Holding Wonder Part 8

All the Central Regional donors are Detached"

Ainsworthy leaned back and laughed. "Exactly the ratio of deaths and recoveries regionally. But why are you so angry? Will it kill you if a Detach has something to do with solving our difficulty?" "It's that those lumpheaded-sons-of-bowlegged-sea-cooks at Central swear there's nothing in the blood of any of these Detaches that's any different from any other donors! And the benighted-fuzzlebrains at Denver swear the same!"

"Hoh!" Ainsworthy leaned forward. "No answer?" he chuckled. "Maybe it's an invalid question. Maybe no one recovers from KVIN!"

"Don't be more of a fool than you have to," snapped Northern. Then automatically, "Your pardon."

"It's yours," Ainsworthy automatically responded.

The two sat in silence for a moment, then Northen pushed himself slowly to his feet. "Well, let's go see this-who's he? The Away fellow."

"Kemble," said-Ainsworthy, rising.

"Yes, Kemble." Northen knocked his chair back from the table as he turned.

"Maybe he can give us some sort of lead." Kemble was in the fields when they arrived so they had a couple of hours to kill before he could talk with them.

They spent the time in touring the settlement, each aspect of which only deepened Northen's dislike of the place. They ended up at the tiny school where girls, long-braided, full-skirted, and boys, barefooted for the warm day and long trousered in the manner of Detaches, worked diligently and self-consciously under the visitors' eyes.

After they left the school, Northen snorted. "They're no angels! Did you see that little devil in the back seat slipping that frog down into the little girl's desk drawer?"

Ainsworthy laughed. "Yes," he said. "He was very adroit. But where did you get the idea that Detaches are supposed to be angels? They certainly never claim such distinction."

"Then why do they feel the world's so evil that they have to leave it?"

snapped Northen.

"That's not the reason-" Ainsworthy broke off, weary to the bone of this recurrent theme harped on by those who dislike the Detaches. Well, those who took refuge in such a reaction were only striking back at a group that, to them, dishonored their own way of life by the simple act of withdrawing from it.

Kemble met them in a small office of the Center, his hair still glistening from his after-work wash-up. He made them welcome and said, "How can I help you?"

Northen stated his problem succinctly, surprising Ainsworthy by his being able to divorce it from all emotional bias. "So it comes down to this," he finished. "Are you in possession of any facts, or, lacking facts, any theories that might have a bearing on the problem?"

There was a brief silence, then Kemble spoke. "I'm surprised, frankly, at these statistics. It never occurred to me that we Detaches were involved in KVIN other than purely incidentally. As a matter of fact, we have no connection with the other Detach settlements. I mean, there's no organization as such of Detaches. Each settlement is entirely independent of any other, except, perhaps, in that a certain type of personality is attracted to this kind of life. We exchange news and views, but there are no closer ties." "Then there wouldn't be any dietary rules or customs-"

"None," smiled Kemble. "We eat as G.o.d and our labors give us food."

"No hallucinogens or ceremonial drugs?"

"None," said Kemble. "We approach G.o.d as simply as He approaches us."

Northen s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. "You're Religious." He made it a placard for a people.

"If the wors.h.i.+p of G.o.d is so labeled," said Kemble. "But certainly, Detaches are not unique in that." The three sat silent, listening to the distant shrieking laughter of the released school children.

"Then there's nothing, nothing that might make a difference?" sighed Northen heavily.

"I'm sorry," said Kemble. "Nothing-"

"Wait," said Ainsworthy. "It's remote, but what about your prayer before various activities?"

"Prayer" snorted Northen.

"But that's our custom before any-" Kemble broke off. He looked from Northen to Ainsworthy and back to Northen. "There is one factor that hasn't been considered," he said soberly. Then he smiled faintly, "You, sir, had better a.s.sume your most unemotional detachment." Northen hunched forward, scrabbling in his bent and tattered notebook for an empty page.

"Go on," he said, his chewed pencil poised in readiness.

"I had forgotten it," said Kemble. "It has become so automatic. Each of us donors, as our blood is being taken, prays continuously for the recipient of that blood, with specific mention of his name and illness if we know it. We try to keep our flow of intercessory prayer as continuous as the flow of blood into the containers."

Northen had stopped writing. His face reddened. His mouth opened. Ainsworthy could see the tensing of the muscles preparatory to a roar and spoke quickly.

"Do you know if this is a practice among other Detaches?"

"We got the idea from a Denver Area settlement. We discussed it with them by correspondence and, if I'm not mistaken, we came to the same conclusion. It makes a purely impersonal thing into a vital personal service. They, as well as we, give intercessory prayer along with our blood." He stood up. "And that, Mr. Northen, is the only factor that I can think of that might make a difference. If you'll excuse me now, gentlemen, there are things to be done before milking time."

"One minute," Northen's voice was thick with control. "Can you give me a copy of the prayer?"

"I'm sorry," said Kemble. "There is no formal prayer. Each fas.h.i.+ons his prayer according to his own orientation to G.o.d."

"Well, one thing," Northen sagged in exhaustion over his desk at the Unit.

"This can be settled once and for all. The next case that comes up, we'll just make sure that no one prays anything while they're giving blood. That'll prove there's nothing to this silly idea!" "Prove by a dead patient?" asked Ainsworthy. "Are you going to let someone die just to test this theory?"

"Surely you aren't feather-frittered-mealy-brained enough-" roared Northen.

"What other anything have you found to account for the recovery of KVIN's at Central?" Ainsworthy was impatient. He left Northen muttering and roaring in a whisper over his notebook.

About a week later, Ainsworthy was roused out of a sound post-midnight sleep by the insistent burr of the intercom. He half-fell out of bed and staggered blindly to answer it. "Yes," he croaked, "this is Ainsworthy?"

"No prayer-" The voice came in a broken rumble. "Not one word. Not one thought-"

"Northen!" Ainsworthy snapped awake. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"I've got it," said Northen thickly.

"The answer?" asked Ainsworthy. "Couldn't you have waited until-"

"No, KVIN," Northen mumbled. "At least someone is sawing my ribs off one by one and hitting me over the head with them-" His voice faded.

"Northen!" Ainsworthy grabbed for his robe as he called. "I'll be right there.

Hang on!"

"No praying!" said Northen. "No praying-This'll prove it.

No-promise-promise-"

"Okay, okay!" said Ainsworthy. "Did you deliberately-but there was no sound on the intercom. He stumbled out the door, abandoning the robe that wouldn't go on upside-down and wrongside-out, muttering to himself, "Not another case already! Not this soon!"

"He couldn't have deliberately infected himself," protested Dr. Given as they waited on the heliport atop the Unit for the Healiocopter. "In the first place, we're not even sure how the disease is transmitted. And besides, he was not permitted access to any lab unaccompanied at any time."

"But two cases so close together-" said Ainsworthy.

"Coincidence," said Dr. Given. "Or"-his face was bleak = "an outbreak. Or the characteristics of the disease are altering-"

They both turned to the bundled up Northen as he stirred and muttered. "No praying," he insisted in a jerky whisper. "You promise-you promise!"

"But Northen," protested Ainsworthy, "what can you prove by dying?"

"No!" Northen struggled against the restraint litter. "You promised! You promised!"

"I don't know whether they'd-"

"You promised!"

"I promised." Ainsworthy gave in. "Heaven help you!" "No praying!" Northen sagged into complete insensibility. Ainsworthy was standing with Kemble, looking around at the brisk preparations in the Center at Away. The Delco plant in the little back shed was chugging away and the electric lights were burning in the hall and floodlighting the area where the Bloodmobile would land.

"It'll be difficult," said Kemble. "We are so used to praying as donors, that it'll be hard not to. And it seems foolhardy to take such chances. I'm not sure whether morally we have the right-"

"It's his express request," said Ainsworthy. "If he chooses to die to prove his point, I suppose it's his privilege. Besides, we really don't know if this is the key factor."

"That's true," Kemble agreed. "Very well, I'll tell the donors."

The waiting group looked back blankly at Kemble, after the announcement. Then someone-a girl-spoke.

"Not intercede? But we always-"

"I know, Cynthia," said Kemble, "but the patient specifically does not want intercession. We must respect his desires in this matter."

"But if he doesn't believe it'll do any good, why would it hurt him? I mean, our praying is our affair. His beliefs are his. The two-"

"Cynthia," said Kemble firmly. "He has been promised that there will be no intercessory prayer on his behalf. We owe him the courtesy of keeping the promise. I suggest to all of you that in place of interceding for the patient, you choose some other important need and intercede in its behalf. Or just blank your minds with trivialities. And Cynthia, you might use your time to a.s.semble arguments pro and con on whether it is necessary for a person to know he is being prayed for, for prayer to be efficacious! I think Theo is going to give you a lot of trouble on that question as soon as we're through here!" The group laughed and turned away, offering all sorts of approaches to both Theo and Cynthia as they drifted out to wait for the arrival of the Bloodmobile.

"It's hard to suspend a habit," said Kemble to Ainsworthy, "especially one that has a verbal tie-in with a physical action."

When Northen finally came back to consciousness-for come back he did-his first audible word was "Prayer?"

"No," said Ainsworthy, shakily relaxing for the first time since the long vigil had begun. "No praying."

"See! See!" hissed Northen weakly, "it wasn't that!"

"Take satisfaction from the fact, if you like," said Ainsworthy, conscious of a pang of disappointment. "But you still have no answer. That was the only new angle you had, too."

"But it wasn't that! It wasn't that!" And Northen closed weary eyes.

"Odd that it should matter so much to him," said Dr. Manson.

"He likes answers," said Ainsworthy. "Nice, solid, complete answers, all ends tucked in, nothing left over. Prayer could never meet his specifications."

"And yet," said Dr. Manson as they left the room. "Have you read the lead article in this month's Journal of Beyond Research? Some very provocative-" "Well, it's been interesting," said Ainsworthy as he helped a shrunken Northen load his bags into the jeep preparatory to leaving the Unit. "Too bad you didn't make more progress while you were here."

"I eliminated one factor," said Northen, hunching himself inside his sagging clothes. "That's progress."

"These clothes! Don't know whether to gain my weight back or buy new clothes.

Go broke either way. Starved to death!"

"But you haven't answered anything," said Ainsworthy. "You still have the unexplained geographical distribution and the presence of the Detaches in the case."

"Eliminate nonessentials and what's left will be essential and the answer,"

said Northen, climbing into the jeep.

"But what have you got left to eliminate?" asked Ainsworthy.

"Curse'n'blast.i.t!" roared Northen. "Stop needling me! If I knew what to eliminate, I'd be eliminating it! I'm backing off to get a fresh start. I'll put these KVIN units out of business yet. And you'll be eliminated!" And pleased with his turn of phrase, he chuckled all the way down the Unit drive to the road.

Ainsworthy felt a little disappointed and sad as the turnoff to Away swung into sight. He had an illogical feeling that, in some way, his friends had been betrayed or let down.

He braked the jeep suddenly, throwing Northen forward against the seat belt that no longer cut a gash in his bulk.

"What now?" Northen growled, groping for his briefcase that had shot off his lap.

"Someone flagging us down," said Ainsworthy, with a puzzled frown. "A Detach woman." He pulled the jeep up into the widening of the Away road where it joined the Unit road.

The woman from Away stood quietly now by the clump of bushes that bordered the road, her skirts swept back a little by the small breeze that moved the leaves.

"Can we help you?" asked Ainsworthy.

"I-I must speak to you." The woman was examining her clasped hands. She looked up timidly. "If you'd like to come over in the shade." She gestured to a log under the overhang of a huge tree just off the road. Ainsworthy looked at Northen, Northen scowled and they both flipped open their seat belts and got out.

"I-I'm very interested in your research on KVIN," the woman said to Northen as the two men gingerly found seats on the log. "Oh, I'm Elizabeth Fenway."

Northen's eyes flicked with sudden intentness to her face. "Yes," she said softly. "You've heard of Charles Fenway. He was my husband. He preceded you in your job. He died of KVIN at the San Fran Regional. I was there with him. We were both born and grew up here at Away, so I brought him back here and stayed." Ainsworthy intercepted Northen's astonished look and smiled, " Can any good come out of Nazareth?' " he quoted.

Northen reddened, shrugged inside his oversized clothes and fingered his notebook.

"When Charles was at San Fran Regional," Elizabeth went on, "just before he died, he had started checking out a new lead to KVIN that he had just turned up-the odd geographical distribution of deaths from KVIN." Northen's eyes snapped to her face again.

"He was going over the list of donors, to see if the key could be there when he died, in spite of replacement." Elizabeth smoothed her hands down the sides of her skirts. "He hadn't even had time to write up this latest development.

That's why you had to retrace his steps. I had an idea of what you were doing when we heard you were at the Unit." She looked sideways at Northen. "I wondered how you were going to react when you found your research lead you into such distasteful company. You see, your opinion of us at Away and of anything religion-oriented is well known at Away. That's why we complied without much protest with your wishes concerning our intercessory prayers.

"But I-" Her voice failed her and she clasped her hands tightly. "I had gone on with Charles' statistical work, following the lead he had uncovered. I-I found the factor of the Detaches, too. I-you and your work have been in my prayers since you took over Charles' job." Her voice failed her completely and she blinked and turned her face away. For an uncomfortable moment she struggled for composure. Then, in a sudden outrush of words, she said, "I couldn't let you die! The others couldn't have let you, either, if they had known! You can't just stand by and let another person die when you can save him! So I prayed! I interceded for you the whole time my blood was being drawn! "I'm sorry! I'm sorry if I've done violence to your principles-or to your research, but I had to tell you-I prayed!" Then, with the barest sketch of the mannerly dip of the knees to the two men, she was gone, back through the woodlands to Away.

"Well!" Ainsworthy let out his astonished breath. Northen was sitting, his face blank, his notebook crushed in one hand. Then slowly he straightened it out until he could open it. Laboriously he dampened the stubby point of his battered pencil in one corner of his mouth. Then he crossed out a few lines, heavily, and wrote, forming the words audibly as he recorded.

"One prayed. Was extra blood obtained as precaution? Was hers used in my replacement? Proportion of prayer necessary to be effective-if it is the effective factor." He paused a moment, looking at Ainsworthy. "Is prayer subject to a.n.a.lysis?" Then he bent to his notes again.