September 21, 2025 • 27 mins
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Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Now we are three by Joe L. Hensley. It didn't
matter that he had quit. He was still one of
the guilty. He had seen it in her eyes and
in the eyes of others. John rushed smoothed the covers
over his wife, tucking them in where her restless moving
(00:21):
had pulled them away from the mattress. The twins moved
beside him, their smooth hands following his in the task,
their blind eyes intent on nothingness. Thank you, he said
softly to them, knowing they could not hear him, but
it made him feel better to talk. His wife, Mary
(00:43):
was quiet. Her breathing was smooth, easy, almost as if
she were sleeping the long sleep. He touched her forehead,
but it was cool. The doctor had said it was
a miracle she had lived this long. He stood away
from the bed for a moment, watching, before he went
(01:03):
on out to the porch. The twins moved back into
what had become a normal position for them in the
past months, one on each side of the bed, their
thin hands holding Mary's tightly, the milky blind eyes surveying
something that could not be seen by his eyes. Sometimes
(01:25):
they would stand like this for hours. Outside, the evening
was cool, the light not quite gone. He sat in
the rocking chair and waited for the doctor who had
promised to come and yet might not come. The bitterness
came back, the self hate. He remembered a young man
(01:46):
and promises made but not kept, a girl who had
believed and never lost faith. Even when he had retreated
back to the land, away from everything, long sullen sight,
violence's self pity, brooding over the news stories that got
worse and worse, and the children, one born dead, two
(02:10):
born deaf and dumb and blind, worse than dead. You helped,
he accused himself. You worked for those who set off
the bombs, and tested and tested while the cycle went
up and up beyond human tolerance. Not the death level,
but the level where nothing was sure again, the level
(02:33):
that made cancer a thing of epidemic proportions, replacing statistically
all of the insane multitude of things that man could
do to kill himself. Even the good things that the
atom had brought were destroyed in the panic that ensued.
No matter that you quit, you are still one of
the guilty. You have seen it hidden in her eyes,
(02:57):
and you have seen it in the milky eyes of
the twins. Worse than dead. Dusk became night, and finally
the doctor came. It had begun to lightning, and a
few large drops of rain stroked Rush's cheek. Not a
good year for the farming, he had retreated to. Not
(03:18):
a good year for anything. He stood to greet the
doctor and the other man with him. Good evening, doctor,
he said, mister Rush. The doctor shook hands gingerly. I
hope you don't mind me bringing someone along. This is
mister North. He is with the County Juvenile Office. The
(03:43):
young doctor smiled. How is the patient this evening? She
is the same, John Rush said to the doctor. He
turned to the other man, keeping his face emotionless, hands
at his side. He had expected that for some time.
I think you will be wanting to look at the
(04:04):
twins there by her bed. He opened the door and
motioned them in, and then followed. He heard the juvenile
man catch his breath a little. The twins were playing again.
They had left their vigil at the bedside, and they
were moving swiftly around the small living room, their hands
(04:25):
and arms and legs moving in some synchronized game that
had no meaning, Their movements quick and sure, their faces
showing some intensity, some purpose, they moved with grace, avoiding obstructions.
I thought these children were blind, mister North, said, John
(04:47):
smiled a little. It is unnerving. I have seen them
play like this before, though they have not done so
for a long time since my wife has been ill.
He lowered his head. They are blind, deaf and dumb.
How old are they twelve? They do not seem to
(05:10):
be more than eight nine at the most. They have
been well fed, John said softly. How about schooling, mister Rush.
The teaching of handicapped children is not something that can
be done by a person untrained in the field. I
have three degrees, mister North. When my wife became ill
(05:32):
and I began to care for them, I taught them
to read Braille. They picked it up very quickly, though
they showed little continued interest in it. I read a
number of books in the field of teaching handicapped children.
He let it trail off. Your degrees were in physics,
were they not, mister Rush. Now the touch of malice came,
(05:56):
that is correct. He sat down in one of the
wooden chain. I quit working long before the witch hunts came.
I was never indicted. Nevertheless, your degrees are no longer bonafide.
All such degrees have been stricken from the records. He
looked down, and John saw that his eyes no longer
(06:18):
hid the hate. If your wife dies, I doubt that
any court would allow you to keep custody of these
children a year before even six months, and John would
not have protested. Now he had to make the effort.
They are my children, such as they are, and I
(06:39):
will fight any attempt to take them from me. The
juvenile man smiled, without humor. My wife and I had
a child last year, mister Rush, or perhaps I should
say that a child was born to us. I am
glad that child was born dead. I think my wife
is even glad. Perhaps we should try again. I understand
(07:03):
that you and your kind have left us an even
chance on a normal berth. He paused for a moment.
I shall file a petition with the Circuit Court asking
that the Juvenile Office be appointed guardians of your children.
Mister Rush, I hope you do not choose to resist
that petition. Feeling would run pretty high against an ex
(07:25):
physicist who tried to prove he deserved children. He turned
away stiffly and went out the front door. In a
little while, Rush heard the car door slam decisively. The
doctor was replacing things in the black bag. I am sorry, John.
(07:46):
He said he was going to come out here anyway,
so I invited him to come with me. John nodded.
My wife. There is no change, and no chance. There
never has been one. The brain tumor is too large
(08:06):
and too inaccessible for treatment or surgery. It will be
soon now. I am surprised that she has lasted this long.
I am prolonging a sure process. He turned away. That's
all I can do. Thank you for coming, doctor. I
appreciate that Rush smiled bitterly, unable to stop himself. But
(08:32):
aren't you afraid that your other patients will find out?
The doctor stopped, his face, paling slightly. I took an
oath when I graduated from medical school. Sometimes I want
to break that oath, but I have not so far,
he paused, Try as I may. I cannot blame them
(08:53):
for hating you. You know why Rush wanted to laugh
and cry at the same time time. Don't you realize
that the government that punished the men I worked for
for their criminal negligence is the same government that commissioned
them to do that work. That officials were warned, and
rewarned of the things that small increases in radiation might do,
(09:18):
and that such things might not show up immediately, And
yet they ordered us ahead. He stopped for a moment
and put his head down, touching his work, roughened hands
to his eyes. They put us in prison for refusing
to do a job, or investigated us until no one
could or would trust us in civilian jobs. Then when
(09:41):
it was done, they put us in prison or worse,
because the very things we warned them of came true.
Perhaps that is true, the doctor said stiffly, But the
choice of refusing was still possible. Some of us did
refuse to work, Rush said softly, I did for one.
(10:04):
Perhaps you think that we alone will bear the blame.
You are wrong. Sooner or later the stigma will spread
to all of the sciences, and to you, doctor, too
many now that you can't save. In a little while.
The hate will surround you also when we are gone
(10:24):
and they must find something new to hate. They will
blame you for every malformed baby and every death. You
think that one of you will find a cure for
this thing. Perhaps you would if you had a hundred
years or a thousand years. But you haven't. They killed
a man on the street in New York the other
(10:45):
day because he was wearing a white laboratory smock. What
do you wear in your office? Doctor, hate blind eyes
can't tell the difference, physicist, chemist, Doctor, We all look
the same to a fool. Even if there were a
cancer cure, that is only a part of the problem.
(11:08):
There are the babies. Your science cannot cope with the cause.
Only mine can do that. The doctor lowered his head
and turned away toward the door. There was another thing
left to say. If the plumbing went bad in your home, doctor,
you would call a plumber, for he would be the
(11:29):
one competent to fix it. Rush shook his head slowly.
But what happens when there are no plumbers left. The
children were by the bed, their hands holding those of
the mother gently. John Rush tugged those hands away and
led them toward their own bed. The small hands were
(11:52):
cold in his own, and he felt a tiny feeling
of revulsion as they tightened. Then the feeling slipped away
and was replaced, as if a current had crossed from
their hands to his. It was a warm feeling, one
that he had known before when they touched him, But
for which he had never been able to find mental
words to express the sensation. Slowly he helped them undress.
(12:19):
When they were in the single bed, he covered them
with the top sheet. Their milky eyes surveyed him, unseeing
somehow withdrawn. I have not known you well, he said.
I left that to her. I have sat and brooded
and buried myself in the earth until it is too
(12:39):
late for much else. He touched the small heads. I
wish you could hear me. I wish outside on the road,
a truck roared, passed. Instinctively, he set to hear it.
The faces below him did not change. He turned away
quick then, and went back out on the porch. He
(13:03):
filled his pipe and sat down in the old creaky rocker.
A tiny rain had begun to fall hesitantly, as if
afraid of striking the sun hardened ground. Somewhere out there,
somewhere hunted but not found. The plumbers gathered there had
been a man what was his name, Masser, that was it.
(13:28):
He had been working on a way to inhibit radioactivity
speed up the half life, until they had taken the
grant away. If a man can do whatever he thinks of,
can he undo that which he has done. Masser was
the theoreticist. I was the applier, the one who translated
(13:49):
equations into cold blueprints. And I was good until they
they had hounded him back to the land when he quit.
Had not been so lucky when a whole people panic
that an object for their hate must be found, a naming,
(14:09):
an immediate object. He remembered the newspaper story that began,
they lynched twelve men, twelve x men in New Mexico
last night. Have I been wrong? Have I done the
right thing? He remembered the tiny hands in his own,
the blind eyes, those hands, why do they make me
(14:34):
feel like? He let his head slide back against the
padded top of the rocking chair and fell into a light,
uneasy sleep. The dreams came as they had before. Tiny
inhumanly capable hands clutched at him, and the sun was
hot above. There was a background sound of hydrogen bombs
(14:57):
heard mutely down at the hands that touched and asked
something of his own. The eyes were not milky now,
they stared up at him, alert and questioning, what is
it you want? The wind tore holes in tiny voices,
and there was the sound of laughter, and his wife's
(15:20):
eyes were looking into his own, sorry only for him,
at peace with the rest, and they formed a ring
around him. Those three hands caught together and closing him.
What is it you are saying? It seemed to him
that the words would come clear. But the rain came then,
(15:41):
great torrents of it, washing all away, all sight and sound.
He awoke, and only the rain was true. The tiny
rain had increased to a wind driven downpour, and he
was soaked where it had blown under the eaves under
the porch. From inside the house, he heard a cry.
(16:04):
She was sitting upright in bed. Her eyes were open
and full of pain. He went quickly to her and
touched her pulse. It was faint and reedy. I hurt,
she whispered quickly, as the doctor had taught him. He
made up a shot of morphine, a full quarter grain,
(16:26):
and gave it to her. Her eyes glazed down but
did not close. John, she said softly, the children they
talked to. She twisted on the bed, and he held
her with strong arms until the eyes closed again and
her breathing became easy. He pushed the ruffled hair back
(16:50):
from her eyes and straightened the awry sheets. The vibration
of his walking might have wakened the twins. He tiptoed
to their bed, for they refused to be parted, even
in sleep. For a second, he thought that the small
night light had tricked him by shadows on shadows. He
(17:12):
reached down to touch. They were gone. He fought down
sudden panic. Where can two children, deaf and dumb and
blind go in the middle of the night. Not far
He opened the door to the kitchen hand hunted for
the hanging light. They were not there, nor were they
(17:35):
on the small back porch. The panic passed, critical mass
exploded out of control. He lurched back into the combination
living room bedroom. He looked under all of the beds
and into the small closet, everywhere the two children might
conceal themselves. Outside, the rain had increased. He peered out
(17:59):
into the lightning night. A truck horn blew ominously far
down the road. The road. He slogged through the mud,
instantly soaking. As soon as he was out of shelter,
not knowing or caring, through the front yard out to
the road. He could see the lights of the truck
(18:19):
coming from far away, two tiny points in the darkness,
but no twins. He waited helplessly while the truck rushed past,
its headlights, cutting holes in the darkness, fearing those lights
would outline something that he had not seen. But there
was nothing for another eternity. He hunted the muddy fields,
(18:42):
the small barn and outbuildings. The clutch of fear made
him shout their names, though he knew they could not hear.
And then suddenly all fear was gone, like a summer
squall near the sea with the sun close behind. It
was as if their hands had reached out and touched
him and brought the strange feeling again. They are in
(19:06):
the house, he said aloud, and knew he was right.
He took time to discard muddy shoes in the porch
before he opened the door, and they were there by
the mother's bed, hands clasped over hers. He felt a
tiny chill. Their eyes were watching the door as he
opened it, their faces set to receive some stimuli, already
(19:31):
set as if they had known he was coming. Mary
was breathing softly on her face. All trace of pain
had disappeared, and now there was the tiny smile that
had been hers long ago. Her breathing was even, but light,
as forgotten conversation. Gently, he tried to pry their resisting
(19:54):
hands away from hers. The hands fought back with a
terrible strength, beyond normality. By sheer greater force, he tore
one of the twins away. It was like releasing a bomb.
Sudden pain stabbed through his body. The twins struggled in
his arms, the small hands reaching blindly out for the
(20:17):
thing they had lost, and Mary's eyes opened, and all
of the uncontrolled pain came back into those eyes. Her
body writhed on the bed, tearing the coverings away. The
twins squirmed away from his slackening hold, and once again
caught at the hands of the mother. All struggle ceased.
(20:40):
Mary's eyes shut again, the plain lines smoothed themselves, the
tiny smile flowered. He reached out and touched the small
hands on each side of the mother, and the feeling
for which there were no words came through more strongly
than ever before. Tiny voices tried to whisper within the
corners of his mind, partially blotted, sometimes heard the real things,
(21:07):
the things of hate and fear and despair, retreated beyond
the bugle call that sounded somewhere. She will die, the voice, said,
one voice for two, this part of her will die.
And then her voice came as it had been once before,
(21:27):
when all the world was young. You must not be afraid, John,
I have known for a long time, for they were
a part of me, and you could not know, for
your mind was hiding and alone I have seen. He
cried out and pulled his hands away. Sound died. The
(21:50):
room was normal again. The milky white eyes surveyed him.
The hands remained locked securely over those of the mother.
The thin carven features of the children were emotionless, waiting.
He strove for rational meaning within his brain. These are
(22:10):
my sons. They cannot see, or hear, or speak. They
are identical twins born with those defects. Take two children,
blind them, make them deaf to all sound, cut away
their voices. They are identical twins facing the same environment,
(22:32):
sharing the same heredity of blasted chromosomes. They will have
intelligence and curiosity that increases as they mature. They will
not be blinded by the senses the easy way. The
first thing they will discover is each other. What else
might they then discover? It has been said that when
(22:55):
sight is lost, the sense of touch and hearing increase
to all most unbelievable acuteness. Rush knew that the blind
often also develop a sense almost like radar, which allows
them to perceive an object ahead of them and gives
them the ability to follow twisting paths. Take one child
(23:17):
and put them under the disability that the twins were
born with. As intelligence grows, so does single bewilderment. The
world is a puzzling and bewildering place. Brail is a
great discovery, a way to communicate with the unknown that
lies beyond. But the twins had shown almost no interest
(23:39):
in brail. He reached back down for the tiny hands. Yes,
we can communicate. The single voice that spoke for two said,
we have tried with you before, but we could not
break through. Your mind speaks in a language we do
not understand, in figures and equations that are not real
(24:02):
to us. Those things lie all through your mind. On
the surface, we have sensed only your pity for us
and your hate for the shadowy ones around you, the
ones we do not know. It was a wall we
could not climb. She is different, A part of her
(24:22):
will go with us, the voice said, there is another
place that touches this one, which we perceive and know
more fully than this one. The voice died away, and
brief pictures of a land of other dimensions beyond sight
flashed in his brain. He had seen them before, imperfectly
(24:43):
in the disquieting dreams. She must go with us, for
she can no longer exist here, the voice said softly.
Perhaps there are others like us to come. We do
not yet know what we are or whether there will
be others like us, but we must go now. Before
we were ready because of her, the mother's voice came,
(25:09):
You must go too. There is nothing here for you
but sorrow. They will take you, John. A softness touched
at him, Please, John. The longing was a thing of
fire to cast off the world that had already given
him all of the hate and fear that he could stand,
(25:32):
that had made him worse than a coward. To go
with her. But she no longer needed him. She was complete,
as they were only necessary to themselves. He could not go.
During the long night, he kept the vigil by the bedside,
(25:53):
long after any need to keep it. The twins were
gone and she with them. He could not cry, for
all tears seemed useless. He said a small prayer, something
he had not done in years, over the cold thing
left behind. The rain had ceased. Outside, Somewhere, out there
(26:18):
in his world, there were men trying to undo the
harm that had been done, harm that he had helped
to do. Then retreated from. He had no right to
retreat further. Something spoke a requiem sentence in his consciousness,
light as late sunset, only vaguely there. We are here,
(26:43):
We will wait for you. Come to us. Come. He
wrote a short note for the doctor and the others
who had come and hunt and go through the motions
that men must live by. Perhaps the doctor might even
understand I have gone plumbing. The note said, end of
(27:09):
now we are three by Joe L. Hensley
Now we are three by Joe L. Hensley. It didn't
matter that he had quit. He was still one of
the guilty. He had seen it in her eyes and
in the eyes of others. John rushed smoothed the covers
over his wife, tucking them in where her restless moving
(00:21):
had pulled them away from the mattress. The twins moved
beside him, their smooth hands following his in the task,
their blind eyes intent on nothingness. Thank you, he said
softly to them, knowing they could not hear him, but
it made him feel better to talk. His wife, Mary
(00:43):
was quiet. Her breathing was smooth, easy, almost as if
she were sleeping the long sleep. He touched her forehead,
but it was cool. The doctor had said it was
a miracle she had lived this long. He stood away
from the bed for a moment, watching, before he went
(01:03):
on out to the porch. The twins moved back into
what had become a normal position for them in the
past months, one on each side of the bed, their
thin hands holding Mary's tightly, the milky blind eyes surveying
something that could not be seen by his eyes. Sometimes
(01:25):
they would stand like this for hours. Outside, the evening
was cool, the light not quite gone. He sat in
the rocking chair and waited for the doctor who had
promised to come and yet might not come. The bitterness
came back, the self hate. He remembered a young man
(01:46):
and promises made but not kept, a girl who had
believed and never lost faith. Even when he had retreated
back to the land, away from everything, long sullen sight,
violence's self pity, brooding over the news stories that got
worse and worse, and the children, one born dead, two
(02:10):
born deaf and dumb and blind, worse than dead. You helped,
he accused himself. You worked for those who set off
the bombs, and tested and tested while the cycle went
up and up beyond human tolerance. Not the death level,
but the level where nothing was sure again, the level
(02:33):
that made cancer a thing of epidemic proportions, replacing statistically
all of the insane multitude of things that man could
do to kill himself. Even the good things that the
atom had brought were destroyed in the panic that ensued.
No matter that you quit, you are still one of
the guilty. You have seen it hidden in her eyes,
(02:57):
and you have seen it in the milky eyes of
the twins. Worse than dead. Dusk became night, and finally
the doctor came. It had begun to lightning, and a
few large drops of rain stroked Rush's cheek. Not a
good year for the farming, he had retreated to. Not
(03:18):
a good year for anything. He stood to greet the
doctor and the other man with him. Good evening, doctor,
he said, mister Rush. The doctor shook hands gingerly. I
hope you don't mind me bringing someone along. This is
mister North. He is with the County Juvenile Office. The
(03:43):
young doctor smiled. How is the patient this evening? She
is the same, John Rush said to the doctor. He
turned to the other man, keeping his face emotionless, hands
at his side. He had expected that for some time.
I think you will be wanting to look at the
(04:04):
twins there by her bed. He opened the door and
motioned them in, and then followed. He heard the juvenile
man catch his breath a little. The twins were playing again.
They had left their vigil at the bedside, and they
were moving swiftly around the small living room, their hands
(04:25):
and arms and legs moving in some synchronized game that
had no meaning, Their movements quick and sure, their faces
showing some intensity, some purpose, they moved with grace, avoiding obstructions.
I thought these children were blind, mister North, said, John
(04:47):
smiled a little. It is unnerving. I have seen them
play like this before, though they have not done so
for a long time since my wife has been ill.
He lowered his head. They are blind, deaf and dumb.
How old are they twelve? They do not seem to
(05:10):
be more than eight nine at the most. They have
been well fed, John said softly. How about schooling, mister Rush.
The teaching of handicapped children is not something that can
be done by a person untrained in the field. I
have three degrees, mister North. When my wife became ill
(05:32):
and I began to care for them, I taught them
to read Braille. They picked it up very quickly, though
they showed little continued interest in it. I read a
number of books in the field of teaching handicapped children.
He let it trail off. Your degrees were in physics,
were they not, mister Rush. Now the touch of malice came,
(05:56):
that is correct. He sat down in one of the
wooden chain. I quit working long before the witch hunts came.
I was never indicted. Nevertheless, your degrees are no longer bonafide.
All such degrees have been stricken from the records. He
looked down, and John saw that his eyes no longer
(06:18):
hid the hate. If your wife dies, I doubt that
any court would allow you to keep custody of these
children a year before even six months, and John would
not have protested. Now he had to make the effort.
They are my children, such as they are, and I
(06:39):
will fight any attempt to take them from me. The
juvenile man smiled, without humor. My wife and I had
a child last year, mister Rush, or perhaps I should
say that a child was born to us. I am
glad that child was born dead. I think my wife
is even glad. Perhaps we should try again. I understand
(07:03):
that you and your kind have left us an even
chance on a normal berth. He paused for a moment.
I shall file a petition with the Circuit Court asking
that the Juvenile Office be appointed guardians of your children.
Mister Rush, I hope you do not choose to resist
that petition. Feeling would run pretty high against an ex
(07:25):
physicist who tried to prove he deserved children. He turned
away stiffly and went out the front door. In a
little while, Rush heard the car door slam decisively. The
doctor was replacing things in the black bag. I am sorry, John.
(07:46):
He said he was going to come out here anyway,
so I invited him to come with me. John nodded.
My wife. There is no change, and no chance. There
never has been one. The brain tumor is too large
(08:06):
and too inaccessible for treatment or surgery. It will be
soon now. I am surprised that she has lasted this long.
I am prolonging a sure process. He turned away. That's
all I can do. Thank you for coming, doctor. I
appreciate that Rush smiled bitterly, unable to stop himself. But
(08:32):
aren't you afraid that your other patients will find out?
The doctor stopped, his face, paling slightly. I took an
oath when I graduated from medical school. Sometimes I want
to break that oath, but I have not so far,
he paused, Try as I may. I cannot blame them
(08:53):
for hating you. You know why Rush wanted to laugh
and cry at the same time time. Don't you realize
that the government that punished the men I worked for
for their criminal negligence is the same government that commissioned
them to do that work. That officials were warned, and
rewarned of the things that small increases in radiation might do,
(09:18):
and that such things might not show up immediately, And
yet they ordered us ahead. He stopped for a moment
and put his head down, touching his work, roughened hands
to his eyes. They put us in prison for refusing
to do a job, or investigated us until no one
could or would trust us in civilian jobs. Then when
(09:41):
it was done, they put us in prison or worse,
because the very things we warned them of came true.
Perhaps that is true, the doctor said stiffly, But the
choice of refusing was still possible. Some of us did
refuse to work, Rush said softly, I did for one.
(10:04):
Perhaps you think that we alone will bear the blame.
You are wrong. Sooner or later the stigma will spread
to all of the sciences, and to you, doctor, too
many now that you can't save. In a little while.
The hate will surround you also when we are gone
(10:24):
and they must find something new to hate. They will
blame you for every malformed baby and every death. You
think that one of you will find a cure for
this thing. Perhaps you would if you had a hundred
years or a thousand years. But you haven't. They killed
a man on the street in New York the other
(10:45):
day because he was wearing a white laboratory smock. What
do you wear in your office? Doctor, hate blind eyes
can't tell the difference, physicist, chemist, Doctor, We all look
the same to a fool. Even if there were a
cancer cure, that is only a part of the problem.
(11:08):
There are the babies. Your science cannot cope with the cause.
Only mine can do that. The doctor lowered his head
and turned away toward the door. There was another thing
left to say. If the plumbing went bad in your home, doctor,
you would call a plumber, for he would be the
(11:29):
one competent to fix it. Rush shook his head slowly.
But what happens when there are no plumbers left. The
children were by the bed, their hands holding those of
the mother gently. John Rush tugged those hands away and
led them toward their own bed. The small hands were
(11:52):
cold in his own, and he felt a tiny feeling
of revulsion as they tightened. Then the feeling slipped away
and was replaced, as if a current had crossed from
their hands to his. It was a warm feeling, one
that he had known before when they touched him, But
for which he had never been able to find mental
words to express the sensation. Slowly he helped them undress.
(12:19):
When they were in the single bed, he covered them
with the top sheet. Their milky eyes surveyed him, unseeing
somehow withdrawn. I have not known you well, he said.
I left that to her. I have sat and brooded
and buried myself in the earth until it is too
(12:39):
late for much else. He touched the small heads. I
wish you could hear me. I wish outside on the road,
a truck roared, passed. Instinctively, he set to hear it.
The faces below him did not change. He turned away
quick then, and went back out on the porch. He
(13:03):
filled his pipe and sat down in the old creaky rocker.
A tiny rain had begun to fall hesitantly, as if
afraid of striking the sun hardened ground. Somewhere out there,
somewhere hunted but not found. The plumbers gathered there had
been a man what was his name, Masser, that was it.
(13:28):
He had been working on a way to inhibit radioactivity
speed up the half life, until they had taken the
grant away. If a man can do whatever he thinks of,
can he undo that which he has done. Masser was
the theoreticist. I was the applier, the one who translated
(13:49):
equations into cold blueprints. And I was good until they
they had hounded him back to the land when he quit.
Had not been so lucky when a whole people panic
that an object for their hate must be found, a naming,
(14:09):
an immediate object. He remembered the newspaper story that began,
they lynched twelve men, twelve x men in New Mexico
last night. Have I been wrong? Have I done the
right thing? He remembered the tiny hands in his own,
the blind eyes, those hands, why do they make me
(14:34):
feel like? He let his head slide back against the
padded top of the rocking chair and fell into a light,
uneasy sleep. The dreams came as they had before. Tiny
inhumanly capable hands clutched at him, and the sun was
hot above. There was a background sound of hydrogen bombs
(14:57):
heard mutely down at the hands that touched and asked
something of his own. The eyes were not milky now,
they stared up at him, alert and questioning, what is
it you want? The wind tore holes in tiny voices,
and there was the sound of laughter, and his wife's
(15:20):
eyes were looking into his own, sorry only for him,
at peace with the rest, and they formed a ring
around him. Those three hands caught together and closing him.
What is it you are saying? It seemed to him
that the words would come clear. But the rain came then,
(15:41):
great torrents of it, washing all away, all sight and sound.
He awoke, and only the rain was true. The tiny
rain had increased to a wind driven downpour, and he
was soaked where it had blown under the eaves under
the porch. From inside the house, he heard a cry.
(16:04):
She was sitting upright in bed. Her eyes were open
and full of pain. He went quickly to her and
touched her pulse. It was faint and reedy. I hurt,
she whispered quickly, as the doctor had taught him. He
made up a shot of morphine, a full quarter grain,
(16:26):
and gave it to her. Her eyes glazed down but
did not close. John, she said softly, the children they
talked to. She twisted on the bed, and he held
her with strong arms until the eyes closed again and
her breathing became easy. He pushed the ruffled hair back
(16:50):
from her eyes and straightened the awry sheets. The vibration
of his walking might have wakened the twins. He tiptoed
to their bed, for they refused to be parted, even
in sleep. For a second, he thought that the small
night light had tricked him by shadows on shadows. He
(17:12):
reached down to touch. They were gone. He fought down
sudden panic. Where can two children, deaf and dumb and
blind go in the middle of the night. Not far
He opened the door to the kitchen hand hunted for
the hanging light. They were not there, nor were they
(17:35):
on the small back porch. The panic passed, critical mass
exploded out of control. He lurched back into the combination
living room bedroom. He looked under all of the beds
and into the small closet, everywhere the two children might
conceal themselves. Outside, the rain had increased. He peered out
(17:59):
into the lightning night. A truck horn blew ominously far
down the road. The road. He slogged through the mud,
instantly soaking. As soon as he was out of shelter,
not knowing or caring, through the front yard out to
the road. He could see the lights of the truck
(18:19):
coming from far away, two tiny points in the darkness,
but no twins. He waited helplessly while the truck rushed past,
its headlights, cutting holes in the darkness, fearing those lights
would outline something that he had not seen. But there
was nothing for another eternity. He hunted the muddy fields,
(18:42):
the small barn and outbuildings. The clutch of fear made
him shout their names, though he knew they could not hear.
And then suddenly all fear was gone, like a summer
squall near the sea with the sun close behind. It
was as if their hands had reached out and touched
him and brought the strange feeling again. They are in
(19:06):
the house, he said aloud, and knew he was right.
He took time to discard muddy shoes in the porch
before he opened the door, and they were there by
the mother's bed, hands clasped over hers. He felt a
tiny chill. Their eyes were watching the door as he
opened it, their faces set to receive some stimuli, already
(19:31):
set as if they had known he was coming. Mary
was breathing softly on her face. All trace of pain
had disappeared, and now there was the tiny smile that
had been hers long ago. Her breathing was even, but light,
as forgotten conversation. Gently, he tried to pry their resisting
(19:54):
hands away from hers. The hands fought back with a
terrible strength, beyond normality. By sheer greater force, he tore
one of the twins away. It was like releasing a bomb.
Sudden pain stabbed through his body. The twins struggled in
his arms, the small hands reaching blindly out for the
(20:17):
thing they had lost, and Mary's eyes opened, and all
of the uncontrolled pain came back into those eyes. Her
body writhed on the bed, tearing the coverings away. The
twins squirmed away from his slackening hold, and once again
caught at the hands of the mother. All struggle ceased.
(20:40):
Mary's eyes shut again, the plain lines smoothed themselves, the
tiny smile flowered. He reached out and touched the small
hands on each side of the mother, and the feeling
for which there were no words came through more strongly
than ever before. Tiny voices tried to whisper within the
corners of his mind, partially blotted, sometimes heard the real things,
(21:07):
the things of hate and fear and despair, retreated beyond
the bugle call that sounded somewhere. She will die, the voice, said,
one voice for two, this part of her will die.
And then her voice came as it had been once before,
(21:27):
when all the world was young. You must not be afraid, John,
I have known for a long time, for they were
a part of me, and you could not know, for
your mind was hiding and alone I have seen. He
cried out and pulled his hands away. Sound died. The
(21:50):
room was normal again. The milky white eyes surveyed him.
The hands remained locked securely over those of the mother.
The thin carven features of the children were emotionless, waiting.
He strove for rational meaning within his brain. These are
(22:10):
my sons. They cannot see, or hear, or speak. They
are identical twins born with those defects. Take two children,
blind them, make them deaf to all sound, cut away
their voices. They are identical twins facing the same environment,
(22:32):
sharing the same heredity of blasted chromosomes. They will have
intelligence and curiosity that increases as they mature. They will
not be blinded by the senses the easy way. The
first thing they will discover is each other. What else
might they then discover? It has been said that when
(22:55):
sight is lost, the sense of touch and hearing increase
to all most unbelievable acuteness. Rush knew that the blind
often also develop a sense almost like radar, which allows
them to perceive an object ahead of them and gives
them the ability to follow twisting paths. Take one child
(23:17):
and put them under the disability that the twins were
born with. As intelligence grows, so does single bewilderment. The
world is a puzzling and bewildering place. Brail is a
great discovery, a way to communicate with the unknown that
lies beyond. But the twins had shown almost no interest
(23:39):
in brail. He reached back down for the tiny hands. Yes,
we can communicate. The single voice that spoke for two said,
we have tried with you before, but we could not
break through. Your mind speaks in a language we do
not understand, in figures and equations that are not real
(24:02):
to us. Those things lie all through your mind. On
the surface, we have sensed only your pity for us
and your hate for the shadowy ones around you, the
ones we do not know. It was a wall we
could not climb. She is different, A part of her
(24:22):
will go with us, the voice said, there is another
place that touches this one, which we perceive and know
more fully than this one. The voice died away, and
brief pictures of a land of other dimensions beyond sight
flashed in his brain. He had seen them before, imperfectly
(24:43):
in the disquieting dreams. She must go with us, for
she can no longer exist here, the voice said softly.
Perhaps there are others like us to come. We do
not yet know what we are or whether there will
be others like us, but we must go now. Before
we were ready because of her, the mother's voice came,
(25:09):
You must go too. There is nothing here for you
but sorrow. They will take you, John. A softness touched
at him, Please, John. The longing was a thing of
fire to cast off the world that had already given
him all of the hate and fear that he could stand,
(25:32):
that had made him worse than a coward. To go
with her. But she no longer needed him. She was complete,
as they were only necessary to themselves. He could not go.
During the long night, he kept the vigil by the bedside,
(25:53):
long after any need to keep it. The twins were
gone and she with them. He could not cry, for
all tears seemed useless. He said a small prayer, something
he had not done in years, over the cold thing
left behind. The rain had ceased. Outside, Somewhere, out there
(26:18):
in his world, there were men trying to undo the
harm that had been done, harm that he had helped
to do. Then retreated from. He had no right to
retreat further. Something spoke a requiem sentence in his consciousness,
light as late sunset, only vaguely there. We are here,
(26:43):
We will wait for you. Come to us. Come. He
wrote a short note for the doctor and the others
who had come and hunt and go through the motions
that men must live by. Perhaps the doctor might even
understand I have gone plumbing. The note said, end of
(27:09):
now we are three by Joe L. Hensley
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