Gene Wolfe - The island of Dr. Death.pdf - fantasy - rhea137

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THE ISLAND OF DOCTOR DEATH

AND OTHER STORIES

Gene Wolfe

Winter comes to water as well as land, though there are

no leaves to fall. The waves that were a bright, hard blue

yesterday under a fading sky today are green, opaque,

and cold. If you are a boy not wanted in the house you

walk the beach for hours, feeling the winter that has come

in the night; sand blowing across your shoes, spray wet-

ting the legs of your corduroys. You turn your back to the

sea, and with the sharp end of a stick found half buried

write in the wet sand Tackman Babcock.

Then you go home, knowing that 'behind you the Atlan-

tic is destroying your work.

Home is 'the big house on Settlers Island, but Settlers

Island, so called, is not really an island and for that rea-

son is not named or accurately delineated on maps.

Smash a barnacle with a stone and you will see inside the

shape from which the beautiful barnacle goose takes its

name. There is a thin and flaccid organ which is the

goose's neck and the mollusc's siphon, and a shapeless

body with tiny wings. Settlers Island is like that.

The goose neck is a strip of land down which a county

road runs. By whim, the mapmakers usually exaggerate

the width of this and give no information to indicate that

it is scarcely above the high tide. Thus Settlers Island

appears to be a mere protuberance on the coast, not re"

quiring a nameand since the village of eight or ten

houses has none, nothing shows on the map but the spider

line of road terminating at the sea.

The village has no name, but home has two: a near and

a far designation. On the island, and on the mainland

nearby, it is called the Seaview place because in die ear-

liest years of the century it was operated 'as a resort hotel.

Mama calls it The House of 31 February; and that is

on her stationery and is presumably used by her friends

in New York and Philadelphia when they do not simply

say, "Mrs. Baboock's." Home is four floors high in some

places, less in others, and is completely surrounded by a

veranda; it was once painted yellow, but the paint

outsideis mostly gone now and The House of 31 Feb-

ruary is grey.

Jason comes out the front door with the little curly

hairs on his chin trembling in the wind .and his thumbs

hooked in the waistband of his Levi's. "Come on, you're

going into town with me. Your mother wants to rest."

"Hey tough!" Into Jason's Jaguar, feeling the leather

upholstery soft 'and smelly; you fall asleep.

Awake in town, bright lights flashing in the car win-

dows. Jason is gone and the car is growing cold; you wait

for what seems a long time, looking out at the shop win-

dows, the big gun on the hip of the policeman who walks

past, the lost dog who is afraid of everyone, even you

when you tap the glass and call to him.

Then Jason is back with packages to put behind the

seat. "Are we going home now?"

He nods without looking at you, arranging his bundles

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so they won't topple over, fastening his seatbelt.

"I want to get out of 'the car."

He looks at you.

"I want to go in a store. Come on, Jason."

Jason sighs. "All right, the drugstore overthere, okay?

Just for a minuite."

The drugstore is as big as a supermarket, with long,

bright aisles of glassware and notions and paper goods.

Jason buys fluid for his lighter at the cigarette counter,

and you bring Um a book from a revolving wire rack.

"Please, Jason?"

He takes it from you and replaces it in the rack, then

when you are in .the oar again takes it from under his

jacket 'and gives it to you.

It is a wonderful book, thick and heavy, with the edges

of the pages tinted yellow. The covers are glossy stiff

cardboard, and on the front is a picture of a man in rags

fighting a thing partly like an ape and partly like a man,

but much worse than either. The picture is in color, and

there is real blood on the ape-thing; the man is muscular

and handsome, with tawny hair lighter than Jason's and

no beard.

"You like that?"

You are out of town already, and without the street

lights it's too dark in the car, almost, to see the picture.

You nod.

Jason laughs. "That's camp. Did you know that?"

You shrug, riffling the pages under your thumb, think-

ing of reading, alone, in your room tonight!

"You going to tell your morn how nice I was to you?"

"Uh-huh, sure. You want me to?"

"Tomorrow, not tonight. I think she'll be asleep when

we get back. Don't you wake her up." Jason's voice says

he will be angry if you do.

"Okay."

"Don't come in her room."

"Okay."

The Jaguar says 'Hutntntaca . . ." down the road, and

you can see the whitecaps in the moonlight now, and the

driftwood pushed just off the asphalt.

"You got a nice, soft mommy, you know that? When I

climb on her it's just like being on a big pillow."

You nod, remembering the times when, lonely and

frightened by dreams, you have crawled into her bed and

snuggled against her soft warmthbut at the same time

angry, knowing Jason is somehow deriding you both.

Home is silent and dark, and you leave Jason as soon

as you can, bounding off down the hall and up the stairs

ahead of him, up a second, narrow, twisted flight to your

own room in the turret.

I had this story from a man who was breaking his

word in telling it. How much it has suffered in his

hands1 should say in his mouth, rather1 cannot

say. In essentials it is true, and I give it to you as it

was given to me. This is the story he told.

Captain Phillip Ransom had been adrift, alone, for

nine days when he saw the island. It was already late

evening when it appeared like a thin line of purple on

ithe borizon, but Ransom did not sleep that nil?ht

TheiB was no feeble questionmg m 'his wakeful mind

oonoerning the reality of what he had seen; 'he bad

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been given that one glimpse 'and he taiew. Instead

his brain teemed with facts and speculations. He

knew he must be somewhere near New Guinea, and

he reviewed mentally what be knew of the currents

in thiese waters and what he had learned in the past

nine days of the behavior of his raft. The island

when he reached ithe did not 'allow himself to

ifwould in all probability be solid jungle a few

feet back from the water's edgp. There might or

might not be natives, but he brought to mind all he

could of the Bazaar Malay and Tagalog he had

acquired in his years as a pilot, plantation manager,

white hunter, 'and professional fighting man in the

Pacific.

In the morning he saw that purple shadow oo the

horizon again, a little nearer .this time and almost pre-

cisely where his mental calculations 'had told him to

expect it. For nine days there had 'been no reason to

employ the inadequate paddles .provided with the

raft, but now he had something to row for. Ransom

drank the last of his water and began stroking with a

steady and powerful beat which was not interrupted

BOtil the prow of 'his rubber craft ground into the

beach sand.

Morning. You are slowly awake. Your eyes feel gummy,

and the light over your bed is still on. Downstairs there is

no one, so you get a bowl and milk and puffed, sugary

cereal out for yourself and light the oven with a kitchen

match so that you can eat and read by its open door.

When the cereal is gone you drink the sweet milk and

crumbs in the bottom of the bowl and start a pot of coffee,

knowing that will please Mother. Jason comes down,

dressed but not wanting to talk; drinks coffee and makes

one piece of cinnamon toast in the oven. You listen to him

leave, the stretched buzzing of the car on the road, then

go up to Mother's room.

She is awake, her eyes open looking at the ceiling, but

you know she isn't ready to get up yet. Very politely, be-

cause that minimizes the chance of being shouted at, you

say, "How are you feeling this morning, Mama?"

She rolls her head to look. "Strung out. What time is it,

Tackie?"

You look at the little folding .clock on her dresser.

"Seventeen minutes after eight."

"Jason go?"

"Yes, just now. Mama."

She is looking at the ceiling again. "You go back down-

stairs now, Tackie. I'll get you something when I feel

better."

Downstairs you put on your sheepskin coat and go out

on the veranda to look at the sea. There are gulls riding

the icy wind, and very far off something orange bobbing

in the waves, always closer.

A life raft. You run to the beach, jump up and down

and wave your cap. "Over here. Over here."

The man from the raft has no shirt but the cold doesn't

seem to bother him. He holds out his hand and says,

"Captain Ransom," and you take it and are suddenly

taller and older; not as tall as he is or as old as he is, but

taller and older than yourself. "Tackman Babcock, Cap-

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tain."

"Pleased to meet you. You were a friend in need there a

minute ago."

"I guess I didn't do anything but welcome you ashore."

"The sound of your voice gave me something to steer

for while my eyes were too busy watching that surf. Now

you can tell me where I've landed and who you are."

You are walking back up to the house now, and you ex-

plain to Ransom about you and Mother, and how she

doesn't want to enroll you in the school here because she

is trying to get you into the private school your father

went to onoe. And after a time there is nothing more to

say, and you show Ransom one of the empty rooms on the

third floor where he can rest and do whatever he wants.

Then you go back to your own room to read.

"Do you mean that you made these monsters?"

"Made them?" Dr. Death leaned forward, a cruel

smile playing about his lips. "Did God make Eve,

Captain, when he took her from Adam's rib? Or did

Adam make the bone and God alter it to become

what he wished? Look at it this way, Captain. I am

God and Nature is Adam."

Ransom looked at the thing who grasped his right

arm with hands that might have eiroled a utility

pole as easily. "Do you mean that this thing is an

animal?"

"Not an animal," the monster said, wrenching his

arm cruelly. "Man."

Dr. Death's smile broadened. "Yes, Captain, man.

The question is, what are you? When I'm finished

with you we'll see. Dulling your mind will be less

of a problem than upgrading these poor brutes; but

what about increasing the efficacy of your sense of

- .smell? Not to mention rendering it impossible for

you to walk erect."

"Not to walk all-four-on-ground," the beast-man

holding Ransom muttered, "that is the law."

Dr. Death turned and called to the shambling

hunchback Ransom had seen earlier, "Golo, see to

it that Captain Ransom is securely put away; then

prepare the surgery."

A car. Not Jason's noisy Jaguar, but a quiet, large-

sounding oar. By heaving up the narrow, tight little win-

dow at the corner of the turret and sticking your head out

into the cold wind you can see it: Dr. Black's big one,

with the roof and hood all shiny with new wax.

Downstairs Dr. Black is hanging up an overcoat with a

collar of fur, and you smell the old cigar smoke in his

clothing before you see him; then Aunt May and Aunt

Julie are there to keep you occupied so that he won't be

reminded too vividly that marrying Mama means getting

you as well. They talk to you: "How have you been,

Tackie? What do you find to do out here all day?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Don't you ever go looking for shells on the

beach?"

"I guess so."

"You're a handsome boy, do you know that?" Aunt

May touches your nose with a scarlet-tipped finger and

holds it there.

Aunt May is Mother's sister, but older and not as

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pretty. Aunt Julie is Papa's sister, a tall lady with a pulled-

out, unhappy face, and makes you thinJk: of him even

when you know she only wants Mama to get married

again so Papa won't have to send her any more money.

Mama herself is downstairs now in a clean new dress

with long sleeves. She laughs at Dr. Black's jokes and

holds onto his arm, and you think how nice her hair looks

and that you will tell her so when you are alone. Dr.

Black says, "How about it, Barbara, are you ready for the

party?" and Mother, "Heavens no. You know what this

place is likeyesterday I spent all day cleaning and today

you can't even see what I did. But Julie and May will

help me."

Dr. Black laughs. "After lunch."

You get into his big car with the others and go to a

restaurant on Uhe edge of a cliff, with a picture window

to see the ocean. Dr. Black orders a sandwich for you

that has turkey 'and bacon and .three pieces of bread, but

you are finished 'before the grown-ups have started, and

when you try to talk to Mother, Aunt May sends you out

to where there is a railing with wire to fill in the spaces

like chicken wire only heavier, to look at the view.

It is really not much higher than the top window ait

home. Maybe a little higher. You put the toes of your

shoes in the wire and bend out with your stomach against

the rail to look down, but a grown-up pulls you down and

tells you not to do it, then goes away. You do it again,

and there are rocks ait tihe bottom which the waves wash

over in a neat way, covering them up and then pulling

back. Someone touches your elbow, 'but you pay no at-

tention for a minute, watching the waiter.

Then you get down, and the man standing 'beside you

is Dr. Death.

He has a white scarf and black leather gloves and his

hair is shiny black. His face is not tanned like Captain

Ransom's but white, and handsome in a different way like

the statue of a head that used to 'be in Papa's library when

you and Mother used to live in town with him, and you

think: Mama would say after he was gone how good

looking he was. He smiles at you, but you are 'no older.

"Hi." What else can you say?

"Good afternoon, Mr. Baboock. I'm afraid I stertled

yon."

You shrug. "A little bit. I didn't expect you to be here,

I guess."

Dr. Death turns his back to the wind to light a cigarette

he 'takes from a gold case. It is longer even than a 101

and has a red tip, and a gold dragon on the paper.

"While you were looking down, I slipped from between

the pages of the excellent novel you have in your coat

pocket."

"I didn't know you could do that."

"Oh, yes. I'll be around from time to time."

"Captain Ransom is here already. He'll kill you."

Dr. Death smiles and shakes his head. "Hardly. You

see, Tackman, Ransom and I are a bit like wrestlers;

under various guises we put on our show again and again

lruit only under the spotlight." He flicks his cigarette

over tile rail and for a moment your eyes follow the bright

spark out and down and see it vanish in the water. When

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