He paused, embarrassed, remembering that SHE WAS MUTE OR
chose to be. "I mean you can bang on the wall or something. That okay?" Slowly she nodded, and he was relieved. She responded so little that he was never quite sure she understood him. "Good.
Now get some sleep. I'll knock before I come in, so I won't catch you by surprise." That was his concession to the woman aspect of her; she had to have time to cover up if she happened to be changing.
It all seemed simple enough.
But in the morning he found her sitting there still, shivering, the moisture squeezing hopelessly out of one eye. She might have moved about during the night, but the dark patches under her eyes showed she had not slept.
"Why?" he demanded incredulously. "Why didn't you summon me, if you couldn't sleep?"
She answered him only with that catatonic passivity, and a tear.
Evidently there was something he had missed.
He told her to go to the bathroom while he fetched breakfast, and she did. He told her to change her clothing while he faced into a corner, and she did. He no longer trusted her to do things in his absence, but he intended to treat her with propriety. They ate, and got back on the road.
Jack pondered the event of the night as he drove, deeply disturbed. He had not mistreated Tappy, and there had been no trouble, except for the business at the restaurant. He had spoken to her and had supper with her, and she had not been crying then. She didn't seem to be afraid of him, though he wouldn't have blamed her for that. Indifferent, perhaps, but not fearful. So what was bothering her?
He was taking her to the clinic that might be able to give back her sight and make her talk. She should be happy.
"Don't you want to see again?" he asked her. "I mean, there's all kinds of scenery out here. We're in New York State now-"
She turned suddenly toward him, startling him into silence. He glanced at her, but her face showed no emotion. After a moment she straightened out again.
There was something! This was her first voluntary response to him. She had reacted to something he had said. Was it his question about her sight?
"You do want to see?" he repeated. But this time there was no reaction. Apparently she had acted without thought, but now she had clamped down again.
She couldn't want to stay blind! Maybe his question had deserved no answer. Yet she had reacted. There had to be something else. Something she knew that he didn't.
Was it really a clinic she was destined for? Or had that been something they told him to obtain his cooperation? Now that he thought about it, there were a number of funny things about this whole arrangement. If they had so much money for specialists, and enough to pay him so generously for unskilled labor, why hadn't they done something about her ear? Comparatively minor cosmetic surgery could have eliminated most of the scar tissue on her face, too. And there had to be something better than that ugly metal brace on her leg. She wasn't paralytic; the leg should have mended by now.
. And why hadn't they hired a professional nurse for this trip?
nurses could drive. This was a gearshift car, but only because he had asked for it; he preferred to do his own driving. They would have gotten an automatic shift for a nurse. Why had they been so happy to trust him, a male stranger? They had hardly checked his credentials, which were minimal. The only virtue he seemed to have was ignorance. Yet for three days Tappy was in his hands. Anything could happen. Legally she was still a child, but she was a woman-child.
He drove on, no longer in a hurry. The doubt kept spiraling through his mind, growing uglier with every loop. If not a clinic, what?
Tappy wouldn't talk to him,"so he talked to her, just to keep his mind off whatever unthinkable thing it sought. Maybe it was to inhibit his own suspicions. He read out the stupid billboards as they threaded their way through the complex of Schenectady, Albany, and Troy. He cussed out the other drivers. He kept up a meaningless monologue. Anything to fill the air with sound and keep his mind at bay.
Deviating Jack did not allow himself to wonder why he was ( * * from the direct route marked on his map. He just drove where the scenery looked best.
Finally, as evening came to the highway, he felt a soft touch on his arm. He looked, and found her slumped like a straw doll, sleeping.
This was the supreme compliment. Tappy would not speak, but she now trusted him enough to sleep.
Jack realized then, coincidentally, why she had reacted when he talked to her initially. It had been the first time he had spoken to her without an imperative. He had started to describe the scenery they were passing. Perhaps it had been a long time since anyone had talked to her about anything that might interest her, however slightly.
He drove more carefully then, winding around the curves as the mountain ridge loomed high ahead, marking the physique of the state of Vermont. Just before the road seemed fated to plunge suicidally into the sheer wall of mountain, it spun aside, and there was a pretty town. He found a motel and stopped.
She was sleeping as he carried her into the unit and placed her on the bed. He took off her shoes, having a little trouble with the brace; the metal passed all the way under the foot and was awkward to get around. Tappy's feet and legs were well formed.
however, and though she was light, her skeletal structure was good. She would have a handsome figure when she filled out, if only something could be done about her injuries, both physical and emotional.
Jack left her and turned out the light as he closed the door.
Sleep was more important than food at the moment. He hoped she would lie undisturbed until morning.
She did and she didn't. In the night he woke, hearing a voice.
Someone was in Tappy's room. He went there, but there was no one. Tappy was lying on the bed-and talking. The words were slurred, almost indistinguishable.
He paused, realizing that she was not awake. She was talking in her sleep! That was the one time her emotional barrier was down, and her voice was freed.
Then out of that seeming gibberish, some words appeared.
He listened, fascinated. "Empire of the stars," she said, if he understood correctly. Then: "Reality is a dream."
But after that she turned over, and there were no more words.
He withdrew, excited. So what if she was muttering about some television program she had overheard? She could talk!
Next day they toured the great Green Mountains, the car's little engine laboring in a lower gear to manage the steep ascents. That was all right; he was no longer in a hurry, and they could proceed as slowly as they wanted. He continued to call out the view, and though Tappy did not turn her face to him again, he could tell by her alertness that she was interested.
He spoke of the old elms and maples, the mossy rocks, the near and distant mountain slopes covered with green foliage like thickly woven rugs. They passed a ski run-a long bare swath running Up the side of one of the higher peaks, resembling a scar.
And she was crying again, in her silent way. The scar-why hadn't he kept his brain connected enough to stifle that analogy before it was spoken! His description lapsed; he couldn't think of any apology that would not hurt her more.
He understood now that her passive attitude concealed an extremely sensitive nature. Yet perhaps there was a positive --.-aspect, for at least she was now showing her emotion. He : had spoken to her, and gained her interest, thereby making her vulnerable. If he could hurt her, could he not also help her, if he found the right words?