Suddenly it came to him that he should kill himself. The idea appeared in his mind full blown, as if it had always been there, always a part of him. Easy to do it, just crash the ‘copter. He thought, I am goddamn tired of being Norbert Steiner; I didn’t ask to be Norbert Steiner or sell blackmarket food or anything else. What is my reason for staying alive? I’m not good with my hands, I can’t fix or make anything; I can’t use my mind, either, I’m just a salesman. I’m tired of my wife’s scorn because I can’t keep our water machinery going–I’m tired of Otto who I had to hire because I’m helpless even in my own business.
In fact, he thought, why wait until I can get back to the ‘copter? Along the street came a huge, rumbling tractor-bus, its sides dull with sand; it had crossed the desert just now, was coming to New Israel from some other settlement. Steiner set down his suitcases and ran out into the street, directly at the tractor-bus.
The bus honked; its airbrakes screeched. Other traffic halted as Steiner ran forward with his head down, his eyes shut. Only at the last moment, with the sound of the air horn so loud in his ears that it became unbearably painful, did he open his eyes; he saw the driver of the bus gaping down at him, saw the steering wheel and the number on the driver’s cap. And then–
In the solarium at Camp Ben-Gurion, Miss Milch heard the sounds of sirens, and she paused in the middle of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy from Tchaikovsky’s _Nutcracker Suite_, which she was playing on the piano for the children to dance to.
“Fire!” one of the little boys said, going to the window. The other children followed.
“No, it’s an ambulance, Miss Much,” another boy said, at the window, “going downtown.”
Miss Much resumed playing, and the children, at the sound of the rhythms coming from the piano, straggled back to their places. They were bears at the zoo, cavorting for peanuts; that was what the music suggested to them, Miss Milch told them to go ahead and act it out.
Off to one side, Manfred stood heedless of the music, his head down, a thoughtful expression on his face. As the sirens wailed up loudly for a moment, Manfred lifted his head. Noticing that, Miss Milch gasped and breathed a prayer. The boy had heard! She thumped away at the Tchaikovsky music even more loudly than before, feeling exultation: she and the doctors had been right, for through sound there had come about a contact with the boy. Now Manfred went slowly to the window to look out; all alone he gazed down at the buildings and streets below, searching for the origin of the noise which had aroused him, attracted his attention.
Things are not so hopeless after all, Miss Milch said to herself. Wait until his father hears; it shows we must never talk of giving up.
She played on, loudly and happily.
4
David Bohlen, building a dam of wet soil at the end of his family’s vegetable garden under the hot midafternoon Martian sun, saw the UN police ‘copter settle down and land before the Steiners’ house, and he knew instantly that something was going on.
A UN policeman in his blue uniform and shiny helmet stepped from the ‘copter and walked up the path to the Steiners’ front door, and when two of the little girls appeared the policeman greeted them. He then spoke to Mrs. Steiner and then he disappeared on inside, and the door shut after him.
David got to his feet and hurried from the garden, across the stretch of sand to the ditch; he leaped the ditch and crossed the patch of flat soil where Mrs. Steiner had tried unsuccessfully to raise pansies, and at the corner of the house he suddenly came upon one of the Steiner girls; she was standing inertly, picking apart a stalk of wur-weed, her face white. She looked as if she were going to be sick.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked her. “Why’s the policeman talking to your mom?”
The Steiner girl glanced at him and then bolted off, leaving him.
I’ll bet I know what it is, David thought. Mr. Steiner has been arrested because he did something illegal. He felt excited and he jumped up and down. I wonder what he did. Turning, he ran back the way he had come, hopped once more across the ditch of water, and at last threw open the door to his own house.
“Mom!” he shouted, running from room to room. “Hey, you know how you and Dad always are talking about Mr. Steiner being outside the law, I mean in his work? Well, you know what?”
His mother was nowhere to be found; she must have gone visiting, he realized. For instance, Mrs. Henessy who lived within walking distance north along the ditch; often his mom was gone most of the day visiting other ladies, drinking coffee with them and exchanging gossip. Well, they’re really missing out, David declared to himself. He ran to the window and looked out, to be sure of not missing anything.
The policeman and Mrs. Steiner had gone outside, now, and both were walking slowly to the police ‘copter. Mrs. Steiner held a big handkerchief to her face, and the policeman had hold of her shoulder, as if he was a relative or something. Fascinated, David watched the two of them get into the ‘copter. The Steiner girls stood together in a small group, their faces peculiar. The policeman went over and spoke to them, and then he returned to the ‘copter–and then he noticed David. He beckoned to him to come outdoors, and David, feeling fright, did so; he emerged from the house, blinking in the sunlight, and step by step approached the policeman with his shining helmet and his armband and the gun at his waist.
“What’s your name, son?” the policeman asked, with an accent.
“David Bohlen.” His knees shook.
“Is Mother or Father home, David?”
“No,” he said, “just me.”
“When your parents return, you tell them to keep watch on the Steiner children until Mrs. Steiner is back.” The policeman started up the motor of the ‘copter, and the blades began to turn. “You do that, David? Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” David said, noticing that the policeman had on the blue stripe which meant he was Swedish. The boy knew all the identifying marks which the different UN units wore. He wondered how fast the police ‘copter could go; it looked like a special fast job, and he wished he could ride in it: he was no longer frightened of the policeman and he wished they could talk more. But the policeman was leaving; the ‘copter rose from the ground, and torrents of wind and sand blew around David, forcing him to turn away and put his arm across his face.
The four Steiner girls still stood gathered together, none of them speaking. One, the oldest, was crying; tears ran down her cheeks but she made no sound. The smallest, who was only three, smiled shyly at David.
“You want to help me with my dam?” David called to them. “You can come over; the policeman told me it was O.K.”
After a moment the youngest Steiner girl came toward him, and then the others followed.
“What did your dad do?” David asked the oldest girl. She was twelve, older than he. “The policeman said you could say,” he added.
There was no answer; the girl merely stared at him.
“If you tell me,” David said, “I won’t tell anyone. I promise to keep it a secret.”
Sunbathing out on June Henessy’s fenced, envined patio, sipping iced tea and drowsily conversing, Silvia Bohlen heard the radio from within the Henessy house give the late afternoon news.
Beside her, June raised herself up and said, “Say, isn’t he the man who lives next door to you?”
“Shh,” Silvia said, intently listening to the announcer. But there was no more, only the brief mention: Norbert Steiner, a dealer in health foods, had committed suicide on a downtown New Israel street by throwing himself in the path of a bus. It was the same Steiner, all right; it was their neighbor, she knew it at once.
“How dreadful,” June said, sitting up and fastening the straps of her polka-dot cotton halter. “I only saw him a couple of times, but–”
“He was a dreadful little man,” Silvia said. “I’m not surprised he did it.” And yet she felt horrified. She could not believe it. She got to her feet, saying, “With four children– he left her to take care of four children! Isn’t that dreadful? What’s going to happen to them? They’re so helpless anyhow.”
“I heard,”June said, “that he deals on the black market. Had you heard that? Maybe they were closing in on him.”