And he looked tip out of swaddling clothes . . .
GO ON!
. . . into a face with no nose and blank crystal eyes that reflected his reddened face. Unmoving black lips crooned, “Rock-a-biiiii bay-beeeee in theee treeeee (thriddle-thriddle) tops . . .” The thriddle-thriddle, he found, was tapes changing somewhere inside mother’s head. He searched his own head for tapes. There were none.
GO ON, GO ON!
And he looked up out of swaddling clothes when he esped an understanding, and . . . and . . .
DON’T HESITATE! YOU’LL BE LOST.
I don’t remember.
YOU DO.
No!
YES. YESYESYES. The machine touched part of his mind with electronic fingers. I CAN MAKE THE MEMORY EVEN SHARPER.
No! I’ll tell.
TELL.
And he looked up out of swaddling clothes when he esped an understanding, and his first . . . words .. . . were . . .
GO ON!
His first words were these: “My God, my God, 1 am not human!”
FINE. NOW RELAX AND LISTEN. YOU KNOW THAT THE “HE” IS REALLY YOU. YOU ARE SIMEON MARFLIN. HE—THE HE OF YOUR ILLUSION—IS SIMEON MARFLIN. YOUR PROBLEM IS THIS: YOU ARE OF THE ARTIFICIAL WOMB. YOU WERE CONDITIONED FROM CONCEPTION TO HAVE HUMAN MORES AND VALUES. BUT YOU CANNOT HOLD YOUR MANNER OF CREATION UP TO THE LIGHT ALONGSIDE YOUR MORES AND ACCEPT BOTH.
YOU ARE HUMAN, BUT YOUR MORES TEACH YOU TO FEEL THAT YOU ARE STRANGELY LACKING IN HUMAN QUALITIES.
Thank you, I am cured now. I have to leave.
NO. The machine was firm. THIS IS THE THIRTY-THIRD TIME YOU HAVE HAD THIS SAME ILLUSION-NIGHTMARE-DREAM. YOU ARE NOT HEALED. AND THIS TIME I FEEL MORE BELOW THE SURFACE OF THE DREAM. TELL ME.
There is no more.
TELL ME. The bonds on the chair were tight around arms and legs.
Nothing.
A WOMAN. THERE IS A WOMAN. WHO?
An author I have read.
AND MET. TELL ME.
Blonde. Cat’s eyes. Ruby lips. I—
SOMETHING MORE.
Ruby lips.
NO. SOMETHING ELSE.
Let me the hell alone!
TELL ME. It was the voice of a king.
Breasts. No, I—
I KNOW. I SEE IT NOW. YOU LOVE HER.
No. Disgusting.
YES, LOVE. YOU LOVE HER, BUT YOU HAVE THIS COMPLEX . . . SIMEON, DO YOU REMEMBER THE SIMU-FLESH BREASTS?
I remember.
THIS HAS COME TO SYMBOLIZE YOUR INHUMAN-NESS TO YOU. YOU WERE NOT SUCKLED LIKE A MANCHILD. THIS MAKES YOU AFRAID OF WOMEN. OF—
No. I’m not afraid. She was just . . . just . . . disgusting.
NO. NOT DISGUSTED. YOU ARE AFRAID, NOT DISGUSTED. YOU BACK AWAY FROM ALL YOU DONT UNDERSTAND IN LIFE. THIS IS JUST ONE PART. YOU BACK AWAY BECAUSE YOU CANNOT SEE WHERE YOUR PLACE COULD LIE IN IT ALL. YOU SEE NO MEANING IN LIFE AND YOU ARE AFRAID TO SEARCH FOR ONE, FEARING YOU WILL EVENTUALLY DISCOVER THERE IS NO MEANING.
May I go?
YES. GO AND DREAM NO MORE OF PROTEUS’ MOTHER. YOU WILL DREAM NO MORE, NO MORE.
After every session with the machine, I was drained, lifeless. I made my way to the bedroom and collapsed onto the mattress without undressing. I tried to encourage pleasant dreams of Marcus Aurelius, about soft arms and diamond eyes. But somewhere, a voice far away said, “You’re the one.” Chains dragged across a stone floor, ancient paper crackling . . .
IV
The next morning there were rumors of military disturbances along the Russian-Chinese border, and news dispatches from the scene said that Western Alliance troops had met in brushfire contact with the Orientals.
The new Chinese horror weapon circling the planet had been named Dragonfly by the press.
I paid no attention. Thus it had been since I could remember. And if it is still thus (I would not know), leave it alone and do not question the validity, the reason of it . . . There is darkness for an answer.
Outside, the city crews had finished cleaning up the snow. The streets were bare, but the buildings and trees were smothered with whiteness. Fences were delicate laces. Trees and shrubs were icicle candies. It was as if Nature, via a snowstorm, had tried to reclaim what had once been hers but was now lost to her forever.