Kara had pulled herself from her depression. Having Jill around helped. She had set her mind to work on getting free of Gabor. It wouldn't be easy—he was so much more experienced at this—and it might even be impossible. But she had to try. And to have any hope of success, she had to know more about what made him tick.
Why not? Think what you might be able to do for coma patients. Maybe you could wake them up. Or schizophrenics. Maybe you could put their minds back on track.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not."
But you've never even tried. You have this power and you could have contributed something, but instead you're nothing but a—a voluptuary!
"Voluptuary. I like that word. You have an excellent vocabulary, Kara. But you have not thought your scenario all the way through. Here I am, the hero of the medical world, snatching lives back from the depths of coma and psychosis, the wonderful Gabor Gati! But what happens when they all go home for the night? Where is Gabor? Gabor is in a crib in a diaper being fed gruel by a nurse. He can't watch films on TV, he can't choose the music he'd like to hear, he can't even speak to carry on a conversation. And where are the friends and company and conversation Gabor might want? They're somewhere else, and glad to be there, glad they don't have to look at that blind, shrunken, deformed, ugly little geek they use during the day!"
That's the way you see yourself. Aren't you engaging in what you psychiatrists call 'projection?'
"Very good! It is exactly that. But don't try to psychoanalyze me, my dear. I'm way ahead of you. Do you think I have no perspective on myself? I do. I know I am egocentric, and even narcissistic in my own way. And I might even be considered a sociopath. But I exist outside the terminology created for the common Homo sapiens. The developmental defects that so grossly altered my body altered my brain as well. I'm different from you. I'm different from everybody. Your rules don't apply to me. I am a species apart."
Hitler probably thought the same way.
"Perhaps I am rationalizing. But I'm not a megalomaniac. I've no plans to sneak about, impregnating women with my sperm in order to start a super race of my kind."
It probably wouldn't work anyway.
"I agree. But if I were the B-movie power-crazed monster you're implying I am, I'd certainly give it a try. But I'm not interested in ruling the world. I don't care about the world. I care about Gabor. I came into this world trapped in a blind, mute, deformed body incapable of experiencing anything beyond the most rudimentary sensations. But I found a compensatory power within me that allows me to experience all manner of sensation via the bodies of others. So I use that power. It would be a sin, after all, to waste it."
Did your power come with a gift for moral contortions as well, or did you develop that on your own?
"I don't explain myself, Kara. Even to myself."
Maybe you—
Kara felt her body start as something tapped her shoulder.
It was Jill, tired, rubbing her eyes.
"I can't sleep with all that noise," she said above the blare of the opera.
The sound ebbed as Kara's thumb pressed the volume control.
"And you didn't kiss me good night."
Had Kara's muscles been responsive to her moods, they would have bunched into cramped knots. The thought of Gabor kissing Jill…
"Sorry, my dear. Let's get you back to bed."
"And how come you keep calling me 'my dear?' "
"Because you are my dear."
"What do you usually call her?" "Honey." Or "Bug."
"How quaint."
He led her down to the bedroom and did a decent job of tucking her back in.
"Don't forget my kiss!"
Kara's body bent and her lips kissed Jill on the cheek.
"And a hug!"
Kara felt Jill's arms go around her neck and squeeze.
"I love you, Mom!"
Had she eyes and tears, Kara would have wept. That hug and those words were meant for her and Gabor was stealing them. She raged blindly.
I'll get us out of this, Jill! Someway, somehow, I'll get free of him!
A calm, monstrously self-assured voice replied.
"No you won't."
February 27
8:22 A.M.
"Where you going with that food, Mom?"
You freeze for a moment. You were doing what you always do: preparing breakfast for your body in the basement. You reached into the pantry for some junior foods to take downstairs, but you forgot the child.
Up to this point, the morning has gone quite well. Jill is a charming child, bright, intelligent, good-natured. She stirs some lost, long-dormant part of you. A child. Progeny. The future. You realize with a pang of loss that you will never have a child of your own, that an entire wing of the Gati family has reached its terminus in you. That perspective has escaped you until now. The tragedy of it makes you grieve.
But now the child has seen the baby food and wants to know about it.
You tell her, 'I'm going to take some of it downstairs. To make more room up here."
"How come it's here?"
"Someone with a baby probably lived here before we moved in."
"Why'd they leave it?"
"I don't know," you say, unable to keep a snap out of your voice. "Stop asking so many questions."
The child starts as if she'd been slapped.
Don't talk to her like that!
"I'll speak to her the way I choose. Doesn't she ever stop asking questions?"
Never. How else is a child to learn? How do you think you learned?
"By stealing. I never had a childhood of my own. I had to siphon it off from others."
Asking's better than stealing.
"I had no choice."
Awww. I'll get some violin music for you.
You don't know how long you can tolerate sharing a body with this woman. Her contempt for you is a cold damp wind on the back of your neck. Her rage at having control of her body torn from her is a palpable thing, a growing weight on your shoulders. Her sense of self is too strong, too deeply seated to allow you a comfortable coexistence.
If only you had known. So many people live their lives with no sense of direction, no firm sense of self, easily influenced by the latest fashion, allowing themselves to be blown hither and thither. Life would be so much easier now if Kara had been one of those.
But what alternative do you have? You are stuck with her until other arrangements can be made.
"Want me to help you bring some of those downstairs?" Jill asks, her wide brown eyes looking up at you, unsure of what she's done wrong, anxious to make amends.
But the last thing you need is this child trailing behind you down to the basement. You cannot let her learn that you live down there.
"No, thank you, dear," you say as gently as you can. "I can handle this myself."
"Okay," she says.
You pull a spoon from the drawer.
"What's that for?"
Another question. You bite down on your tongue.
"Nothing, dear."
You start toward the basement but she's right behind you.
"You stay up here, dear. I'll only be a few minutes."
"I don't want to."
"Go up to the top floor and turn on the television. You can watch cartoons on the giant screen."
"I don't want to. I don't like being up there alone. I want to come with you."
"Well, you can't."
Her lower lip starts to tremble. Tears begin to rim her dark eyes.
"Mommy, I'm scared up here!"
You try, but you can't keep the edge off your voice.
"That's too bad. You'd better get used to it because you're going to have to stay here alone lots of times, starting now."
You step into the stairwell and close the door behind you. There's a latch inside the door. You snap it home.