The Bleeding Man (8 page)

Perhaps it's just
as well that they kill me. And this time, I hope they do it right. I don't want to go through
this again. I'm tired of lying here on this soiled straw matting, at the mercy of my keeper's
indigestion. Regu­lar feedings? I should say not. Braddock used to be my keeper; how the crowds
loved me then. Fed like clock­work, I was, and sleek and well-petted. The crowds went for me
then. I was the fair-haired one then. Yes, sir, no question of it.

But now, since
they found Braddock's body partly ingested, the stomach torn out like the sawdust stuffings of a
wooden doll, we animals have to take what we can get, which isn't much. Our new keeper, he must
be nearly demented, the way he drinks and all, and when his stomach is upset, do we get fed? We
do not.

Ever since I
killed that man, I guess, things have been bad. I used to be in the same cage with Flippy and
Jumpo, but now they've got me penned by myself. Maybe I'm just too old. Getting too old, that's
one of the things that is always happening to us. The muscles get stiff and we forget things. One
week we can hear the oohs and aahs of the kids watching us and the next, it seems like you can't
remember any of the acrobatics and your hair is beginning to fall out. So it goes.

When I was young,
I think I was loved. I don't re­member my mother, they took her away and gave me this cloth thing
with a clock inside. It wasn't the same thing as a mother of course, but it served its purpose.
It was better than no mother at all, was the way I looked at it.  So soft the cloth was,
almost like my mother's fur, and the clock ticking away in as regular a heartbeat as you could
like. Of course, every hour the clock gained a minute, which may be the reason why I turned out
so wrong. These things happen, you know.

There's still some
blood on my straw matting and I really wish someone would come in and change it, but I don't
suppose anyone will. Since the murder, no one will come near me except to drop food through the
slot in the bars. And not much of that, either. How I miss Braddock. I wish they hadn't found him
dead like that. He fed me and fed me well and I'll always remember that about him. He bled
terribly when he died. I'll remember that, too. There are so many things to remember.

I miss being
petted. Nobody comes to brush me now. I look rather scruffy. Way I look, maybe getting put to
death isn't such a bad idea. They don't love me anymore and I don't think they ever will again.
Why go on then? What would be the point? I'm too old to do tricks anyway. And I'm so
lonely.

I can still see
out the high window. I can still climb a little, although what good it does, I don't know. I hear
all the people out there laughing and having fun. Living as if nothing had happened, and for
them, I guess, nothing has happened. Why did it have to change for me?

Is this what they
call growing up? If it is, I don't feel so good and I wish it would go away. Nobody comes to see
me. Nothing to look at and nothing to look forward to, one dreary meal a day and not nearly
enough to keep me sleek and fit. If they kill me, at least I'll get out of this cage. They'll
take me out to bury me. They always bury us in the ground when one of us dies. They have funny
ways. I think it is a waste of meat when they bury one of us. Perhaps it does not occur to them
that we are edible.

I do not know why
they do not eat us when we die. I do not understand them at all. They do so many things that I do
not understand. Once they put me in a cage with Nappi. Nappi looked just like me except she
seemed to have longer fur and brighter eyes. We used to sleep in the trees, wrapped in each
other's arms. We were very happy. But one day they took Nappi to the big white building where
they take all the animals that die.

When they brought
her back that night, she had funny things made out of glass and metal buried in her head. They
had pulled out her hair in two little patches on each side of her head and planted these things
in there. I do not know if they thought they would grow there or not. I did not like them. Nappi
did not like them either.

Nappi did not like
me anymore after that either. She would not climb the tree with me and when I tried to put my arm
around her, she sank her sharp white teeth in my arm. I could not go near her without getting
bitten. Later they took her away because she tried to bite Braddock when he brought food to us.
It was not like Nappi to do that, sweet gentle Nappi, always crowding up to the bars to be first
to get petted. She had been one of Braddock's favorites, I know. He always had a good word for
her. But she wasn't the same Nappi.

She snarled and
raged around the cage. She upset the visitors and so they came and took her one day and I never
saw her again. I guess they destroyed her be­cause the things in her head would not grow. I do
not understand why they do these things. Nappi was very nice and gentle. She had had a real
mother and she seemed so alive.

I sleep a lot
because that helps pass the time. I'm really not hungry much anymore and my fur is falling out
more and more. I eat when they bring me food but my heart is not in it. I call out to the other
animals sometimes at night and they answer, but it does not help very much. I cannot see them and
the comfortable sounds they make only make it seem worse.

I did not mean to
kill that man. I did not know who he was. He shouldn't have been here. Perhaps I did mean to kill
him. He frightened me. Yes, he did, and I guess that is why I killed him. There was something not
right that night when he came to my cage. All the other animals sensed it, too. They were pacing
rest­lessly in their cages, moaning and growling. Some of the big cats threw themselves against
the bars, roar­ing.

The man smelled
strange. He smelled like the ani­mals that get. sick and are taken away to the white building
after they stop moving. Sometimes the animals would lay there all night sick like that and not
moving before the attendants found them. The smell would get very strong then. That was the kind
of smell the man had.

It was dark, I was
awake in my tree, huddled against the trunk, missing the comforting warmth of Nappi, when he came
over the wall. He fell to this side of the wall. He was very clumsy. It was frightening the way
he fell. Like he did not have any bones. He just col­lapsed like jelly, rolled and then slowly
got to his feet. He frightened me.

I hid in the tree.
I did not want him to see me. He walked very stiffly. Every step he took, it seemed like he was
going to fall over. His eyes were closed, I could see that in the full light of the moon, and he
reminded me of some of the animals who move their legs and make noises in their sleep.

I hid behind my
tree trunk and I thought he would not find me. But I was wrong. He was coming for me. He came to
the door of my cage and his hands brushed over the locks. The animals in the cages next to mine
were in a rage. Their screams and catcalls filled the air. The man did not seem
disturbed.

I was getting
frightened. I get angry when I get frightened, and I do things. I do not like to do things, but
when I am frightened I lose control. The man was tearing at the hinges of the door to my cage. I
did not want him to come in. His smell frightened me.

He forced the door
open. I bared my teeth and growled. I didn't want him in my cage. I don't like it when people
come into my cage. His eyes opened, but his eyes were glassy. I do not think he could see me. I
growled.

His mouth twitched
and his lips moved. He reached up through the branches and his hand touched my leg. His hand was
cold and damp and I couldn't stand the smell. I jumped down at him. I bit his face and tore at
his eyes and jumped up and down on his chest when he fell over. He fell over very easily and he
did not make a sound or fight back. That made me even mad­der and I tore away at him with my
sharp white teeth.

He came apart. The
other animals in the cages next to mine were roaring and throwing themselves against the bars of
their cages in frenzy. I went wild, too. I was frightened and I lost control. I bit the
bad-smelling thing's head off. I sank my teeth again and again into its soft white neck and it
fell off and I worried the bloody thing across the floor. I clawed its foul-smelling clothes off,
ripping it into shreds, and stamped furiously on the soft white body. I was frightened and
angry.

Then I ran up the
tree and hugged the branches until my arms hurt, and then I rested and calmed down. I was tired
and frightened and I wanted to go away from there and not see that man anymore. I looked down and
the man had not gone away so I stayed up there in the tree and hugged the branches.

All the man's arms
and legs had come off and I had got blood on my straw and I did not like it. I don't like blood.
It makes my head hurt and I get angry and frightened. I stayed up in the tree all
night.

When the new
keeper, the mean one who drank, came in the morning to change my straw he found the dead man. I
thought he was going to hit me with a stick. But he didn't hit me. He ran away and they came with
a net and dragged me out of the tree and wrapped me up in the net and no matter how much I
screamed, they wouldn't listen. I wanted to be free and they wouldn't listen.

That's why they
put me in this cage in the big white building and why the men in the white coats are going to
kill me. They keep telling me they are going to kill me but I don't care. My fur is falling out
and they don't feed me enough and nobody pets me anymore. I don't care. I'll sleep a lot and that
will help pass the time. They don't love me anymore. I don't care. I'll sleep a lot and have good
dreams and I will be very angry when they wake me up because my dreams will be very pleasant and
I will not want to leave them.

I will dream that
I am dead.

The medicine
shaker, the bone breaker. I have seen and been all these. It is nothing but trouble.

I have sat on the
good side of the fire. I have cried over young women. It is nothing but trouble.

Miss Dow leaned
against the observation window. Her stomach revolted and she backed away. Unable to quell the
nausea rising within her, she clamped a hand to her mouth.

Dr. Santell gently
took her arm, led her away from the window and helped her to a couch facing away from the
observation window.

Nausea passed;
Miss Dow smiled weakly. "You did warn me," she said.

Dr. Santell did
not return the smile. "It takes getting used to. I'm a doctor, and immune to gore, but still I
find it unsettling. He's a biological impossibility."

"Not even human,"
Miss Dow suggested.

"That's what the
government sent you here to de­cide," said Dr. Santell. "Frankly, I'm glad he's no longer my
responsibility."

"I want to look at
him again."

Santell shrugged,
lit a syntho. Together they walked back to the observation window. He seemed amused at her
discomfort.

Again, Miss Dow
peered through the window. This time it was easier.

A young man, tall
and well-muscled, stood in the middle of the room. He was naked. His uncut black hair fell to the
small of his back.

His chest was slit
with a gaping wound that bled profusely; his legs and stomach were soaked with blood.

"Why is he
smiling? What is he staring at?" she asked, unable to take her eyes off the figure before
her.

"I don't know,"
said Dr. Santell. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Your sense of
humor escapes me," said Miss Dow through tightly closed lips.

Dr. Santell
grinned and shrugged. His synthetic cigarette reached the cut-off mark and winked out. The butt
flashed briefly as he tossed it into the wall disposal.

"Doesn't
everything?" suggested Dr. Santell, trying not to laugh at his little joke.

Miss Dow turned
away from the window. Her look was sharp, withering. "Tell me about him," she snapped, each word
like ice. "How did he get—that way?"

His amusement
faded. He licked his lips nervously, nodded. "He has no name, at least no official name. We call
him Joe. Sort of a nickname. We gave him that name about—"

"Fascinating,"
interrupted Miss Dow, "but I didn't come here to be entertained by some droll little tale about
his nickname."

"Friendly, aren't
you?" asked Santell dryly. A pity, he thought. If she knew how to smile she might have seemed
attractive.

"The government
doesn't pay me to be friendly. It pays me to do a job." Her voice was cold, dispassionate. But
she turned to face Dr. Santell in such a way that she would not see the bleeding man. "How long
has he been like this?"

"It's all in my
report. If you'd like to read it I could—"

"I'd prefer a
verbal outline first. I'll read your report later; I trust that it is a thorough one." She eyed
him sharply.

"Yes, quite
thorough," Dr. Santell replied, the polite edge in his voice wearing thin.

He turned away
from Miss Dow, gazed in at the bleeding man. His words were clipped, impartial. "He is
approximately twenty-three years old and has been as he is now since birth."

"Incredible!" said
Miss Dow, fascinated in spite of herself. "All this is documented?"