Taji's Syndrome (36 page)

“Un-huh,” Steven muttered.

“Steven,” Loren Protheroe said from the backseat, “I’m going to be working with you kids while you’re here.”

“You’re a shrink, right?” Steven said, turning as much as his seatbelt would permit.

“Right.” Loren smiled.

“Why do I need a shrink? Isn’t it enough that I’m a TS carrier? Or does it make you crazy, too?”

“Steve!” Dale admonished him.

“It’s okay,” Loren said, addressing both Dale and Steven. “And, no, Steve, you’re not crazy. But you’re going to have to live a very strange life for a while, and sometimes it helps to have someone to talk to.”

“A shrink,” Steven jeered.

Loren refused to be goaded. “It beats talking to the walls.”

“Shit.” Steven folded his arms and glowered out the window.

For the next few minutes they rode in silence, then Dale took up the gauntlet. “About these other kids; what are they like?”

“Pretty much what you’d expect, a mixed bag,” said Loren, not quite sighing. “In circumstances like this, it’s a little difficult to assess them.”

“I’ll bet,” Steven said quietly, but loudly enough to be heard.

Dale resisted the urge to repeat Irene’s instructions to her son. “Have you worked out a routine yet?”

“To a degree,” Loren said. “We’re not quite prepared for everything, but I think we’ve made a good start. The facility is far enough away from the city that we can guarantee security, and there’s enough recreation that I don’t think the kids will be at too much of a disadvantage. We have two swimming pools for them, and an athletic court; even horses, if they want to ride.” He said nothing about the problem of companionship and the difficulties of such limited social contact.

“What about classes?” It was something Irene had wanted to know, and Dale saw Steven flinch. He told himself to be patient, to keep calm. “Will it be school as usual?”

“Not quite as usual, but close enough. We’ll do standard eighth- and ninth-grade studies plus whatever additional study the kids might want. We’re trying to find a dance teacher for Laurie Grey, and a swimming coach for Gail Harmmon.”

Steven slid further down in his seat, sulking.

“We’ve got a small woodshop and a potter’s wheel for crafts, and over two thousand videotapes. Each room has a three-foot TV and a CD player.” Loren saw that he was not getting far with Steven. “And every kid has a telephone, so he can keep in touch with his family.”

“My Mom’s in a hospital,” Steven announced loudly. “She isn’t allowed to have many calls.”

“I’ve already arranged things for you,” said Dale. “I told you that on the plane.”

“It doesn’t mean it’ll work,” Steven said, his chin lowering onto his chest. “They’ll tell me she’s in physical therapy, the way they’ve always done. And Brice is at boarding school. I won’t get to talk to him very much.”

“What about your friends?” Dale said, and in the next instant wished he had bitten off his tongue.

“My friends are dead,” Steven said. “They got TS from me and they’re dead.”

There was nothing that anyone could say that would soften what Steven had said; Loren did not make the attempt.

“In time you might want to talk about your friends,” he said. “Not right now, but later, when some time has gone by.”

“Talking won’t make them not dead, will it?” Steven demanded.

“No. But it might make your grief a little less painful,” Loren said. “We’re about halfway there.”

“Rooty,” Steven said.

By the time they turned in through the tall, guarded gate, Steven was looking more frightened than irate. Jeff parked in front of the medical building and indicated the two long buildings that flanked it. “Those are your quarters. The staff has quarters on the third floor of the medical building. Each of you has your own . . . apartment. You have a main room, a bedroom, a workroom, a bathroom, a lanai facing the pool, and a small kitchen. Food service will be available around the clock in the central kitchen and you will have twenty-four-hour access to the medical staff.”

“Sounds like I’m sick, after all.” Steven stood beside the car, shading his eyes as he looked at the place. “Where are the athletic courts?”

“The far side of the swimming pool,” said Jeff. “They can be used for tennis, badminton, basketball and croquet. The stable’s beyond that. We have eight horses for you and the staff.” Not very long ago this facility had been used by a group of AIDS victims who were testing the various treatments available. Now, with AIDS all but extinct, the facility was being turned over to these continuing victims of TS.

“It’s not bad,” was all Steven would say for it.

“I’ll get you started,” offered Loren.

“I will,” Dale corrected. “I told Irene Channing I’d make sure he was off to a good start here.”

Loren shrugged. “Whatever you like. First stop is the lab.”

“Oh
no!”
Steven wailed. “Not again!”

“It won’t be as long as the other times. We just need a few things from you to compare with the records we already have,” said Jeff as he started up the three shallow steps to the door of the medical building. “The sooner you start, the sooner it’s over with.”

“Come on, Steve,” said Dale, not quite dragging the boy into the building.

The four staff nurses were quick and polite without being falsely cheerful and in less than forty minutes, an orderly was escorting Steven—with Dale in tow—through his quarters.

“There’s an intercom and a buzzer. You can use either of them to call the main building, or to reach any of the other facilities. To call other rooms, use the phone.” The orderly was not dressed in lab whites but in khaki chinos and a Hawaiian shirt, and his nametag was embellished with a drawing of a unicorn. “I’m Ted Brazios; Ted for Edward and Theodore—that’s my first and middle name. I answer to Ted and Hey You.”

Steven would not smile. “Thanks,” he muttered, taking the key that Ted held out to him.

“Dinner’s in three hours in the main dining room, on the other side of the pool, the second door from the left end. If you want to have Doctor Reed come with you, that’s fine.” He gave Steven a thumbs-up sign and left.

“How long am I going to have to stay here, Dale?” Steven asked, taking strange consolation in being able to call Reed by his first name.

“I don’t know, Steve; I wish I did. Not long, I hope.” His sympathy was so strong that he felt tears well in his eyes; he blinked rapidly to control them.

“Yeah.” He looked around the room, noting its pleasant furnishing. “He said there were fifteen apartments like this in this wing. I’m in junior high and I have my own apartment. I wonder who else they’re expecting.” He dropped onto the copper-colored sofa.

“I don’t think they know, Steve,” Dale said, uncertain if he should remain standing.

“They’re playing it by ear, huh?” His voice broke, going from alto to baritone and back again.

“Wouldn’t you?” Dale decided to sit down and selected a low-slung Italian chair; he got into it awkwardly and found it very comfortable. “They’ve made mistakes with TS. We always make mistakes with new diseases. They don’t want to do it again if they can help it.”

“So why fifteen rooms if there are only six of us, and two are twins?” He was nervous; his right foot, propped at the ankle on his left knee, was jiggling.

“They may be more than six.”

“And maybe they’re up to something.” He stared morosely at the TV and snapped his fingers a few times. “Well, at least there’s some girls coming. That’s something.” He was not as eager as he sounded, but he had just reached the age when girls were supposed to be less of a pest than they had been.

“A dancer and a swimmer,” said Dale.

“What if they like the other guys better? What am I going to do?” He got up abruptly and went to the sliding glass doors that led out to a tiny patio. “It isn’t like I can ask one of the nurses on a date.”

“Worry about that when it happens,” Dale advised, then went on in another voice, “I know you’re worried about what’s going to happen to your family. Well, remember that for the time being, they’re safe. Your mother’s gotten over TS, and your brother isn’t old enough to catch it. I’ll keep my eye on both of them. If you want to talk to me about them, you can call me at any time. You have my private number and you can use it whenever you want to.”

“Okay; yeah.” He stared down at his shoes. “You’re right, I am worried. I don’t like Brice being sent away like that, and I don’t like Mom being kept in a hospital like some kind of . . . of invalid.”

“She won’t be. I’ll make sure that as soon as she’s ready, she gets out of there. I’ll look after her, Steve.” He had to work on sounding confident and undisturbed.

Steven continued to look down, and then, quite suddenly, he asked, “Are you going to marry my Mom?”

“If she’ll have me,” said Dale, taken off-guard by the unexpected question.

“Okay.” Steven turned and gave Dale a hard look. “But while I’m in here, you’ve got to keep those shit-faced ESA guys away from her.”

Dale nodded once. “You’ve got my word on it.”

—Gail Harmmon and Loren Protheroe—

Still dripping from her morning laps, Gail stood in the patio door of Loren’s office. “Why do you want to see me?” she asked when he did not respond to her presence.

“It’s your second week here and you haven’t talked with me,” said Loren in his easiest conversational style.

“So what?” She did not come one step farther into the room.

“I thought you might like to talk, that’s all.” He looked toward the Sixties-fashion beanbag chairs scattered about the room like so many oversized soufflés.

“I don’t need a shrink,” she said. “I just want them to do whatever they’re going to do and let us out of here.”

“That’s what they’re trying to do,” Loren said in the same steady way.

“Are they making any progress?” Her head angled up more sharply.

“They think so,” he answered, telling the truth but withholding the doubts that plagued all the staff at the quarantine facility.

“So how long will it take?” she asked.

“There’s no way to tell— few months if we’re very lucky.” He cleared his throat. “I won’t kid you: it could be a lot longer.”

“A year? Two years?” For the first time she sounded distressed. “I can’t stay here for two years. That’s grotty.”

“You and the others have to stay for as long as it takes.” He was still affable but there was a stern undertone that had not been present earlier.

“And you guys? Does the staff have to stay here a long time, too?”

“We all volunteered to be here,” he said. “We can ask to be transferred, or we can be ordered out.”

“Because you get sick?” she guessed.

“That’s one reason.” He let her consider that before he went on. “Some of us do get sick. It’s a risk we take. But if we didn’t think it was worth it—if we didn’t think
you
were worth it, we wouldn’t have volunteered. How’s the swimming?” he changed the subject without missing a beat.

“Okay, mostly. It isn’t much fun without someone to swim against, and the other kids aren’t all that good.” She slouched forward. “That guy Mason is about the best, but I can beat him easy.”

“Well, you were in pretty classy competition last fall,” Loren said, indicating the seat nearest his desk.

“That was last fall.” She folded into the shapeless chair and leaned back enough so she could look at the ceiling instead of him. “Hey, you’ve got posters on the ceiling. That’s neat.”

“For people like you, who’d rather look up.”

“Yeah,” she said, glaring at him.

Loren fiddled with a stack of papers—he did not mention they were the latest test results of the six kids in his care—and changed the subject again. “You been out to the barn? There’s a couple pretty good horses out there.”

“I don’t know how to ride,” said Gail resentfully.

“You can learn. Laurie is pretty good; she could teach you.” He began deliberately to doodle on his desk blotter.

“You’re funny for a shrink.” She stared at him a while.

“They said at dinner last night that there’s TS all over the country now. It was on the news.”

“Not surprising,” Loren told her as he continued to let his pen travel over the blotter. “A disease like this makes news, unfortunately.”

“It’s not right,” she stated.

“You mean because of you? So far we’ve been able to keep you kids out of the news, and that hasn’t been easy. Your families’ names haven’t been mentioned and the information about initial carriers hasn’t come up. Think about that for a bit, will you?” He waited, knowing that she would eventually have questions for him.

“Why’d you volunteer?” she asked him after a little time had gone by.

“Oh, a number of reasons. My dad has TS. Two of my cousins have died from it—they got it early, last December. I want to do what I can to stop it.” He set his pen aside.

“Like keeping us locked up?” she challenged.

“More like keeping you in isolation so that the disease doesn’t spread and so you don’t become targets for a lot of very unpleasant attention.” He pushed his chair back and came around his desk; as he dragged one of the beanbag chairs close to hers, he continued, “I don’t like to think that there are people dying who don’t have to. And I don’t think any of you kids wants to have to—”

“Dad said that I couldn’t have known about it. I couldn’t have known. It . . . I didn’t.” The last was pleading.

“No, you couldn’t. But it’s natural for you to have trouble accepting that. You said when you arrived that you would rather TS had killed you than your brother. I want you to know that I understand how you feel that, and why you feel it.” He pulled his legs up tailor fashion and watched her. “Are there times you blame yourself even when you know it isn’t necessary?”

“God, you sound just like a shrink now,” she complained.

“That’s what I am.” He was content to wait for her to talk some more.

Finally she gave in. “What am I supposed to say? That I feel guilty? That I hate myself?”

“Do you?” he asked.

“You’re corny. You’re like something out of a bad movie.” She folded her arms. “Do they teach you how to ask those questions in shrink school?”