Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang (19 page)

       Now he could hear voices, and his smile deepened, widened his mouth. The voices were loud and angry. He began to laugh, and was weak from laughter when his door opened and five boys entered. There was so little room they had to line up with their legs

tight against his cot.

       "Good morning, One, Two, Three, Four, Five," Mark said, choking on the words with new laughter. They flushed angrily and he doubled over, unable to contain himself.

       "Where is he?" Miriam asked. She had entered the conference room and was still standing at the door.

       Barry was at the head of the table. "Sit down, Miriam," he said. "You know what he did?"

       She sat at the other end of the long table and nodded. "Who doesn't? It's all over, that's all anyone's talking about." She glanced at the others. The doctors were there, Lawrence, Thomas, Sara . . . A full council meeting.

       "Has he said anything?" she asked.

       Thomas shrugged. "He didn't deny it."

       "Did he say why he did it?"

       "So he could tell them apart," Barry said.

       For a brief moment Miriam thought she heard a trace of amusement in his voice, but nothing of it showed on his face. She felt tight with fury, as if somehow she might be held responsible for the boy, for his aberrant behavior. She wouldn't have it, she thought angrily. She leaned forward, her hands pressed on the tabletop, and demanded, "What are you going to do about him? Why don't you control him?"

       "This meeting has been called to discuss that," Barry said. "Have you any suggestions?"

       She shook her head, still furious, unappeased. She shouldn't even be there, she thought. The boy was nothing to her; she had avoided contact with him from the beginning. By inviting her to the meeting, they had made a link that in reality didn't exist. Again she shook her head and now she leaned back in her chair, as if to divorce herself from the proceedings.

       "We'll have to punish him," Lawrence said after a moment of silence. "The only question is how."

       How? Barry wondered. Not isolation; he thrived on it, sought it out at every turn. Not extra work; he was still working off his last escapade. Only three months ago he had gotten inside the girls' rooms and mixed up their ribbons and sashes so that no group had anything matching. It had taken hours for them to get everything back in place. And now this, and this time it would take weeks for the ink to wear off.

       Lawrence spoke again, his voice thoughtful, a slight frown on his face. "We should admit we made a mistake," he said. "There is no place for him among us. The boys his age reject him; he has no friends. He is capricious and willful, brilliant and moronic by turns. We made a mistake with him. Now his pranks are only that, childish pranks, but in five years? Ten years? What can we expect from him in the future?" He directed his questions at Barry.

       "In five years he will be downriver, as you know. It is during the next few years that we have to find a way to manage him better."

       Sara moved slightly in her chair, and Barry turned to her. "We have found that he is not made repentant by being isolated," Sara said. "It is his nature to be an isolate, therefore by not allowing him the privacy he craves we will have found the correct punishment for him."

       Barry shook his head. "We discussed that before," he said. "It would not be fair to the others to force them to accept him, an outsider. He is disruptive among his peers; they should not be punished along with him."

       "Not his peers," Sara said emphatically. "You and your brothers voted to keep him here in order to study him for clues in how to train others to endure separate existences. It is your responsibility to accept him among yourselves, to let his punishment be to have to live with you under your watchful eyes. Or else admit Lawrence is right, that we made a mistake, and that it is better to correct the mistake now than to let it continue to compound."

       "You would punish us for the misdeeds of the boy?" Bruce asked.

       "That boy wouldn't be here if it were not for you and your brothers," Sara said distinctly. "If you'll recall, at our first meeting concerning him, the rest of us voted to rid ourselves of him. We foresaw trouble from the beginning, and it was your arguments about his possible usefulness that finally swayed us. If you want to keep him, then you keep him with you, under your observation, away from the other children, who are constantly being hurt by him and his pranks. He is an isolate, an aberration, a troublemaker. These meetings have become more frequent, his pranks more destructive. How many more hours must we spend discussing his behavior?"

       "You know that isn't practical," Barry said impatiently. "We're in the lab half the time, in the breeders' quarters, in the hospital. Those aren't places for a child of ten."

       "Then get rid of him," Sara said. She sat back now and crossed her arms over her chest.

       Barry looked at Miriam, whose lips were tightly compressed. She met his gaze coldly. He turned to Lawrence.

       "Can you think of any other way?" Lawrence asked. "We've tried everything we can think of, and nothing has worked. Those boys were angry enough to kill him this morning. Next time there might be violence. Have you thought what violence would do to this community?"

       They were a people without violence in their history. Physical punishment had never been considered, because it was impossible to hurt one without hurting others equally. That didn't apply to Mark, Barry thought suddenly, but he didn't say it. The thought of hurting him, of causing him physical pain, was repugnant. He glanced at his brothers and saw the same confusion on their faces that he was feeling. They couldn't abandon the boy. He did hold clues about how man lived alone; they needed him. His mind refused to probe more deeply than that: they needed to study him. There were so many things about human beings that were incomprehensible to them; Mark might be the link that would enable them to understand.

       The fact that the boy was Ben's child, that Ben and his brothers had been as one, had nothing to do with it. He felt no particular bond to the boy. None at all. If anyone could feel such a bond, it should be Miriam, he thought, and looked at her for a sign that she felt something. Her face was stony, her eyes avoided him. Too rigid, he realized, too cold.

       And if that were so, he thought coolly, as if thinking about an experiment with insensate material, then it truly was a mistake to keep the boy with them. If that one child had the power to hurt the Miriam sisters as well as the Barry brothers, he was a mistake. It was unthinkable that an outsider could somehow reach in and twist the old hurts so much that they became new hurts, with even more destructive aftermaths.

       "We could do it," Bob said suddenly. "There are risks, of course, but we could manage him. In four years," he continued, looking now at Sara, "he'll be sent out with the road crew, and from then on, he won't be a threat to any of us. But we will need him when we begin to reach out to try to understand the cities. He can scout out the paths, survive alone in the woods without danger of mental breakdown through separation. We'll need him."

       Sara nodded. "And if we have to have another meeting such as this one, can we agree today that it will be our final meeting?"

       The Barry brothers exchanged glances, then reluctantly nodded and Barry said, "Agreed. We manage him or get rid of him."

       The doctors returned to Barry's office, where Mark was waiting for them. He was standing at the window, a small dark figure against the glare of sunlight. He turned to face them, and his own face seemed featureless. The sun touched his hair and made it gleam with red-gold highlights.

       "What will you do with me?" he asked. His voice was steady.

       "Come over here and sit down," Barry said, taking his place behind the desk. The boy crossed the room and sat on a straight chair, perching on the extreme front of it, as if ready to leap up and run.

       "Relax," Bob said, and sat on the edge of the desk, swinging his leg as he regarded the boy. When the five brothers were in the room it seemed very crowded suddenly. The boy looked from one to another of them and finally turned his attention to Barry. He didn't ask again.

       Barry told him about the meeting, and watching him, he thought, there was a little of Ben, and a little of Molly, and for the rest, he had gone into the distant past, dipped into the gene pool, had come up with strangers' genes, and he was unlike anyone else in the valley. Mark listened intently, the way he listened in class when he was interested. His grasp was immediate and thorough.

       "Why do they think what I did was so awful?" he asked when Barry became silent.

       Barry looked at his brothers helplessly. This was how it was going to be, he wanted to say to them. No common grounds for understanding. He was an alien in every way.

       Suddenly Mark asked, "How can I tell you apart?"

       Barry glanced about the lecture room and spotted Mark in the rear, looking sleepy and bored. He shrugged; let him be bored. Three of the brothers were working in the labs, and the fourth was busy in the breeders' quarters; that left the lecture, and Mark had to sit through it if it killed him.

       "The problem we raised yesterday, if you'll recall," Barry said then, referring briefly to his notes, "is that we have yet to discover the cause of the decline of the clone strains after the fourth generation. The only way we have got around this to date is through constant replenishment of our stocks by the use of sexually reproduced babies who are cloned before the third month
in utero.
In this way we have been able to maintain our families of brothers and sisters, but admittedly this is not the ideal solution. Can any of you tell me what some of the obvious drawbacks to this system are?" He paused and glanced about. "Karen?"

       "There is a slight difference between the babies cloned in the laboratory and those born of human mothers. There is the prenatal influence and also the birth trauma that might alter the sexually reproduced person."

       "Very good," Barry said. "Comments, anyone?"

       "In the beginning they waited two years before they cloned the babies," Stuart said. "Now we don't, and that makes the family almost as close as if they were all clones."

       Barry nodded, then pointed to Carl. "If the human baby has a birth defect, caused by a birth trauma, he can be aborted, and still the cloned babies will be all right."

       "That's hardly in the nature of a drawback," Barry said, smiling. There was an answering ripple of amusement throughout the class.

       He waited a moment, then said, "The genetic pool is unpredictable, its past is unknown, its constituents so varied that when the process is not regulated and controlled, there is always the danger of producing unwanted characteristics. And the even more dangerous threat of losing talents that are important to our community." He allowed time for this to be grasped, then continued. "The only way to ensure our future, to ensure continuity, is through perfecting the process of cloning, and for this reason we need to expand our facilities, increase our researchers, locate a source of materials to replace what is wearing out and equip the new laboratories, and we need to complete a safe link to that source or sources."

       A hand was raised. Barry nodded. "What if we can't find enough equipment in good condition soon enough?"

       "Then we will have to go to human implantation of the cloned fetus. We have done this in a number of cases, and we have the methods, but it is wasteful of our few human resources, and it would necessitate changing our timetable drastically to use the breeders this way." He looked over the class, then continued. "Our goal is to remove the need for sexual reproduction. Then we will be able to plan our future. If we need road builders, we can clone fifty or a hundred for this purpose, train them from infancy, and send them out to fulfill their destiny. We can clone boat builders, sailors, send them out to the sea to locate the course of the fish our first explorers discovered in the Potomac. A hundred farmers, to relieve those who would prefer to be working over test tubes than hoeing rows of carrots."

       Another ripple of laughter passed over the students. Barry smiled also; without exception they all worked their hours in the fields.

       "For the first time since mankind walked the face of the earth," he said, "there will be no misfits."

       "And no geniuses," a voice said lazily, and he looked to the rear of the class to see Mark, still slouched down in his chair, his blue eyes bright, grinning slightly. Deliberately he winked at Barry, then closed both eyes again, and apparently returned to sleep.

       "I'll tell you a story if you want," Mark said. He stood in the aisle between two rows of three beds each. The Carver brothers had all had appendicitis simultaneously. They looked at him from both sides, and one of them nodded. They were thirteen.

       "Once there was a woji," he said, moving to the window, where he sat cross-legged on a chair with the light behind him.

       "What's a woji?"

       "If you ask questions, I won't tell it," Mark said. "You'll see as I go along. This woji lived deep in the woods, and every year when winter came he nearly froze to death. That was because the icy rains soaked him and the snow covered him over, and he had nothing at all to eat because the leaves all fell and he ate leaves. One year he got an idea, and he went to a big spruce tree and told it his idea. At first the spruce tree wouldn't even consider his suggestion. The woji didn't go away, though. He kept telling the spruce tree his idea over and over, and finally the spruce tree thought, What did he have to lose? Why not try it? So the spruce tree told the woji to go ahead. For days and days the woji worked on the leaves, rolling them up and making them over into needles. He used some of the needles to sew them all tightly to the tree branches. Then he climbed to the very top of the spruce tree and yelled at the ice wind, and laughed at it and said it couldn't hurt him now, because he had a home and food to eat all winter.