The retriever left the table and padded into the pantry. They could hear the
pumping of the letter-dispensing pedals.
Nora went to see what message Einstein was composing.
DON’T WANT TO BE BRANDED. AM NOT A COW.
His desire to be free of the tattoo went deeper than Nora had thought. He wanted
the mark removed in order to escape identification by the people at the lab. But
evidently he also hated carrying those three numbers in his ear because they
marked him as mere property, a condition that was an affront to his dignity and
a violation of his rights as an intelligent creature.
FREEDOM.
“Yes,” Nora said respectfully, putting a hand on his head, “I do understand. You
are a . . . a person, and a person with”—this was the first time she had thought
of this aspect of the situation—”a soul.”
Was it blasphemous to think Einstein had a soul? No. She did not think blasphemy
entered into it. Man had made the dog; however, if there was a God, He obviously
approved of Einstein—not least of all because Einstein’s ability to
differentiate right from wrong, his ability to love, his courage, and his
selflessness made him closer to the image of God than were many human beings who
walked the earth.
“Freedom,” she said. “If you’ve got a soul—and I know you do—then you were born
with free will and the right to self-determination. The number in your ear is an
insult, and we’ll get rid of it.”
After dinner, Einstein clearly wanted to monitor—and participate in—the
conversation, but he ran out of energy and slept by the fire.
Over a short brandy and coffee, Jim Keene listened as Travis outlined their
defenses against The Outsider. Encouraged to find holes in their preparations,
the vet could think of nothing except the vulnerability of their power supply.
“If the thing was smart enough to bring down the line that runs in from the main
highway, it could plunge you into darkness in the middle of the night and render
your alarm useless. And without power those tricky mechanisms in the barn
wouldn’t slam the door behind the beast or release the nitrous oxide.”
Nora and Travis took him downstairs, into the half-basement under the rear of
the house, to show him the emergency generator. It was powered by a forty-gallon
tank of gasoline buried in the yard, and it would restore electricity to the
house and barn and alarm system after only a ten-second delay following the loss
of the main supply.
“As far as I can see,” Jim said, “you’ve thought of everything.”
“I think we have, too,” Nora said.
But Travis scowled. “I wonder . .
On Wednesday, December 22, they drove into Carmel. Leaving Einstein with Jim
Keene, they spent the day buying Christmas gifts, decorations for the house,
ornaments for a tree, and the tree itself.
With the threat of The Outsider moving inexorably closer to them, it seemed
almost frivolous to make plans for the holiday. But Travis said, “Life is short.
You never know how much time you’ve got left, so you can’t let Christmas slide
by without celebrating, no matter what. Besides, my Christmases haven’t been so
terrific these last few years. I intend to make up for that.”
“Aunt Violet didn’t believe in making an event of Christmas. She didn’t believe
in exchanging gifts or putting up a tree.”
“She didn’t believe in life,” Travis said. “And that’s just one more reason to
do this Christmas up right. It’ll be your first good one, as well as Einstein’s
first.”
Starting next year, Nora thought, there’ll be a baby in the house with which to
share Christmas, and won’t that be a hoot!
Aside from suffering a little mild morning sickness and having put on a couple
of pounds, she’d not yet shown any signs of pregnancy. Her belly was still flat,
and Dr. Weingold said that, considering her body type, she had a chance of being
one of those women whose abdomen underwent only moderate distension. She hoped
she was lucky in that regard because, after the birth, getting back into shape
would be a lot easier. Of course, the baby was not due for six months yet, which