"
"His son Peter is a constant concern. He's changed the boy's school five times in five years."
Her breakfast arrived. She adjusted her napkin and drew her chair closer to the table.
"—and he has been reading case histories of suicides recently, and talking about them, and talking about them, and talking about them."
"To what end?"
She shrugged and began eating.
"He never mentioned why," she said, looking up again. "Maybe he's writing something . .."
Bartelmetz finished his eggs and poured more coffee.
"Are you afraid of this patient of his?" he inquired.
"No ... Yes," she responded, "I am."
"Why?"
"I am afraid of sympathetic magic," said said, flushing slightly.
"Many things could fall under that heading."
"Many indeed," she acknowledged. And, after a moment, "We are united in our concern for his welfare and in agreement as to what represents the threat. So, may I ask a favor?"
"You may."
"Talk to him again," she said. "Persuade him to drop the case."
He folded his napkin.
"I intended to do that after di
Dear Father-Image,
Yes, the school is fine, my ankle is getting that way, and my classmates are a congenial lot. No, I am not short on cash, undernourished, or having difficulty fitting into the new curriculum. Okay?
The building I will not describe, as you have already seen the macabre thing. The grounds I ca
The ankle inhibits my mobility and my roommate has gone home for the weekend—both of which are really blessings (saith Pangloss), for I now have the opportunity to catch up on some reading. I will do so forthwith.
Prodigially, Peter
Render reached down to pat the huge head. It accepted the gesture stoically, then turned its gaze up to the Austrian whom Render had asked for a light, as if to say, "Must I endure this indignity?" The man laughed at the expression,
snapping shut the engraved lighter on which Render noted the middle initial to be a small "v."
"Thank you," he said, and to the dog: "What is your name?"
"Bismark," it growled.
"You remind me of another of your kind," he told the dog. "One Sigmund, by name, a companion and guide to a blind friend of mine, in America."
"My Bismark is a hunter," said the young man. "There is no quarry that can outthink him, neither the deer nor the big cats."
The dog's ears pricked forward and he stared up at Render with proud, blazing eyes.
"We have hunted in Africa and the northern and southwestern parts of America. Central America, too. He never loses the trail. He never gives up. He is a beautiful brute, and his teeth could have been made in Solingen."
"You are indeed fortunate to have such a hunting companion."
"I hunt," growled the dog. "I follow... Sometimes, I have, the kill..."
"You would not know of the one called Sigmund then, or the woman he guides—Miss Eileen Shallot?" asked Render.
The man shook his head.
"No, Bismark came to me from Massachusetts, but I was never to the Center personally. I am not acquainted with other mutie handlers."
"I see. Well, thank you for the light. Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon."
"Good, after, noon . .."
Render strolled on up the narrow street, hands in his pockets. He had excused himself and not said where he was going. This was because he had had no destination in mind. Bartelmetz' second essay at counseling had almost led him to say things he would later regret. It was easier to take a walk than to continue the conversation.
On a sudden impulse he entered a small shop and bought
a cuckoo clock which had caught his eye. He felt certain that Bartelmetz would accept the gift in the proper spirit. He smiled and walked on. And what was that letter to Jill which the desk clerk had made a special trip to their table to deliver at di
The icy pillars of the sky suddenly seemed to sway before him as a cold wind leapt down out of the north. Render hunched his shoulders and drew his head further below his collar. Clutching the cuckoo clock, he hurried back up the street.
That night the serpent which holds its tail in its mouth belched, the Fenris Wolf made a pass at the moon, the little clock said "cuckoo" and tomorrow came on like Manolete's last bull, shaking the gate of horn with the bellowed promise to tread a river of lions to sand.
Render promised himself he would lay off the gooey fondue.
Later, much later, when they skipped through the skies in a kite-shaped cruiser, Render looked down upon the darkened Earth dreaming its cities full of stars, looked up at the sky where they were all reflected, looked about him at the tape-screens watching all the people who blinked into them, and at the coffee, tea, and mixed drink dispensers who sent their fluids forth to explore the insides of the people they required to push their buttons, then looked across at Jill, whom the old buildings had compelled to walk among their walls—because he knew she felt he should be looking at her then—felt his seat's demand that he convert it into a couch, did so, and slept.