Estrella la brillante
Por
MARK CLIFTON
No
hay pasado ni futuro, dijeron los ni–os;
todo
simplemente es! ÁTen’an todas las razones para saberlo!
Viernes
11 de junio
A
los tres a–os, una ni–a no deber’a tener suficiente inteligencia funcional para
cortar y pegar una tira de Moebius.
O,
si lo hizo por accidente, seguramente no deber’a tener suficiente capacidad de
razonamiento para recoger uno de sus crayones y rastrear cuidadosamente la
l’nea continua para demostrar que solo tiene una superficie.
Y si
por alguna extra–a coincidencia lo hizo, y todav’a fue solo un accidente, Àc—mo
puedo dar cuenta de esta hija m’a generalmente activa, y quiero decir activa,
sentada durante una media hora s—lida con la barbilla en la mano, mirando
fijamente fuera al espacio, pensando con tanta concentraci—n que era casi
doloroso verlo?
Estaba
en mi silla de lectura, repasando algo de trabajo. Star estaba sentada en el
suelo, en el c’rculo de mi luz, con sus tijeras de punta roma y sus trozos de
papel.
Su
largo silencio me hizo mirarla mientras estaba pegando los dos extremos del
papel juntos. En ese momento, pensŽ que era un accidente que ella hubiera dado
media vuelta a la tira de papel antes de unirse al c’rculo. Sonre’ para m’
cuando ella lo recogi— entre sus dedos regordetes.
"Un
ni–o peque–o forma el enigma de las edades", reflexionŽ.
Pero
en lugar de tirar la tira a un lado, o desgarrarla como lo har’a cualquier otro
ni–o, la gir— cuidadosamente y la estudi— por todos lados.
Luego
tom— uno de sus crayones y comenz— a trazar la l’nea. ÁLo hizo como si
estuviera confirmando una conclusi—n ya alcanzada!
Fue
una amarga confirmaci—n para m’. Me hab’a negado a enfrentarlo durante mucho
tiempo, pero ya no pod’a ignorarlo.
Star
era un alto I.Q.
Durante
media hora la observŽ mientras estaba sentada en el suelo, con una rodilla
doblada debajo, la barbilla en la mano, inm—vil. Sus ojos estaban muy abiertos
de asombro, mirando las potencialidades del fen—meno que hab’a encontrado.
Ha
sido una lucha dif’cil, cuidarla desde la muerte de mi esposa. Ahora este
problema a–adido. ÁOjal‡ hubiera sido normalmente aburrida, como otros ni–os!
Decid’
mientras la miraba. Si un ni–o est‡ afligido, seamos sinceros, est‡ afligido.
Un padre debe ense–arle a compensar. Al menos podr’a estar preparada para la
amargura que hab’a conocido. Ella podr’a aprender temprano para tomarlo con
calma.
Podr’a
utilizar las medidas disponibles, obtener el grado de inteligencia y, de ese
modo, comprender el alcance de mi problema. Un salto de veinte puntos en I.Q.
crea un conjunto de problemas completamente diferente. El ni–o 140 vive en un
mundo que no se parece en nada al del ni–o 100, y un mundo que el ni–o 120
puede sentir vagamente. Los problemas que molestan y desaf’an a los 160 pasan
sobre los 140 cuando un p‡jaro vuela sobre un rat—n de campo. No debo cometer
el error de plantear los problemas de uno si ella es el otro. Tengo que saber.
Mientras tanto, debo tratarlo casualmente.
"Eso
se llama Moebius Strip, Star", interrump’ sus pensamientos.
Ella
sali— de su ensue–o con un sobresalto. No me gust— la forma r‡pida en que sus
ojos buscaron los m’os, casi furtivamente, como si la hubieran sorprendido
haciendo algo malo.
"ÀAlguien
ya lo hizo?" ella pregunt— decepcionada.
ÁElla
sab’a lo que hab’a descubierto! Algo dentro de m’ se llen— de pena, y otra cosa
me atrap— con temor.
Mantuve
mi voz informal. "Un hombre llamado Moebius. Hace mucho tiempo. Te contarŽ
sobre Žl en algœn momento cuando seas mayor".
"Ahora.
Mientras soy peque–a," orden— ella con el ce–o fruncido. "Y no lo
digas. LŽeme".
Que
quiso decir ella con eso? Oh, ella debe estar simplemente parafrase‡ndome en
esos momentos en el pasado cuando quer’a los hechos y no las generalizaciones
confusas. ÁSolo puede ser eso!
"Est‡
bien, se–orita". LevantŽ una ceja y la fulminŽ con la mirada con ferocidad
fingida, lo que generalmente la hac’a re’r a carcajadas. "ÁTe
retrasarŽ!"
Ella
permaneci— completamente sobria.
PasŽ
al tema en un libro de f’sica. No est‡ en un lenguaje simple, de ninguna
manera, y lo le’ tan r‡pido como pude hablar. PensŽ en hacerle admitir que no
lo entend’a, para que yo pudiera traducirlo al lenguaje b‡sico.
Su
reacci—n?
"Lees
demasiado lento. Papi", se quej—. Estaba infantilmente irritable al
respecto. "Dices una palabra. Luego pienso mucho tiempo. Luego dices otra
palabra".
Sab’a
a quŽ se refer’a. Recuerdo que, cuando era ni–o, mis pensamientos sol’an entrar
y salir entre las palabras de cualquier adulto. Patrones enteros de universos
aparecer’an y desaparecer’an en esos breves momentos.
"ÀEntonces?"
Yo preguntŽ.
"Entonces",
se burl— de m’ con picard’a. "Me ense–as a leer. Entonces puedo pensar
r‡pido como quiero".
"R‡pidamente,"
lo correg’ con voz dŽbil. "La palabra es 'r‡pidamente', un adverbio".
Me
mir— con impaciencia, como si viera a travŽs de este dispositivo supuestamente
adulto para mostrar la ignorancia de un menor. Me sent’ como la droga!
1 de
septiembre
Mucho
ha sucedido en los œltimos meses. Lo he intentado, varias veces, entablar una
conversaci—n para discutir la aflicci—n de Star con ella. Pero ella es
incre’blemente h‡bil al alejarme, como si ya supiera lo que estoy tratando de
decir y no le preocupe. Quiz‡s, a pesar de su brillantez, es demasiado joven
para darse cuenta de la hostilidad del mundo hacia la inteligencia.
Algunos
de los vecinos visitantes se han divertido al verla sentada en el suelo con una
enciclopedia tan grande como ella, pasando r‡pidamente las p‡ginas. Solo Star y
yo sabemos que est‡ leyendo las p‡ginas tan r‡pido como puede pasarlas. He
descartado los comentarios de los vecinos con: "A ella le gusta mirar las
fotos".
Hablan
con ella en baby talk, Áy ella responde en baby talk! ÀC—mo sabe ella lo
suficiente para hacer eso?
He
pasado los meses haciendo un registro exhaustivo de su I.Q. medidas, velocidades
de aptitud, reacci—n, tablas, toda la parafernalia recomendada para medir algo
de lo que no sabemos nada.
Las
mesas est‡n atornilladas o Star est‡ m‡s all‡ de toda medida.
Muy
bien, Pete Holmes, Àc—mo vas a plantear esos problemas y combatirlos por ella,
cuando no tienes idea de cu‡les podr’an ser? Pero debo tener una concepci—n.
Tengo que ser capaz de comprender al menos un poco de lo que puede enfrentar.
Simplemente no pod’a esperar y no hacer nada.
F‡cil,
sin embargo. Nadie sabe mejor que tœ la inutilidad de intentar competir fuera
de tu clase. ÀCu‡ntos estudiantes, trabajadores y empleadores han intentado
competir con usted? Los has visto y compadecido, compar‡ndolos con un burro que
intenta correr el Derby de Kentucky.
ÀC—mo
se siente estar en el lugar del burro, para variar? Siempre los has culpado por
no darse cuenta de que no deber’an intentar competir.
ÁPero
esta es mi propia hija! Debo entender
1 de
octubre
Star
tiene ahora cuatro a–os y, segœn la ley estatal, su mente se ha desarrollado lo
suficiente como para poder asistir a la guarder’a. Una vez m‡s intentŽ
prepararla para lo que podr’a enfrentar. Ella escuch— unas dos oraciones y
cambi— de tema. No puedo decir sobre Star. ÀElla ya sabe las respuestas? ÀO
ella ni siquiera se da cuenta de que hay un problema?
Estaba
sudando de preocupaci—n cuando la llevŽ a su primer d’a en la escuela ayer por
la ma–ana. Anoche estaba sentado en mi silla, leyendo. DespuŽs de guardar sus
mu–ecas, fue a las estanter’as y sac— un libro de cuentos de hadas.
Esa
es otra peculiaridad suya. Tiene una percepci—n inmensamente r‡pida, pero tiene
todas las reacciones normales de una ni–a. A ella le gustan sus mu–ecas, los
cuentos de hadas, jugar a los adultos. No, ella no es un monstruo.
Me
trajo el libro de cuentos de hadas.
"Papi,
lŽeme una historia", pregunt— con bastante seriedad.
La
mirŽ con asombro. "ÀDesde cu‡ndo? Ve a leer tu propia historia".
Ella
levant— una ceja imitando mi propio gesto caracter’stico.
"Los
ni–os de mi edad no leen", instruy— pedantemente. "No puedo aprender
a leer hasta que estŽ en primer grado. Es muy dif’cil de hacer y soy demasiado
peque–o".
Hab’a
encontrado la respuesta a su aflicci—n: Áconformidad! Ella ya hab’a aprendido a
ocultar su inteligencia. Muchos de nosotros rompemos nuestros corazones antes
de aprender eso.
ÁPero
no tienes que ocult‡rmelo, Star! ÁNo de mi!
Oh,
bueno, podr’a seguir la mordaza, si eso era lo que ella quer’a.
"ÀTe
gust— la guarder’a?" Hice la pregunta est‡ndar.
"Oh,
s’", exclam— con entusiasmo. "Fue divertido."
"ÀY
quŽ aprendiste hoy, peque–a?"
Ella
me lo jug— directamente. "No mucho. TratŽ de cortar mu–ecas de papel, pero
las tijeras se resbalaban". ÀHubo un demonio elfo detr‡s de su expresi—n
sobria?
"Ahora,
mira", advert’, "no te excedas. Eso es tan malo como ser demasiado
r‡pido. La idea es que todo el mundo tiene que ser casi el promedio est‡ndar.
Eso es lo œnico que toleraremos. Se espera que una ni–a de cuatro a–os deber’a
saber c—mo cortar mu–ecas de papel correctamente ".
"ÀOh?"
ella cuestion—, y parec’a pensativa. "Supongo que esa es la parte dif’cil,
Àno es as’, papi, saber cu‡nto debes saber?"
"S’,
esa es la parte dif’cil", estuve de acuerdo fervientemente.
"Pero
est‡ bien", me tranquiliz—. "Uno de los estœpidos me ense–— c—mo
cortarlos, as’ que ahora le gusto a la ni–a. Entonces se hizo cargo de m’ y les
dijo a los otros ni–os que tambiŽn les agradar’a. As’ que por supuesto que lo
hicieron porque ella es la l’der. Yo creo que hice lo correcto, despuŽs de todo
".
"ÁOh
no!" Respire para mi mismo. Ella ya sab’a c—mo manipular a otras personas.
Entonces mi pensamiento gir— en torno a otro concepto. Era la primera vez que
clasificaba verbalmente a las personas normales como "Estœpidos",
pero se hab’a escapado tan f‡cilmente que supe que hab’a estado pensando para
s’ misma durante mucho tiempo. Entonces mis pensamientos giratorios golpearon
una tercera implicaci—n.
"S’,
tal vez fue lo correcto", admit’. "En lo que respecta a la ni–a, eso
es. Pero no olvides que un maestro adulto te estaba observando en la sala. Y
ella es m‡s inteligente".
"Quieres
decir que es mayor, papi", me corrigi— Star.
"M‡s
inteligente, tambiŽn, tal vez. Tœ "M‡s inteligente, tambiŽn, tal vez. No
puedes decirlo".
"Puedo",
suspir—. "Ella es simplemente mayor".
Creo
que fue el miedo creciente lo que me puso a la defensiva.
"Eso
es bueno", dije enf‡ticamente. "Eso es muy bueno. Entonces puedes
aprender mucho de ella. Se necesita mucho estudio para aprender a ser
estœpido".
Me
vino a la mente mi problem‡tica vida empresarial y pensŽ: "A veces pienso
que nunca lo aprenderŽ".
Juro
que no lo dije en voz alta. Pero Star me dio unas palmaditas consoladoras y
respondi— como si hubiera hablado.
"Eso
es porque solo eres bastante brillante, papi. Eres un Tween, y eso es m‡s
dif’cil que ser realmente brillante".
"ÀUn
Tween? ÀQuŽ es un Tween?" Estaba luchando para ocultar mi confusi—n.
"A
eso me refiero, pap‡", respondi— ella con exasperaci—n. "No entiendes
r‡pidamente. Un intermedio, por supuesto. Las otras personas son estœpidas, yo
soy un brillante, y tœ eres un Tween. CreŽ esos nombres cuando era
peque–o".
ÁDios
bueno! ÁAdem‡s de ser incre’blemente brillante, es una telŽpata!
Muy
bien, Pete, ah’ est‡s. En los procesos de razonamiento puede tener una
oportunidad, Ápero no la telepat’a!
"Estrella",
le dije impulsivamente, "Àpuedes leer las mentes de las personas?"
"Por
supuesto, papi", respondi— ella, como si hubiera hecho una pregunta
tontamente obvia.
"ÀPuedes
ense–arme?"
Ella
me mir— con picard’a. "Ya lo est‡s aprendiendo un poco. ÁPero eres muy
lento! Ya ves, ni siquiera sab’as que estabas aprendiendo".
Su
voz adquiri— una nota melanc—lica, un tono de soledad.
"Ojal‡",
dijo, y se detuvo.
"ÀQuŽ
dese‡s?"
"ÀVes
lo que quiero decir, papi? Lo intentas, pero eres muy lento".
De
todos modos, lo sab’a. Sab’a que ella ya anhelaba un compa–ero cuya mente
pudiera coincidir con la suya.
Un
padre est‡ preparado para perder a su hija, Star, pero no tan pronto.
No
tan pronto....
Junio
de nuevo
Algunas
personas nuevas se han mudado a la casa de al lado. Star dice que se llaman
Howell. Bill y Ruth Howell. Tienen un hijo, Robert, que parece un a–o mayor que
Star, que pronto tendr‡ cinco a–os.
Star
parece haberse tomado con Robert de inmediato. Es un chico bien educado y buena
compa–’a para Star.
Sin
embargo, estoy preocupado. Star tuvo algo que ver con su mudanza en la puerta
de al lado. Estoy convencido de eso. TambiŽn estoy convencido, incluso por lo
poco que he visto de Žl, de que Robert es un Bright y un telŽpata.
ÀPodr’a
ser que, al no encontrar un acuerdo r‡pido con mi mente, Star extendi— la mano
hasta que se puso en contacto con un compa–ero telŽpata?
No,
eso es demasiado fant‡stico. Incluso si fuera as’, Àc—mo podr’a moldear las
circunstancias para poder llevar a Robert a vivir al lado de ella? Los Howell
vinieron de otra ciudad. Simplemente sucedi— que las personas que viv’an al
lado se mudaron y la casa se puso a la venta.
Acabo
de pasar? ÀCon quŽ frecuencia encontramos brights tan anormales? ÀCu‡les son
las posibilidades de que uno simplemente se mueva al lado de otro?
SŽ
que es un telŽpata porque, mientras escribo esto, siento que lo lee.
Incluso
captŽ su pensamiento: "Oh, perd—neme, Sr. Holmes. No ten’a la intenci—n de
mirar. Realmente no lo hice".
ÀMe
lo imaginaba? ÀO est‡ Star construyendo una habilidad en mi mente?
"No
es agradable mirar en la mente de otra persona a menos que te lo pidan,
Robert", pensŽ, bastante severamente. Fue puramente un experimento.
"Lo
sŽ, se–or Holmes. Pido disculpas". ƒl est‡ en su cama en su casa, al otro
lado de la entrada.
"No,
papi, realmente no quiso hacerlo". Y Star est‡ en su cama en esta casa.
Es
imposible escribir c—mo me siento. Llega un momento en que las palabras son
cascarillas vac’as. Pero mezclado con mi temor expectante hay un hilo de
gratitud por haber sido ense–ado a ser incluso tropezadoramente telep‡tico.
S‡bado
11 de agosto
He
pensado en una mordaza. No he visto a Jim Pietre en un mes de domingos, no
desde que le otorgaron esa beca de investigaci—n con el museo. Ser‡ bueno
sacarlo de su agujero, y este peque–o pedazo de basura publicitaria que Star
dej— caer deber’a ser justo lo que necesitas.
Extra–o
sobre el gadget. El horrible talism‡n secreto de los Mystic Junior G-Men, sin
duda. Aœn as’, no tiene nada sobre crepitaciones y estallidos impresos.
Simplemente una moneda de aspecto extra–o, ni siquiera redonda, bronce por lo
que parece. Crudo. Deben eliminarlos por millones sin cambiar nunca un dado.
Pero
es justo lo que debe enviarle a Jim para que se levante de Žl. Siempre pudo
apreciar una buena broma pr‡ctica. Me pregunto c—mo se sentir’a al saber que
solo era un Tween.
"Lunes
13 de agosto
Sentado
aqu’ en mi escritorio de estudio, he estado mirando al espacio durante una
hora. No se que pensar.
Era
cerca del mediod’a de hoy cuando Jim Pietre llam— a la oficina por telŽfono.
"Ahora,
mira, Pete", comenz—. "ÀQuŽ tipo de mordaza est‡s tirando?"
Me
re’ para m’ y tirŽ de la sartŽn sobre Žl.
"ÀQuŽ
quieres decir, muchacho?" Le preguntŽ de nuevo al telŽfono.
"ÀMordaza? ÀQuŽ tipo de mordaza? ÀDe quŽ est‡s hablando?"
"Una
moneda. Una moneda". Estaba impaciente. "ÀRecuerdas que me enviaste
una moneda por correo?"
"Oh,
s’, eso", fing’ recordar. "Mira, eres un importante analista de
investigaci—n sobre metales, demasiado importante para mantenerte en contacto
con tus viejos amigos, as’ que pensŽ en hacer una oferta para llamar tu
atenci—n de inmediato".
"Est‡
bien, dale", dijo en voz baja. "ÀD—nde lo obtuviste?" ƒl hablaba
en serio.
"DŽjalo,
Jim. ÀEst‡s practicando ser una camisa de peluche? Admito que es una costilla.
Algo que Star dej— caer el otro d’a. La idea de un fabricante de publicidad
infantil, sin duda".
"Estoy
hablando en serio, Peter", respondi—. "No es un artilugio
publicitario".
"ÀSignifica
algo?"
En
la universidad, Jim pod’a tomar una broma pr‡ctica y sacar seis de ella.
"No
sŽ lo que significa. ÀD—nde lo consigui— Star?" Estaba siendo bastante
claro al respecto.
"Oh,
no sŽ", dije. Me estaba hartando un poco; la broma no iba segœn el plan.
"Nunca le preguntŽ. Sabes c—mo los ni–os abarrotan el lugar con sus cosas.
Ningœn padre incluso intenta hacer un seguimiento de toda la basura que se
puede comprar con tres tapas de caja y una moneda de diez centavos".
"Esto
no fue comprado con tres tapas de caja y una moneda de diez centavos",
espaci— sus palabras de manera uniforme. "Esto no se compr— en ningœn
lado, a ningœn precio. De hecho, si quieres ser l—gico al respecto, esta moneda
no existe en absoluto".
Me
rei en voz alta. Esto se parec’a m‡s al viejo Jim.
"Est‡
bien, as’ que me has vuelto la mordaza. Vamos a dejarlo. ÀQuŽ tal si vienes a
cenar alguna noche pronto?"
"Voy
a venir, mi amigo". ƒl permaneci— sombr’o mientras lo dec’a. "Y voy a
venir esta noche. Tan pronto como estŽs en casa. No es una broma lo que estoy
tirando. ÀPuedes pasar eso por tu terca cabeza? Dices que lo obtuviste de Star,
y por supuesto que te creo. Pero no es un juguete. Es real ". Luego, como
en profundo desconcierto, "solo que no lo es".
Un
sentimiento de temor se apoder— de m’. Una vez que le gritabas "t’o"
a Jim, Žl siempre se relajaba.
"Sup—n
que me dices a quŽ te refieres", le respond’ con seriedad.
"Eso
es m‡s, Pete. Esto es lo que sabemos sobre la moneda hasta ahora. Aparentemente
es pre-egipcia. Est‡ fundida a mano. Est‡ hecha de uno de los bronces perdidos.
La arreglamos alrededor de los cuatro mil a–os". "
"Eso
deber’a ser f‡cil de resolver", dije. "Probablemente algœn
coleccionista de monedas est‡ gritando por todo el lugar. Sin duda lo perdi— y
Star lo encontr—. Debe haber muchas monedas antiguas como esa en museos y en
colecciones privadas".
Estaba
racionalizando m‡s para mi propio beneficio que para Jim. ƒl sabr’a todas esas
cosas sin que yo las mencionara. Esper— hasta que terminŽ.
"Paso
dos", continu—. "Tenemos uno de los mejores hombres de monedas del
mundo aqu’ en el museo. Tan pronto como vi lo que era el metal, se lo llevŽ.
Ahora ag‡rrate a tu silla, Pete. Dice que no hay monedas como en el mundo, ya
sea museo o colecci—n privada ".
"Ustedes
los muchachos del museo se ponen a su lado a veces. Vienen a la Tierra. En
algœn momento, en algœn lugar, un coleccionista lo recogi— en un lugar ex—tico
y lo mantuvo en silencio. No tengo que decirles c—mo est‡n algunos
coleccionistas, sentados en una oscuridad habitaci—n, regode‡ndose con alguna
chucher’a sin valor, sin decirle a nadie sobre eso ... "
"Muy
bien, sabio", interrumpi—. "Paso tres. ÁEsa moneda tiene por lo menos
cuatro mil a–os y tambiŽn es nueva! Escuchemos explicar eso".
"ÀNuevo?"
PreguntŽ dŽbilmente. "No lo entiendo".
"Las
monedas viejas muestran desgaste. Los bordes se redondean con el manejo. La
superficie se oxida. La estructura molecular cambia, cristaliza. Esta moneda no
muestra desgaste, oxidaci—n ni cambio molecular. Esta moneda pudo haber sido
golpeada ayer. ÀD—nde la consigui— Star? ? "
"Espera
un minuto", supliquŽ.
EmpecŽ
a pensar de nuevo. S‡bado por la ma–ana. Star y Robert hab’an estado jugando un
juego. Ahora que lo pienso, ese fue un juego peculiar. Poderoso peculiar.
Star
entrar’a corriendo a la casa y se parar’a frente al estante de la enciclopedia.
Pod’a escuchar a Robert contar en voz alta en el ‡rbol base afuera en el patio
trasero. Ella mirar’a la enciclopedia por un momento.
Una
vez la escuchŽ murmurar: "Ese es un buen lugar".
O
tal vez ella simplemente lo pens— y captŽ el pensamiento. Lo estoy haciendo bastante
tarde.
Entonces
ella saldr’a corriendo de nuevo. Un momento despuŽs, Robert entrar’a corriendo
y se parar’a frente al mismo estante. Entonces Žl tambiŽn correr’a afuera otra
vez. Habr’a silencio durante varios minutos. El silencio se romper’a con un
estallido de risas y gritos. Pronto, Star volver’a a entrar.
"ÀC—mo
me encuentra?" La escuchŽ pensar una vez. "No puedo razonarlo, y no
puedo sacarlo de ESP".
Fue
durante uno de sus silencios cuando Ruth me llam—.
"ÁOye,
Pete! ÀSabes d—nde est‡n los ni–os? Es hora de Tiempo para su leche y galletas
".
Los
Howells son terriblemente buenos con Star, bend’celos. Me levantŽ y me acerquŽ
a la ventana.
"No
lo sŽ, Ruth", le devolv’ la llamada. "Entraron y salieron hace solo
unos minutos".
"Bueno,
no estoy preocupada", dijo. Entr— por la puerta de la cocina y se par— en
los escalones traseros. "Saben mejor que cruzar la calle solos. Son
demasiado peque–os para eso. As’ que supongo que ya est‡n en Marily's. Cuando
regresen, diles que vengan a buscarlo".
"Est‡
bien, Ruth", le respond’.
Abri—
la puerta de la pantalla de nuevo y volvi— a su cocina. Sal’ de la ventana y
volv’ a mi trabajo.
Un
poco m‡s tarde, los dos ni–os entraron corriendo a la casa. LogrŽ capturarlos
el tiempo suficiente para contarles sobre las galletas y la leche.
"ÁTe
golpeŽ all’!" Robert le grit— a Star.
Hubo
una pelea y salieron corriendo por la puerta principal. Entonces me di cuenta
de que Star hab’a dejado caer la moneda y la recog’ y se la enviŽ a Jim Pietre.
"Hola,
Jim", dije por telŽfono. "ÀSigues ah’?"
"S’,
todav’a estoy esperando una respuesta", dijo.
"Jim,
creo que es mejor que vengas a la casa de inmediato. SaldrŽ de mi oficina ahora
y te encontrarŽ all’. ÀPuedes escaparte?"
"ÀMe
puedo escapar?" el exclam—. "El jefe dice que rastree esta moneda y
no haga nada m‡s. Nos vemos en quince minutos".
Colg—.
Pensativo, cambiŽ el receptor y sal’ a mi auto. Estaba llegando a mi bloque
desde una arteria cuando vi el auto de Jim que se deten’a a una cuadra de
distancia. Me detuve en la acera y lo esperŽ. No vi a los ni–os por ningœn
lado.
Jim
sali— de su autom—vil, y nunca antes hab’a visto una mirada tan ansiosa de
anticipaci—n en la cara de un hombre. No me di cuenta de que estaba mostrando
mi temor, pero cuando vio mi rostro, se puso serio.
"ÀQuŽ
pasa, Pete? ÀQuŽ demonios es?" casi susurr—.
"No
lo sŽ. Al menos no estoy seguro. Entra dentro de la casa".
Nos
dejamos al frente y llevŽ a Jim al estudio. Tiene una gran ventana que se abre
en el jard’n trasero, y la escena era muy clara.
Al
principio era una escena inocente, tan inocente y pac’fica. Solo tres ni–os
peque–os en el patio trasero jugando a las escondidas. Marily, la hija de un
vecino, se estaba acercando al ‡rbol base.
"Ahora
miren, hijos", dec’a ella. "Te escondes donde puedo encontrarte o no
jugarŽ".
"ÀPero
a d—nde podemos ir, Marily?" Robert estaba discutiendo en voz alta. Como
todos los ni–os peque–os, parece mantener sus conversaciones a toda m‡quina.
"Ah’ est‡ el garaje, y est‡n esos ‡rboles y arbustos. Tienes que mirar a
todas partes, Marily".
"Y
despuŽs habr‡ otros edificios, ‡rboles y arbustos", dijo Star con alegr’a.
"TambiŽn tienes que mirar detr‡s de ellos".
"ÁSi!"
Robert tom— el refr‡n burl—n. "Y ha habido muchos edificios y ‡rboles all’
antes, especialmente ‡rboles. TambiŽn hay que mirar detr‡s de ellos".
Marily
sacudi— la cabeza petulantemente. "No sŽ de quŽ est‡s hablando, y no me
importa. Esconderte donde pueda encontrarte, eso es todo".
Ella
escondi— su rostro en el ‡rbol y comenz— a contar. Si hubiera estado solo, habr’a
estado seguro de que mi vista me hab’a fallado o que hab’a sido v’ctima de
alucinaciones. Pero Jim estaba parado all’ y tambiŽn lo vio.
Marily
comenz— a contar, pero los otros dos no huyeron. Star extendi— la mano y tom—
la mano de Robert y simplemente se quedaron all’. Por un instante, parecieron
brillar y ... Ádesaparecieron sin moverse ni un paso!
Marily
termin— de contar y corri— hacia los pocos escondites posibles en el patio.
Cuando no pudo encontrarlos, comenz— a lloriquear y atraves— el seto hasta la
puerta trasera de Ruth.
"Se
escaparon de m’ otra vez", se quej— a travŽs de la pantalla a Ruth.
Jim
y yo nos quedamos mirando por la ventana. Lo mirŽ. Su rostro estaba p‡lido y
p‡lido, pero probablemente no era peor que el m’o.
Vimos
el brillo instant‡neo de nuevo. Star, y luego inmediatamente Robert, se
materializaron desde el aire y corrieron hacia el ‡rbol, gritando:
"ÁSeguro! ÁSeguro!"
Marily
solt— un grito y corri— a casa con su madre.
LlamŽ
a Star y Robert a la casa. Vinieron, todav’a tomados de la mano, un poco
avergonzados, un poco desafiantes.
Como
empezar ÀQuŽ demonios podr’a decir?
"No
es exactamente justo", les dije. "Marily no puede seguirte
all’". Estaba disparando en la oscuridad, pero ten’a al menos un destello
para pasar.
Star
se puso lo suficientemente p‡lida como para que las pecas de su peque–a nariz
resaltaran bajo su bronceado. Robert se sonroj— y se volvi— hacia ella con
fiereza.
"Te
lo dije, Star. ÁTe lo dije! Dije que no era deportivo", acus—. Se gir—
hacia m’. "De todos modos, Marily no puede jugar a las escondidas. Es una
estœpida".
"Olvidemos
eso por un minuto, Robert". Me volv’ hacia ella. "Star, Àa d—nde
vas?"
"Oh,
no es nada, papi". Ella habl— a la defensiva, menospreciando todo el
asunto. "Simplemente vamos un poco cuando jugamos con ella. Ella deber’a
poder encontrarnos un poco".
"Eso
est‡ evadiendo el problema. ÀA d—nde vas y c—mo vas?"
Jim
dio un paso adelante y le mostr— la moneda de bronce que le hab’a enviado.
"Ya
ves, Star", dijo en voz baja. "Hemos encontrado esto".
"No
deber’a tener que decirte mi juego". Estaba casi llorando. "Ambos son
solo preadolescentes. No pod’as entenderlo". Luego, golpeada por la
contrici—n, se volvi— hacia m’. "Papi, he intentado y he tratado de ESP.
Realmente lo hice. Pero ESP no vale nada". Ella desliz— su mano por el
brazo de Robert. "Robert lo hace muy bien", dijo ella
primordialmente, como si lo felicitara por usar su tenedor de la manera
correcta. "Debe ser mejor que yo, porque no sŽ c—mo me encuentra".
"Te
dirŽ c—mo lo hago, Star", exclam— Robert ansiosamente. Era como si
estuviera tratando de hacer las paces ahora que los adultos se hab’an dado
cuenta. "No usas ninguna imaginaci—n. ÁNunca vi a nadie con tan poca
imaginaci—n!"
"Yo
tambiŽn tengo imaginaci—n", respondi— en voz alta. "PensŽ en el
juego, Àno? Te dije c—mo hacerlo, Àno?"
"ÁS’,
s’!" grit— de vuelta. "Pero siempre tienes que mirar un libro para
ESP lo que contiene, as’ que dejas una mancha de ESP. Simplemente voy a la
enciclopedia y ESP donde lo hiciste, y voy a ese lugar, y ah’ est‡s. Es
simple". "
La
boca de Star se abri— con consternaci—n.
"Nunca
pensŽ en eso", dijo.
Jim
y yo nos quedamos all’, dejando que el significado de lo que dec’an penetrara
lentamente en nuestras mentes incrŽdulas.
"De
todos modos", dec’a Robert, "no tienes imaginaci—n". Se dej—
caer con las piernas cruzadas en el suelo. "No puedes teletransportarte a
ningœn lugar que nunca haya estado".
Ella
se acerc— para ponerse en cuclillas a su lado. "ÁYo tambiŽn puedo! ÀQuŽ
pasa con la gente de la Luna? Todav’a no han estado".
La
mir— con disgusto infantil.
"Oh,
Star, lo han sido. Lo sabes". Extendi— las manos como si fuera un ‡rbitro
de bŽisbol. "Ese momento aœn no ha sido para tu pap‡ aqu’, por ejemplo,
pero ya ha sido para alguien como, bueno, digamos, como esas cosas de
Arcturus".
"Bueno,
tampoco te has teletransportado a un lugar que nunca estuvo", Star estaba
respondiendo. "Por lo tanto, all’."
Moviendo
a Jim hacia una silla, me hund’ temblorosamente en otra. Al menos los brazos de
la silla se sent’an s—lidos debajo de mis manos.
"Ahora,
miren, ni–os", interrump’ sus t‡cticas evasivas. "Comencemos por el
principio. Supongo que has descubierto una manera de viajar a lugares en el
pasado o en el futuro".
"Bueno,
por supuesto. Papi". Star hizo caso omiso de la declaraci—n con
indiferencia. "Simplemente nos enviamos TP por ESP a donde queremos ir. No
hace ningœn da–o".
ÁY
estos eran los ni–os que eran demasiado peque–os para cruzar la calle!
He
pasado por momentos de shock antes. Esto era lo mismo: de alguna manera, la
mente se aturde demasiado para reaccionar m‡s all‡ de un punto. Uno simplemente
pasa el resto, lo mejor que puede, casi normalmente.
"Est‡
bien, est‡ bien", le dije, y me sorprendi— escuchar el mismo tono que
habr’a usado sobre una discusi—n sobre el pedazo de pastel m‡s grande. "No
sŽ si es da–ino o no. TendrŽ que pensarlo. En este momento, solo dime c—mo lo
haces".
"Ser’a
mucho m‡s f‡cil si pudiera ESP", dijo Star dubitativo.
"Bueno,
finge que soy un estœpido y dime con palabras".
"ÀTe
acuerdas de la Franja de Moebius?" pregunt— muy lenta y cuidadosamente,
comenzando con el primer punto y el m‡s b‡sico en casi la forma en que uno le
explica a un ni–o comœn.
Si,
lo recordaba. Y recordŽ cu‡nto tiempo hace que lo hab’a descubierto. M‡s de un
a–o, y su mente ocupada y brillante hab’a estado explorando sus posibilidades
desde entonces. ÁY pensŽ que lo hab’a olvidado!
"Ah’
es donde unes los extremos de una tira de papel con una media vuelta para hacer
una superficie", continu—, como trotando mi memoria lenta y poco
confiable.
"S’",
respond’. "Todos conocemos la Franja de Moebius".
Jim
lo mir— sorprendido. Nunca le hab’a contado sobre el incidente.
"Luego
tomas una s‡bana y le das media vuelta y unes el borde para hacer un tipo de
soporte divertido".
"La
botella de Klein", dijo Jim.
Ella
lo mir— aliviada.
"Oh,
ya sabes sobre eso", dijo. "Eso lo hace m‡s f‡cil. Bueno, entonces,
el siguiente paso. Tomas un cubo". Su rostro se nubl— de duda de nuevo y
ella explic—: "No puedes hacer esto con tus manos. Tienes que hacerlo ESP,
porque de todos modos es un cubo imaginario ".
Ella
nos mir— inquisitivamente. Asent’ para que continuara.
"Y
usted ESP el cubo retorcido todos juntos de la misma manera que lo hizo la
botella de Klein. Ahora, si lo hace lo suficientemente grande, a su alrededor,
as’ que est‡ medio torcido en el medio, entonces puede TP en cualquier lugar
que desee ir. Y eso es todo lo que hay que hacer ", termin—
apresuradamente.
"ÀD—nde
has ido?" Le preguntŽ en voz baja.
La
tŽcnica de hacerlo requerir’a algo de pensamiento. Sab’a suficiente f’sica para
saber que esa era la forma en que se constru’an las dimensiones. La l’nea, el
plano, el cubo: f’sica euclidiana. La tira de Moebius, la botella de Klein, el
cubo retorcido sin nombre: la f’sica de Einstein. Si, fue posible.
"Oh,
nos hemos ido por todas partes", respondi— Star vagamente. "Los
romanos y los egipcios, lugares como ese".
"ÀRecogiste
una moneda en uno de esos lugares?" Jim pregunt—.
Estaba
haciendo un buen trabajo para mantener su voz informal. Sab’a la emoci—n que
deb’a estar sintiendo, la visi—n de la riqueza del conocimiento que deb’a
abrirse ante sus ojos.
"Lo
encontrŽ, papi", Star respondi— la pregunta de Jim. Estaba a punto de
llorar. "Lo encontrŽ en la tierra, y Robert estaba a punto de atraparme.
OlvidŽ que lo ten’a cuando me fui de all’ tan r‡pido". Ella me mir—
suplicante. "No quise robarlo, papi. Nunca robŽ nada, en ningœn lado. E
iba a retirarlo y ponerlo justo donde lo encontrŽ. En verdad lo estaba. Pero lo
dejŽ caer nuevamente, y luego ESP si lo tuvieras. Supongo que fui muy travieso
".
Me
pasŽ la mano por la frente.
"Saltemos
la cuesti—n de lo bueno y lo malo por un minuto", dije, con la cabeza
palpitante. "ÀQuŽ pasa con este negocio de ir al futuro?"
Robert
habl—, con los ojos brillantes. "No hay futuro, Sr. Holmes. Eso es lo que
le sigo diciendo a Star, pero no puede razonar, es solo una ni–a. Todo pasar‡.
Todo siempre ha pasado".
Jim
lo mir— como at—nito y abri— la boca en se–al de protesta. Sacud’ la cabeza en
se–al de advertencia.
"Supongamos
que me cuentas sobre eso, Robert", le dije.
"Bueno",
comenz— con una nota ascendente, frunciendo el ce–o, "es un poco dif’cil
de explicar con eso. Star es brillante e incluso ella no lo entiende
exactamente. Pero, ya ves, soy mayor". La mir— con superioridad. Luego,
con un cambio de humor, la defendi—. "Pero cuando sea tan vieja como yo,
lo entender‡ bien".
ƒl
le palme— el hombro consoladoramente. Ten’a seis a–os de edad.
"Vuelves
al pasado. Vuelves a Egipto y la Atl‡ntida. Eso es reciente", dijo con
desprecio. "Y de espaldas, y de espaldas, y de repente es el futuro".
"No
es as’ como lo hice". Star sacudi— la cabeza contrariamente. "RazonŽ
el futuro. RazonŽ lo que vendr’a despuŽs, y fui all’, y luego razonŽ de nuevo.
Y as’ sucesivamente. TambiŽn puedo razonar".
"Es
el mismo futuro", nos dijo Robert dogm‡ticamente. "Tiene que ser as’,
porque eso es todo lo que sucedi—". Se gir— hacia Star. "La raz—n por
la que nunca pudiste encontrar un Jard’n del EdŽn es porque no hab’a Ad‡n y Eva".
Entonces para m’, "Y el hombre tampoco vino de los simios. El hombre
comenz— a s’ mismo".
Jim
casi se estrangula cuando se inclina hacia adelante, con la cara roja y los
ojos saltones.
"ÀC—mo?"
se ahog—.
Robert
envi— su mirada a la lejana distancia.
"Bueno",
dijo, "dentro de mucho tiempo, ya sabes a lo que me refiero, como un
estœpido pensar’a en Time-From-Now", los hombres se metieron en un l’o.
"Hubo
algunas personas en ese momento que descubrieron el mismo tipo de Estrella
viajera que yo. As’ que cuando el mundo estaba a punto de explotar y formar una
nueva estrella, muchos de ellos se teletransportaron cuando la Tierra era
joven, y comenzaron de nuevo ".
Jim
solo mir— a Robert, incapaz de hablar.
"No
lo entiendo", dije.
"No
todos pod’an hacerlo", explic— Robert pacientemente. "Solo unos pocos
Brights. Pero encerraron a muchas otras personas y se los llevaron". Se
volvi— un poco vago en este punto. "Supongo que m‡s tarde los Brights
perdieron interŽs en los Estœpidos o algo as’. De todos modos, los Estœpidos se
hundieron m‡s y m‡s y se convirtieron en animales". Se tap— la nariz
brevemente. "Ol’an peor. Adoraban a los Brights como dioses".
Robert
me mir— y se encogi— de hombros.
"No
sŽ todo lo que sucedi—. Solo estuve all’ unas pocas veces. No es muy interesante.
De todos modos", finaliz—, "los Brights finalmente
desaparecieron".
"Me
gustar’a saber ad—nde fueron", suspir— Star. Fue un suspiro solitario.
Inœtilmente tomŽ su mano y le devolv’ mi atenci—n a Robert.
"Todav’a
no entiendo", dije.
Cogi—
unas tijeras, un trozo de cinta de celof‡n, una hoja de papel. R‡pidamente
cort— una tira, le dio media vuelta y la peg—. Luego, r‡pidamente, en la Franja
de Moebius, escribi—: "Hombres de las cavernas. Estos hombres, esos
hombres, Mu Men, Atlantis Men, egipcios, History Men, Us Now Men, Atom Men,
Moon Men, Planet Men, Star Men—"
"Ah’",
dijo. "Esa es toda la habitaci—n que hay en la franja. He escrito
claramente a su alrededor. Justo despuŽs de que Star Men venga a Cave Men. Es
una sola cosa, unida. No es futuro, y tampoco es pasado. Simplemente es. ÀNo lo
ves? "
"Me
gustar’a saber c—mo los Brights salieron de la franja", dijo Star con
melancol’a.
Ten’a
todo lo que pod’a tomar.
"Miren,
ni–os", supliquŽ. "No sŽ si este juego es peligroso o no. Quiz‡s
termines en la boca de un le—n, o algo as’".
"ÁOh,
no, papi!" Star chill— de alegr’a. "Nos saldr’amos TP de all’".
"Pero
r‡pido", Robert se ri— de acuerdo.
"De
todos modos, tengo que pensarlo", dije tercamente. "Solo soy un
Tween, pero, Star, soy tu papi y eres solo una ni–a, as’ que tienes que
preocuparte por m’".
"Siempre
me importa", dijo virtuosamente.
"Lo
haces, Àeh?" Yo preguntŽ. "ÀQuŽ pasa con salir de la cuadra? Visitar
a los griegos y los hombres de las estrellas no es mi idea de quedarme en la
cuadra".
"Pero
no dijiste eso, papi. Dijiste que no cruzaras la calle. Y nunca crucŽ la calle.
ÀLo hicimos, Robert? ÀLo hicimos?"
"No
cruzamos una sola calle, se–or Holmes", dijo.
"ÁDios
m’o!" dijo Jim, y sigui— tratando de encender un cigarrillo.
"ÁEst‡
bien, est‡ bien! Ya no te ir‡s esta vez", advert’.
"ÁEspere!"
Fue un grito de angustia de parte de Jim. Rompi— el cigarrillo con repentina
frustraci—n y lo arroj— a un cenicero. "El museo, Pete", suplic—.
"Piensa en lo que significar’a. Im‡genes, espec’menes, grabaciones de voz.
Y no solo de lugares hist—ricos, sino de hombres de las estrellas, Pete.
ÁHombres de las estrellas! ÀNo estar’a bien para ellos ir a lugares que saben
que son seguros? No lo har’a". No les pidas que se arriesguen, pero ...
"
"No,
Jim", dije con pesar. "Es tu museo, pero esta es mi hija".
"Claro",
suspir—. "Creo que me sentir’a de la misma manera".
Me
volv’ hacia los j—venes.
"Star,
Robert", les dije a ambos, "Quiero tu promesa de que no te ir‡s esta
vez, hasta que te deje. Ahora no podr’a castigarte si rompes tu promesa, porque
no podr’a seguirte . Pero quiero tu promesa en tu palabra de honor de que no te
ir‡s esta vez ".
"Nosotros
prometemos." Cada uno levant— una mano, como si jurara en la corte.
"No m‡s irse esta vez".
Dejo
que los ni–os regresen al patio. Jim y yo nos miramos el uno al otro por un
largo rato, respirando lo suficientemente fuerte como para haber estado
corriendo.
"Lo
siento", dije al fin.
"Lo
sŽ", respondi—. "Yo tambiŽn. Pero no te culpo. Simplemente olvidŽ,
por un momento, cu‡nto podr’a significar una hija para un hombre". ƒl
guard— silencio, y luego agreg—, con la peculiaridad humor’stica en la esquina
de sus labios, "puedo verme informando esta entrevista al museo".
"No
tienes intenci—n de hacerlo, Àverdad?" PreguntŽ alarmado.
"ÀY
que me conserven o me r’an? No soy tan estœpido".
10
de septiembre
ÀLo
estoy entendiendo realmente? Tuve un destello por un instante. Me estaba
concentrando en la triunfante marcha de CŽsar hacia Roma. ÁPara el m‡s breve de
los instantes, all’ estaba! Estaba parado en el camino, observando. Pero, lo
m‡s peculiar, todav’a era una imagen; Yo era lo œnico que se mov’a. Y luego,
con la misma brusquedad, lo perd’.
ÀFue
solo una alucinaci—n? ÀAlgo provocado por la intensa concentraci—n y las
ilusiones?
Ahora
veamos. Visualizas un cubo. Luego le das un ESP medio giro y sellas los bordes
juntos. No, cuando tiene el medio giro solo hay una superficie. Sellas esa
superficie a tu alrededor ...
A
veces creo que lo tengo. A veces me desespero. ÁSi solo fuera un Bright en
lugar de un Tween!
23
de octubre
No
veo c—mo logrŽ hacer tanto trabajo de teletransportarme. Es la cosa m‡s simple
del mundo, sin esfuerzo alguno. ÁPor quŽ un ni–o podr’a hacerlo! Eso suena como
una broma, teniendo en cuenta que fueron dos ni–os los que me ense–aron c—mo
hacerlo, pero quiero decir que todo es lo suficientemente f‡cil para que
incluso cualquier ni–o aprenda. El problema es entender los pasos ... no, no
entender, porque no puedo decir que s’, sino resolver los pasos en el proceso.
Tampoco
hay peligro. No es de extra–ar que al principio pareciera una imagen fija, ya
que la aceleraci—n es incre’ble. Esa bala que me interpuse, por ejemplo, pude
ir a buscarla y caminar junto a ella mientras viajaba por el aire. Para los
hombres que estaban en duelo, no deb’a haber sido m‡s que una racha instant‡nea
de movimiento.
Es
por eso que los j—venes se rieron ante la sugerencia de peligro. Incluso si se
materializaron justo en medio de una explosi—n at—mica, es tan lento en
comparaci—n que podr’an TP nuevamente antes de lesionarse. Ver‡s, la explosi—n
no puede viajar m‡s r‡pido que la velocidad de la luz, mientras que la
velocidad del pensamiento no tiene l’mite.
Pero
todav’a no les he dado permiso para teletransportarse fuera de este tiempo
todav’a. Quiero repasar las edades con mucho cuidado antes de hacerlo; No me
arriesgo, aunque no veo c—mo podr’an terminar en problemas. Aœn as’, Robert
afirm— que los Brights pasaron del futuro al principio, lo que significa que
podr’an estar atravesando el tiempo y superarnos a cualquiera de nosotros tres,
y uno de ellos podr’a ser hostil.
Me
siento como un piojo, sin llevar las c‡maras, cajas de muestras y grabadoras de
Jim. Pero hay tiempo para eso. Mucho tiempo, una vez que tengo la sensaci—n de
la historia sin ser gravado por todas esas cosas para llevar.
Hablando
de tiempo e historia, ÁquŽ trabajo tan podrido han hecho los historiadores! Por
ejemplo:
Jorge
III de Inglaterra no estaba loco ni era un imbŽcil. No era un tipo
particularmente agradable, lo admito, no veo c—mo alguien podr’a estar con la
cantidad de adulaci—n que vi, pero fue v’ctima de la expansi—n del imperio y el
fermento de la Revoluci—n Industrial. Sin embargo, tambiŽn lo fueron todos los
otros gobernantes europeos de la Žpoca. Ciertamente lo hizo mejor que Louis de
Francia. Al menos George mantuvo su trabajo y su cabeza.
Por
otro lado, John Wilkes Booth era definitivamente psic—tico. Podr’a haberse
curado si hubieran tenido nuestros mŽtodos de psicoterapia en ese momento, y
Lincoln, por supuesto, no habr’a sido asesinado. Fue casi una compulsi—n evitar
el asesinato, pero no me atrev’ ... Dios sabe quŽ efecto habr’a tenido en la
historia. Por extra–o que parezca, Lincoln parec’a menos sorprendido que nadie
cuando le dispararon, triste, s’, y herido emocionalmente.
Sin
embargo, jurar’a que lo estaba esperando.
Keops
estaba muy preocupado por la cantidad de esclavos que murieron mientras se
constru’a la pir‡mide. No fueron f‡ciles de reemplazar. Les dio cuatro horas
libres en la parte m‡s calurosa del d’a, y no creo que ningœn esclavo en el
pa’s haya sido alimentado o alojado mejor.
Nunca
encontrŽ ningœn signo de Atlantis o Lemuria, solo cuentos de tierras lejanas,
unos pocos cientos de kil—metros eran una gran distancia, recuerda, que se
hab’an hundido bajo el mar. Con la noci—n exagerada de geograf’a de los
Antiguos, una gran isla era lo mismo que un continente. Algunas islas
desaparecieron, naturalmente, ahogando a unos pocos miles de aldeanos y
pastores. Esa debe haber sido la fuente de las leyendas.
Col—n
era un testarudo terco. Estaba pensando en regresar cuando los marineros se
amotinaron, lo que lo hizo obstinado. Todav’a no puedo ver lo que estaba
comiendo Genghis Khan y Alejandro Magno: habr’a sido de gran ayuda conocer los
idiomas, porque sus grandes campa–as comenzaron m‡s como vacaciones o viajes de
exploraci—n. Helena de Troya era lo suficientemente atractiva, considerando,
pero ella era solo una excusa para luchar.
Hubo
varios intentos de federar a las tribus indias antes que el hombre blanco y las
Cinco Naciones, pero ir tras esposas y esclavos arruin— el movimiento cada vez.
Creo que podr’an haberse quedado con Estados Unidos si hubieran estado unidos
y, ni que decir tiene, sab’an el acuerdo que iban a conseguir. En cualquier
caso, podr’an haber cambiado por armas y herramientas e industrializado el pa’s
de la misma manera que lo hicieron los japoneses. ÁAdmito que eso es solo
especulaci—n, pero este habr’a sido un mundo diferente si hubieran tenido
Žxito!
Un
d’a lo pondrŽ todo en una historia completa y corregida de la humanidad,
completa con fotograf’as, y luego dejarŽ que los "expertos" se
discutan sobre las crisis nerviosas.
No
lleguŽ muy lejos en el futuro. En ninguna parte cerca de los Hombres de las
Estrellas, o, para el caso, de regreso al principio del que Robert nos habl—.
Es una cuesti—n de razonar el camino y no soy un brillante. LlevarŽ a Robert y
Star como gu’as, cuando y si.
Lo
que vi del futuro no fue tan bueno, pero tampoco fue tan malo. El verdadero
desastre obviamente no sucede hasta que los Star Men aparecen muy por delante
en la historia, si Robert tiene raz—n, y creo que s’. No puedo adivinar cu‡l
ser‡ el problema, pero debe ser algo espantoso si no pueden salir de Žl,
incluso con la tecnolog’a enormemente avanzada que tendr‡n. O tal vez esa es la
respuesta. Es casi cierto de nosotros ahora.
Viernes
14 de noviembre
Los
Howell se fueron de viaje de fin de semana y dejaron a Robert a mi cuidado. Es
un buen chico y no tiene problemas. ƒl y Star han cumplido su promesa, pero
est‡n haciendo otra cosa. Puedo sentirlo y ese sentimiento de temor expectante
est‡ de vuelta conmigo.
Han
estado en secreto œltimamente. Los atrapo concentr‡ndose intensamente,
suspirando con disgusto y luego estallando en risas inexplicables.
"Recuerda
tu promesa", le advert’ a Star mientras Robert estaba en la habitaci—n.
"No
lo vamos a romper, papi", respondi— seriamente.
Ambos
corearon: "No m‡s irse esta vez".
ÁPero
los dos se echaron a re’r!
TendrŽ
que verlos. QuŽ bien har’a, no lo sŽ. Est‡n tramando algo, pero Àc—mo puedo
detenerlos? ÀEncerrarlos en sus habitaciones? ÀTan sus pieles?
Me
pregunto quŽ recomendar’a alguien m‡s.
noche
de domingo
ÁLos
ni–os se han ido!
Los
he estado esperando una hora. SŽ que no se alejar’an tanto tiempo si pudieran
regresar. Debe haber algo con lo que se hayan encontrado. Por brillantes que
sean, siguen siendo solo ni–os.
Tengo
algunas pistas Me prometieron que no saldr’an de este tiempo presente. Con toda
su picard’a, Star nunca me ha roto una promesa, como lo interpreta su mente
t’picamente femenina. Entonces sŽ que est‡n en nuestro propio tiempo.
En
varias ocasiones, Star lo mencion—, pregunt‡ndose a d—nde hab’an ido los
Antiguos, los Brillantes, c—mo salieron de la Franja de Moebius.
Esa
es la pista. ÀC—mo puedo salir de la Franja de Moebius y permanecer en el
presente?
Un
cubo no lo har‡. All’ tenemos un simple viaje a lo largo de la superficie
œnica. Tenemos una l’nea, tenemos un plano, tenemos un cubo. Y luego tenemos un
supercubo, un tesseract. Esa es la progresi—n l—gica de las matem‡ticas. Los
Brillantes deben haber seguido esa l’nea de razonamiento.
Ahora
tengo que hacer lo mismo, pero sin la ventaja de ser un Bright. Aœn as’, no es
lo mismo que esperar que una persona normalmente inteligente produzca una obra
de genio. (Genio segœn nuestros est‡ndares, por supuesto, lo que supongo que
Robert y Star clasificar’an como Tween.) Cualquiera con un ’ndice de
inteligencia bastante justo. y una educaci—n y capacitaci—n adecuadas pueden
seguir la l—gica de un genio, siempre que los pasos estŽn all’ y especialmente
si tiene una aplicaci—n pr‡ctica. Lo que no puede hacer es iniciar y completar
esa estructura de l—gica. Tampoco tengo que hacerlo, eso fue hecho por un par
de Brights y yo "simplemente" tengo que aplicar sus hallazgos.
Ahora
veamos si puedo.
Al
reducir el presente-pasado-futuro del hombre a una Franja de Moebius, hemos
eliminado una dimensi—n. Eso
Al
reducir el presente-pasado-futuro del hombre a una Franja de Moebius, hemos
eliminado una dimensi—n. Es una franja bidimensional, porque no tiene
profundidad. (Naturalmente, ser’a imposible que una Franja de Moebius tuviera
profundidad; solo tiene una superficie).
Al
reducirlo a dos dimensiones, es posible viajar a cualquier lugar que desee a
travŽs de la tercera dimensi—n. Y est‡s en la tercera dimensi—n cuando te
envuelves en el cubo retorcido.
Vamos
un paso m‡s arriba, en una dimensi—n m‡s. En resumen, el tesseract. Para
obtener el equivalente de una Franja de Moebius con profundidad, tienes que ir
a la cuarta dimensi—n, que, me parece, es la œnica forma en que los Brillantes
podr’an salir de este ciclo cerrado de pasado-presente-futuro-pasado. Deben
haber razonado que una muesca m‡s en las dimensiones era todo lo que
necesitaban. Es igualmente obvio que Star y Robert han seguido la misma l’nea
de razonamiento; no romper’an su promesa de no abandonar el presente, y salir
de la Franja de Moebius para llevarse a otro presente ser’a, de una manera
tortuosa, cumplir esa promesa.
Estoy
poniendo toda esta especulaci—n para ti, Jim Pietre, sabiendo primero que eres
un Tween como yo, y segundo que seguro que has estado pensando mucho sobre lo
que sucedi— despuŽs de que te enviŽ la moneda Star ca’do. Espero que pueda
explicar todo esto a Bill y Ruth Howell, o lo suficiente, en cualquier caso,
para que puedan entender la verdad sobre su hijo Robert y mi hija Star, y sobre
d—nde pueden haber ido los ni–os.
Dejo
estas notas donde las encontrar‡, cuando usted y Bill y Ruth nos busquen en la
casa y los terrenos. Si lees esto, ser‡ porque he fallado en mi bœsqueda de los
j—venes. TambiŽn existe la posibilidad de que los encuentre y de que no podamos
volver a esta Franja de Moebius. Quiz‡s el tiempo tiene un valor diferente
all’, o no existe en absoluto. Lo que es fuera del Strip es una inc—gnita.
Bill
y Ruth: Ojal‡ pudiera darte la esperanza de poder devolverte a Robert. Pero
todo lo que puedo hacer es desear. Puede que no sea m‡s que desear una
estrella: mi Estrella.
Estoy
tratando ahora de tomar seis cubos y doblarlos entre s’ para que cada ‡ngulo
sea un ‡ngulo recto.
No
es f‡cil, pero puedo hacerlo, usando toda la concentraci—n que he aprendido de
los ni–os. Muy bien, tengo los seis cubos y tengo todos los ‡ngulos en ‡ngulo
recto.
Ahora
si, en el plegamiento, hago ESP el testeo me doy media vuelta y—
Star, Bright
By MARK CLIFTON
There is no past or future, the children said;
it all just is! They
had every reason to know!
Friday—June 11th
At three years of age, a little girl shouldn't have enough functioning intelligence
to cut out and paste together a Moebius Strip.
Or, if she did it by accident, she surely shouldn't have enough reasoning
ability to pick up one of her crayons and carefully trace the continuous line
to prove it has only one surface.
And if by some strange coincidence she did, and it was still just an
accident, how can I account for this generally active daughter of
mine—and I do mean active—sitting for a solid half hour with
her chin cupped in her hand, staring off into space, thinking with such
concentration that it was almost painful to watch?
I was in my reading chair, going over some work. Star was sitting on the
floor, in the circle of my light, with her blunt-nosed scissors and her scraps
of paper.
Her long silence made me glance down at her as she was taping the two ends
of the paper together. At that point I thought it was an accident that she had
given a half twist to the paper strip before joining the circle. I smiled to
myself as she picked it up in her chubby fingers.
"A little child forms the enigma of the ages," I mused.
But instead of throwing the strip aside, or tearing it apart as any other
child would do, she carefully turned it over and around—studying it from
all sides.
Then she picked up one of her crayons and began tracing the line. She did
it as though she were substantiating a conclusion already reached!
It was a bitter confirmation for me. I had been refusing to face it for a
long time, but I could ignore it no longer.
Star was a High I.Q.
For half an hour I watched her while she sat on the floor, one knee bent
under her, her chin in her hand, unmoving. Her eyes were wide with wonderment,
looking into the potentialities of the phenomenon she had found.
It has been a tough struggle, taking care of her since my wife's death. Now
this added problem. If only she could have been normally dull, like other
children!
I made up my mind while I watched her. If a child is afflicted, then let's
face it, she's afflicted. A parent must teach her to compensate. At least she
could be prepared for the bitterness I'd known. She could learn early to take
it in stride.
I could use the measurements available, get the degree of intelligence, and
in that way grasp the extent of my problem. A twenty point jump in I.Q. creates
an entirely different set of problems. The 140 child lives in a world nothing
at all like that of the 100 child, and a world which the 120 child can but
vaguely sense. The problems which vex and challenge the 160 pass over the 140
as a bird flies over a field mouse. I must not make the mistake of posing the
problems of one if she is the other. I must know. In the meantime, I must treat
it casually.
"That's called the Moebius Strip, Star," I interrupted her
thoughts.
She came out of her reverie with a start. I didn't like the quick way her
eyes sought mine—almost furtively, as though she had been caught doing
something bad.
"Somebody already make it?" she disappointedly asked.
She knew what she had discovered! Something inside me spilled over with
grief, and something else caught at me with dread.
I kept my voice casual. "A man by the name of Moebius. A long time
ago. I'll tell you about him sometime when you're older."
"Now. While I'm little," she commanded with a frown. "And
don't tell. Read me."
What did she mean by that? Oh, she must be simply paraphrasing me at those
times in the past when I've wanted the facts and not garbled generalizations.
It could only be that!
"Okay, young lady." I lifted an eyebrow and glared at her in mock
ferociousness, which usually sent her into gales of laughter. "I'll slow
you down!"
She remained completely sober.
I turned to the subject in a physics book. It's not in simple language, by
any means, and I read it as rapidly as I could speak. My thought was to make
her admit she didn't understand it, so I could translate it into basic
language.
Her reaction?
"You read too slow. Daddy," she complained. She was childishly
irritable about it. "You say a word. Then I think a long time. Then you
say another word."
I knew what she meant. I remember, when I was a child, my thoughts used to
dart in and out among the slowly droning words of any adult. Whole patterns of
universes would appear and disappear in those brief moments.
"So?" I asked.
"So," she mocked me impishly. "You teach me to read. Then I
can think quick as I want."
"Quickly," I corrected in a weak voice. "The word is
'quickly,' an adverb."
She looked at me impatiently, as if she saw through this allegedly adult
device to show up a younger's ignorance. I felt like the dope!
September 1st
A great deal has happened the past few months. I have tried, a number of
times to bring the conversation around to discuss Star's affliction with her.
But she is amazingly adroit at heading me off, as though she already knows what
I am trying to say and isn't concerned. Perhaps, in spite of her brilliance,
she's too young to realize the hostility of the world toward intelligence.
Some of the visiting neighbors have been amused to see her sit on the floor
with an encyclopedia as big as she is, rapidly turning the pages. Only Star and
I know she is reading the pages as rapidly as she can turn them. I've brushed
away the neighbors' comments with: "She likes to look at the
pictures."
They talk to her in baby talk—and she answers in baby talk! How does
she know enough to do that?
I have spent the months making an exhaustive record of her I.Q.
measurements, aptitude speeds, reaction, tables, all the recommended
paraphernalia for measuring something we know nothing about.
The tables are screwy, or Star is beyond all measurement.
All right, Pete Holmes, how are you going to pose those problems and combat
them for her, when you have no conception of what they might be? But I must
have a conception. I've got to be able to comprehend at least a little of what
she may face. I simply couldn't stand by and do nothing.
Easy, though. Nobody knows better than you the futility of trying to
compete out of your class. How many students, workers and employers have tried
to compete with you? You've watched them and pitied them, comparing them to a
donkey trying to run the Kentucky Derby.
How does it feel to be in the place of the donkey, for a change? You've
always blamed them for not realizing they shouldn't try to compete.
But this is my own daughter! I must understand.
October 1st
Star is now four years old, and according to State Law her mind has now
developed enough so that she may attend nursery school. Again I tried to
prepare her for what she might face. She listened through about two sentences
and changed the subject. I can't tell about Star. Does she already know the
answers? Or does she not even realize there is a problem?
I was in a sweat of worry when I took her to her first day at school
yesterday morning. Last night I was sitting in my chair, reading. After she had
put her dolls away, she went to the bookshelves and brought down a book of
fairy tales.
That is another peculiarity of hers. She has an unmeasurably quick
perception, yet she has all the normal reactions of a little girl. She likes
her dolls, fairy stories, playing grown up. No, she's not a monster.
She brought the book of fairy tales over to me.
"Daddy, read me a story," she asked quite seriously.
I looked at her in amazement. "Since when? Go read your own
story."
She lifted an eyebrow in imitation of my own characteristic gesture.
"Children of my age do not read," she instructed pedantically.
"I can't learn to read until I am in the first grade. It is very hard to
do and I am much too little."
She had found the answer to her affliction—conformity! She had
already learned to conceal her intelligence. So many of us break our hearts
before we learn that.
But you don't have to conceal it from me, Star! Not from me!
Oh, well, I could go along with the gag, if that was what she wanted.
"Did you like nursery school?" I asked the standard question.
"Oh, yes," she exclaimed enthusiastically. "It was
fun."
"And what did you learn today, little girl?"
She played it straight back to me. "Not much. I tried to cut out paper
dolls, but the scissors kept slipping." Was there an elfin deviltry back
of her sober expression?
"Now, look," I cautioned, "don't overdo it. That's as bad as
being too quick. The idea is that everybody has to be just about standard
average. That's the only thing we will tolerate. It is expected that a little
girl of four should know how to cut out paper dolls properly."
"Oh?" she questioned, and looked thoughtful. "I guess that's
the hard part, isn't it, Daddy—to know how much you ought to know?"
"Yes, that's the hard part," I agreed fervently.
"But it's all right," she reassured me. "One of the Stupids
showed me how to cut them out, so now that little girl likes me. She just took
charge of me then and told the other kids they should like me, too. So of
course they did because she's leader. I think I did right, after all."
"Oh, no!" I breathed to myself. She knew how to manipulate other
people already. Then my thought whirled around another concept. It was the
first time she had verbally classified normal people as "Stupids,"
but it had slipped out so easily that I knew she'd been thinking to herself for
a long time. Then my whirling thoughts hit a third implication.
"Yes, maybe it was the right thing," I conceded. "Where the
little girl was concerned, that is. But don't forget you were being observed by
a grownup teacher in the room. And she's smarter."
"You mean she's older, Daddy," Star corrected me.
"Smarter, too, maybe. You can't tell."
"I can," she sighed. "She's just older."
I think it was growing fear which made me defensive.
"That's good," I said emphatically. "That's very good. You
can learn a lot from her then. It takes an awful lot of study to learn how to
be stupid."
My own troublesome business life came to mind and I thought to myself,
"I sometimes think I'll never learn it."
I swear I didn't say it aloud. But Star patted me consolingly and answered
as though I'd spoken.
"That's because you're only fairly bright, Daddy. You're a Tween, and
that's harder than being really bright."
"A Tween? What's a Tween?" I was bumbling to hide my confusion.
"That's what I mean, Daddy," she answered in exasperation.
"You don't grasp quickly. An In Between, of course. The other people are
Stupids, I'm a Bright, and you're a Tween. I made those names up when I was
little."
Good God! Besides being unmeasurably bright, she's a telepath!
All right, Pete, there you are. On reasoning processes you might stand a
chance—but not telepathy!
"Star," I said on impulse, "can you read people's
minds?"
"Of course, Daddy," she answered, as if I'd asked a foolishly
obvious question.
"Can you teach me?"
She looked at me impishly. "You're already learning it a little. But
you're so slow! You see, you didn't even know you were learning."
Her voice took on a wistful note, a tone of loneliness.
"I wish—" she said, and paused.
"What do you wish?"
"You see what I mean, Daddy? You try, but you're so slow."
All the same, I knew. I knew she was already longing for a companion whose
mind could match her own.
A father is prepared to lose his daughter eventually, Star, but not so
soon.
Not so soon....
June again
Some new people have moved in next door. Star says their name is Howell.
Bill and Ruth Howell. They have a son, Robert, who looks maybe a year older
than Star, who will soon be five.
Star seems to have taken up with Robert right away. He is a well-mannered
boy and good company for Star.
I'm worried, though. Star had something to do with their moving in next
door. I'm convinced of that. I'm also convinced, even from the little I've seen
of him, that Robert is a Bright and a telepath.
Could it be that, failing to find quick accord with my mind, Star has
reached out and out until she made contact with a telepath companion?
No, that's too fantastic. Even if it were so, how could she shape
circumstances so she could bring Robert to live next door to her? The Howells
came from another city. It just happened that the people who lived next door
moved out and the house was put up for sale.
Just happened? How frequently do we find such abnormal Brights? What are
the chances of one just happening to move in next door to another?
I know he is a telepath because, as I write this, I sense him reading it.
I even catch his thought: "Oh, pardon me, Mr. Holmes. I didn't intend
to peek. Really I didn't."
Did I imagine that? Or is Star building a skill in my mind?
"It isn't nice to look into another person's mind unless you're asked,
Robert," I thought back, rather severely. It was purely an experiment.
"I know it, Mr. Holmes. I apologize." He is in his bed in his
house, across the driveway.
"No, Daddy, he really didn't mean to." And Star is in her bed in
this house.
It is impossible to write how I feel. There comes a time when words are
empty husks. But mixed with my expectant dread is a thread of gratitude for
having been taught to be even stumblingly telepathic.
Saturday—August 11th
I've thought of a gag. I haven't seen Jim Pietre in a month of Sundays, not
since he was awarded that research fellowship with the museum. It will be good
to pull him out of his hole, and this little piece of advertising junk Star
dropped should be just the thing.
Strange about the gadget. The Awful Secret Talisman of the Mystic Junior
G-Men, no doubt. Still, it doesn't have anything about crackles and pops
printed on it. Merely an odd-looking coin, not even true round, bronze by the
look of it. Crude. They must stamp them out by the million without ever
changing a die.
But it is just the thing to send to Jim to get a rise out of him. He could
always appreciate a good practical joke. Wonder how he'd feel to know he was
only a Tween.
Monday—August 13th
Sitting here at my study desk, I've been staring into space for an hour. I
don't know what to think.
It was about noon today when Jim Pietre called the office on the phone.
"Now, look, Pete," he started out. "What kind of gag are you
pulling?"
I chortled to myself and pulled the dead pan on him.
"What do you mean, boy?" I asked back into the phone. "Gag?
What kind of gag? What are you talking about?"
"A coin. A coin." He was impatient. "You remember you sent
me a coin in the mail?"
"Oh, yeah, that," I pretended to remember. "Look, you're an
important research analyst on metals—too damned important to keep in
touch with your old friends—so I thought I'd make a bid for your
attention thataway."
"All right, give," he said in a low voice. "Where did you
get it?" He was serious.
"Come off it, Jim. Are you practicing to be a stuffed shirt? I admit
it's a rib. Something Star dropped the other day. A manufacturer's idea of kid
advertising, no doubt."
"I'm in dead earnest, Peter," he answered. "It's no
advertising gadget."
"It means something?"
In college, Jim could take a practical joke and make six out of it.
"I don't know what it means. Where did Star get it?" He was being
pretty crisp about it.
"Oh, I don't know," I said. I was getting a little fed up; the
joke wasn't going according to plan. "Never asked her. You know how kids
clutter up the place with their things. No father even tries to keep track of
all the junk that can be bought with three box tops and a dime."
"This was not bought with three box tops and a dime," he spaced
his words evenly. "This was not bought anywhere, for any price. In fact,
if you want to be logical about it, this coin doesn't exist at all."
I laughed out loud. This was more like the old Jim.
"Okay, so you've turned the gag back on me. Let's call it quits. How
about coming over to supper some night soon?"
"I'm coming over, my friend." He remained grim as he said it.
"And I'm coming over tonight. As soon as you will be home. It's no gag I'm
pulling. Can you get that through your stubborn head? You say you got it from
Star, and of course I believe you. But it's no toy. It's the real thing."
Then, as if in profound puzzlement, "Only it isn't."
A feeling of dread was settling upon me. Once you cried "Uncle"
to Jim, he always let up.
"Suppose you tell me what you mean," I answered soberly.
"That's more like it, Pete. Here's what we know about the coin so far.
It is apparently pre-Egyptian. It's hand-cast. It's made out of one of the lost
bronzes. We fix it at around four thousand years old."
"That ought to be easy to solve," I argued. "Probably some
coin collector is screaming all over the place for it. No doubt lost it and
Star found it. Must be lots of old coins like that in museums and in private
collections."
I was rationalizing more for my own benefit than for Jim. He would know all
those things without my mentioning them. He waited until I had finished.
"Step two," he went on. "We've got one of the top coin men
in the world here at the museum. As soon as I saw what the metal was, I took it
to him. Now hold onto your chair, Pete. He says there is no coin like it in the
world, either museum or private collection."
"You museum boys get beside yourselves at times. Come down to Earth.
Sometime, somewhere, some collector picked it up in some exotic place and kept
it quiet. I don't have to tell you how some collectors are—sitting in a
dark room, gloating over some worthless bauble, not telling a soul about
it—"
"All right, wise guy," he interrupted. "Step three. That
coin is at least four thousand years old and it's also brand-new! Let's
hear you explain that away."
"New?" I asked weakly. "I don't get it."
"Old coins show wear. The edges get rounded with handling. The surface
oxidizes. The molecular structure changes, crystalizes. This coin shows no
wear, no oxidation, no molecular change. This coin might have been struck
yesterday. Where did Star get it?"
"Hold it a minute," I pleaded.
I began to think back. Saturday morning. Star and Robert had been playing a
game. Come to think of it, that was a peculiar game. Mighty peculiar.
Star would run into the house and stand in front of the encyclopedia shelf.
I could hear Robert counting loudly at the base tree outside in the back yard.
She would stare at the encyclopedia for a moment.
Once I heard her mumble: "That's a good place."
Or maybe she merely thought it and I caught the thought. I'm doing that
quite a bit of late.
Then she would run outside again. A moment later, Robert would run in and
stand in front of the same shelf. Then he also would run outside again. There
would be silence for several minutes. The silence would rupture with a burst of
laughing and shouting. Soon, Star would come in again.
"How does he find me?" I heard her think once. "I can't
reason it, and I can't ESP it out of him."
It was during one of their silences when Ruth called over to me.
"Hey, Pete! Do you know where the kids are? Time for their milk and
cookies."
The Howells are awfully good to Star, bless 'em. I got up and went over to
the window.
"I don't know, Ruth," I called back. "They were in and out
only a few minutes ago."
"Well, I'm not worried," she said. She came through the kitchen
door and stood on the back steps. "They know better than to cross the
street by themselves. They're too little for that. So I guess they're over at
Marily's. When they come back, tell 'em to come and get it."
"Okay, Ruth," I answered.
She opened the screen door again and went back into her kitchen. I left the
window and returned to my work.
A little later, both the kids came running into the house. I managed to
capture them long enough to tell them about the cookies and milk.
"Beat you there!" Robert shouted to Star.
There was a scuffle and they ran out the front door. I noticed then that
Star had dropped the coin and I picked it up and sent it to Jim Pietre.
"Hello, Jim," I said into the phone. "Are you still
there?"
"Yep, still waiting for an answer," he said.
"Jim, I think you'd better come over to the house right away. I'll
leave my office now and meet you there. Can you get away?"
"Can I get away?" he exclaimed. "Boss says to trace this
coin down and do nothing else. See you in fifteen minutes."
He hung up. Thoughtfully, I replaced the receiver and went out to my car. I
was pulling into my block from one arterial when I saw Jim's car pulling in
from a block away. I stopped at the curb and waited for him. I didn't see the
kids anywhere out front.
Jim climbed out of his car, and I never saw such an eager look of
anticipation on a man's face before. I didn't realize I was showing my dread,
but when he saw my face, he became serious.
"What is it, Pete? What on Earth is it?" he almost whispered.
"I don't know. At least I'm not sure. Come on inside the house."
We let ourselves in the front, and I took Jim into the study. It has a
large window opening on the back garden, and the scene was very clear.
At first it was an innocent scene—so innocent and peaceful. Just
three little children in the back yard playing hide and seek. Marily, a
neighbor's child, was stepping up to the base tree.
"Now look, you kids," she was saying. "You hide where I can
find you or I won't play."
"But where can we go, Marily?" Robert was arguing loudly. Like
all little boys, he seems to carry on his conversations at the top of his
lungs. "There's the garage, and there's those trees and bushes. You have
to look everywhere, Marily."
"And there's going to be other buildings and trees and bushes there
afterward," Star called out with glee. "You gotta look behind them,
too."
"Yeah!" Robert took up the teasing refrain. "And there's
been lots and lots of buildings and trees there before—especially trees.
You gotta look behind them, too."
Marily tossed her head petulantly. "I don't know what you're talking
about, and I don't care. Just hide where I can find you, that's all."
She hid her face at the tree and started counting. If I had been alone, I
would have been sure my eyesight had failed me, or that I was the victim of
hallucinations. But Jim was standing there and saw it, too.
Marily started counting, yet the other two didn't run away. Star reached
out and took Robert's hand and they merely stood there. For an instant, they
seemed to shimmer and—they disappeared without moving a step!
Marily finished her counting and ran around to the few possible hiding
places in the yard. When she couldn't find them, she started to blubber and
pushed through the hedge to Ruth's back door.
"They runned away from me again," she whined through the screen at
Ruth.
Jim and I stood staring out the window. I glanced at him. His face was set
and pale, but probably no worse than my own.
We saw the instant shimmer again. Star, and then immediately Robert,
materialized from the air and ran up to the tree, shouting, "Safe!
Safe!"
Marily let out a bawl and ran home to her mother.
I called Star and Robert into the house. They came, still holding hands, a
little shamefaced, a little defiant.
How to begin? What in hell could I say?
"It's not exactly fair," I told them. "Marily can't follow
you there." I was shooting in the dark, but I had at least a glimmering to
go by.
Star turned pale enough for the freckles on her little nose to stand out
under her tan. Robert blushed and turned to her fiercely.
"I told you so, Star. I told you so! I said it wasn't
sporting," he accused. He turned to me. "Marily can't play good
hide-and-seek anyway. She's only a Stupid."
"Let's forget that for a minute, Robert." I turned to her.
"Star, just where do you go?"
"Oh, it's nothing, Daddy." She spoke defensively, belittling the
whole thing. "We just go a little ways when we play with her. She ought to
be able to find us a little ways."
"That's evading the issue. Where do you go—and how
do you go?"
Jim stepped forward and showed her the bronze coin I'd sent him.
"You see, Star," he said quietly. "We've found this."
"I shouldn't have to tell you my game." She was almost in tears.
"You're both just Tweens. You couldn't understand." Then, struck with
contrition, she turned to me. "Daddy, I've tried and tried to ESP you.
Truly I did. But you don't ESP worth anything." She slipped her hand
through Robert's arm. "Robert does it very nicely," she said primly,
as though she were complimenting him on using his fork the right way. "He
must be better than I am, because I don't know how he finds me."
"I'll tell you how I do it, Star," Robert exclaimed eagerly. It
was as if he were trying to make amends now that grownups had caught on.
"You don't use any imagination. I never saw anybody with so little imagination!"
"I do, too, have imagination," she countered loudly. "I
thought up the game, didn't I? I told you how to do it, didn't I?"
"Yeah, yeah!" he shouted back. "But you always have to look
at a book to ESP what's in it, so you leave an ESP smudge. I just go to the
encyclopedia and ESP where you did—and I go to that place—and there
you are. It's simple."
Star's mouth dropped open in consternation.
"I never thought of that," she said.
Jim and I stood there, letting the meaning of what they were saying penetrate
slowly into our incredulous minds.
"Anyway," Robert was saying, "you haven't any
imagination." He sank down cross-legged on the floor. "You can't
teleport yourself to any place that's never been."
She went over to squat down beside him. "I can, too! What about the
Moon People? They haven't been yet."
He looked at her with childish disgust.
"Oh, Star, they have so been. You know that." He spread his hands
out as though he were a baseball referee. "That time hasn't been yet for
your daddy here, for instance, but it's already been for somebody
like—well, say, like those things from Arcturus."
"Well, neither have you teleported yourself to some place that never
was," Star was arguing back. "So there."
Waving Jim to one chair, I sank down shakily into another. At least the
arms of the chair felt solid beneath my hands.
"Now, look, kids," I interrupted their evasive tactics.
"Let's start at the beginning. I gather you've figured a way to travel to
places in the past or future."
"Well, of course. Daddy." Star shrugged the statement aside
nonchalantly. "We just TP ourselves by ESP anywhere we want to go. It
doesn't do any harm."
And these were the children who were too little to cross the street!
I have been through times of shock before. This was the same—somehow,
the mind becomes too stunned to react beyond a point. One simply plows through
the rest, the best he can, almost normally.
"Okay, okay," I said, and was surprised to hear the same tone I
would have used over an argument about the biggest piece of cake. "I don't
know whether it's harmful or not. I'll have to think it over. Right now, just
tell me how you do it."
"It would be so much easier if I could ESP it to you," Star said
doubtfully.
"Well, pretend I'm a Stupid and tell me in words."
"You remember the Moebius Strip?" she asked very slowly and
carefully, starting with the first and most basic point in almost the way one
explains to an ordinary child.
Yes, I remembered it. And I remembered how long ago it was that she had
discovered it. Over a year, and her busy, brilliant mind had been exploring its
possibilities ever since. And I thought she had forgotten it!
"That's where you join the ends of a strip of paper together with a
half twist to make one surface," she went on, as though jogging my undependable,
slow memory.
"Yes," I answered. "We all know the Moebius Strip."
Jim looked startled. I had never told him about the incident.
"Next you take a sheet and you give it a half twist and join the edge
to itself all over to make a funny kind of holder."
"Klein's Bottle," Jim supplied.
She looked at him in relief.
"Oh, you know about that," she said. "That makes it easier.
Well, then, the next step. You take a cube"—Her face clouded with
doubt again, and she explained, "You can't do this with your hands. You've
gotta ESP it done, because it's an imaginary cube anyway."
She looked at us questioningly. I nodded for her to continue.
"And you ESP the twisted cube all together the same way you did
Klein's Bottle. Now if you do that big enough, all around you, so you're sort
of half twisted in the middle, then you can TP yourself anywhere you want to
go. And that's all there is to it," she finished hurriedly.
"Where have you gone?" I asked her quietly.
The technique of doing it would take some thinking. I knew enough physics
to know that was the way the dimensions were built up. The line, the plane, the
cube—Euclidian physics. The Moebius Strip, the Klein Bottle, the unnamed
twisted cube—Einsteinian physics. Yes, it was possible.
"Oh, we've gone all over," Star answered vaguely. "The
Romans and the Egyptians—places like that."
"You picked up a coin in one of those places?" Jim asked.
He was doing a good job of keeping his voice casual. I knew the excitement
he must be feeling, the vision of the wealth of knowledge which must be opening
before his eyes.
"I found it, Daddy," Star answered Jim's question. She was about
to cry. "I found it in the dirt, and Robert was about to catch me. I
forgot I had it when I went away from there so fast." She looked at me pleadingly.
"I didn't mean to steal it, Daddy. I never stole anything, anywhere. And I
was going to take it back and put it right where I found it. Truly I was. But I
dropped it again, and then I ESP'd that you had it. I guess I was awful
naughty."
I brushed my hand across my forehead.
"Let's skip the question of good and bad for a minute," I said,
my head throbbing. "What about this business of going into the
future?"
Robert spoke up, his eyes shining. "There isn't any future, Mr.
Holmes. That's what I keep telling Star, but she can't reason—she's just
a girl. It'll all pass. Everything is always past."
Jim stared at him, as though thunderstruck, and opened his mouth in
protest. I shook my head warningly.
"Suppose you tell me about that, Robert," I said.
"Well," he began on a rising note, frowning, "it's kinda
hard to explain at that. Star's a Bright and even she doesn't understand it
exactly. But, you see, I'm older." He looked at her with superiority.
Then, with a change of mood, he defended her. "But when she gets as old as
I am, she'll understand it okay."
He patted her shoulder consolingly. He was all of six years old.
"You go back into the past. Back past Egypt and Atlantis. That's
recent," he said with scorn. "And on back, and on back, and all of a
sudden it's future."
"That isn't the way I did it." Star tossed her head
contrarily. "I reasoned the future. I reasoned what would come
next, and I went there, and then I reasoned again. And on and on. I can, too,
reason."
"It's the same future," Robert told us dogmatically. "It has
to be, because that's all that ever happened." He turned to Star.
"The reason you never could find any Garden of Eden is because there
wasn't any Adam and Eve." Then to me, "And man didn't come from the apes,
either. Man started himself."
Jim almost strangled as he leaned forward, his face red and his eyes
bulging.
"How?" he choked out.
Robert sent his gaze into the far distance.
"Well," he said, "a long time from now—you know what I
mean, as a Stupid would think of Time-From-Now—men got into a mess. Quite
a mess—
"There were some people in that time who figured out the same kind of
traveling Star and I do. So when the world was about to blow up and form a new
star, a lot of them teleported themselves back to when the Earth was young, and
they started over again."
Jim just stared at Robert, unable to speak.
"I don't get it," I said.
"Not everybody could do it," Robert explained patiently.
"Just a few Brights. But they enclosed a lot of other people and took them
along." He became a little vague at this point. "I guess later on the
Brights lost interest in the Stupids or something. Anyway, the Stupids sank
down lower and lower and became like animals." He held his nose briefly.
"They smelled worse. They worshiped the Brights as gods."
Robert looked at me and shrugged.
"I don't know all that happened. I've only been there a few times.
It's not very interesting. Anyway," he finished, "the Brights finally
disappeared."
"I'd sure like to know where they went," Star sighed. It was a
lonely sigh. I helplessly took her hand and gave my attention back to Robert.
"I still don't quite understand," I said.
He grabbed up some scissors, a piece of cellophane tape, a sheet of paper.
Quickly he cut a strip, gave it a half twist, and taped it together. Then
rapidly, on the Moebius Strip, he wrote: "Cave men. This men, That men, Mu
Men, Atlantis Men, Egyptians, History Men, Us Now Men, Atom Men, Moon Men,
Planet Men, Star Men—"
"There," he said. "That's all the room there is on the
strip. I've written clear around it. Right after Star Men comes Cave Men. It's
all one thing, joined together. It isn't future, and it isn't past, either. It
just plain is. Don't you see?"
"I'd sure like to know how the Brights got off the strip," Star
said wistfully.
I had all I could take.
"Look, kids," I pleaded. "I don't know whether this game's
dangerous or not. Maybe you'll wind up in a lion's mouth, or something."
"Oh, no, Daddy!" Star shrilled in glee. "We'd just TP
ourselves right out of there."
"But fast," Robert chortled in agreement.
"Anyway, I've got to think it over," I said stubbornly. "I'm
only a Tween, but, Star, I'm your daddy and you're just a little girl, so you
have to mind me."
"I always mind you," she said virtuously.
"You do, eh?" I asked. "What about going off the block?
Visiting the Greeks and Star Men isn't my idea of staying on the block."
"But you didn't say that, Daddy. You said not to cross the street. And
I never did cross the street. Did we, Robert? Did we?"
"We didn't cross a single street, Mr. Holmes," he insisted.
"My God!" said Jim, and he went on trying to light a cigarette.
"All right, all right! No more leaving this time, then," I
warned.
"Wait!" It was a cry of anguish from Jim. He broke the cigarette
in sudden frustration and threw it in an ashtray. "The museum, Pete,"
he pleaded. "Think what it would mean. Pictures, specimens, voice
recordings. And not only from historical places, but Star men, Pete. Star
men! Wouldn't it be all right for them to go places they know are safe? I
wouldn't ask them to take risks, but—"
"No, Jim," I said regretfully. "It's your museum, but this
is my daughter."
"Sure," he breathed. "I guess I'd feel the same way."
I turned back to the youngsters.
"Star, Robert," I said to them both, "I want your promise
that you will not leave this time, until I let you. Now I couldn't punish you
if you broke your promise, because I couldn't follow you. But I want your
promise on your word of honor you won't leave this time."
"We promise." They each held up a hand, as if swearing in court.
"No more leaving this time."
I let the kids go back outside into the yard. Jim and I looked at one
another for a long while, breathing hard enough to have been running.
"I'm sorry," I said at last.
"I know," he answered. "So am I. But I don't blame you. I
simply forgot, for a moment, how much a daughter could mean to a man." He
was silent, and then added, with the humorous quirk back at the corner of his
lips, "I can just see myself reporting this interview to the museum."
"You don't intend to, do you?" I asked, alarmed.
"And get myself canned or laughed at? I'm not that stupid."
September 10th
Am I actually getting it? I had a flash for an instant. I was concentrating
on Caesar's triumphant march into Rome. For the briefest of instants, there
it was! I was standing on the roadway, watching. But, most peculiar, it was
still a picture; I was the only thing moving. And then, just as abruptly, I
lost it.
Was it only a hallucination? Something brought about by intense
concentration and wishful thinking?
Now let's see. You visualize a cube. Then you ESP it a half twist and seal
the edges together—No, when it has the half twist there's only one
surface. You seal that surface all around you—
Sometimes I think I have it. Sometimes I despair. If only I were a Bright
instead of a Tween!
October 23rd
I don't see how I managed to make so much work of teleporting myself. It's
the simplest thing in the world, no effort at all. Why, a child could do it!
That sounds like a gag, considering that it was two children who showed me how,
but I mean the whole thing is easy enough for even almost any kid to learn. The
problem is understanding the steps ... no, not understanding, because I can't
say I do, but working out the steps in the process.
There's no danger, either. No wonder it felt like a still picture at first,
for the speeding up is incredible. That bullet I got in the way of, for
instance—I was able to go and meet it and walk along beside it while it
traveled through the air. To the men who were dueling, I must have been no more
than an instantaneous streak of movement.
That's why the youngsters laughed at the suggestion of danger. Even if they
materialized right in the middle of an atomic blast, it is so slow by
comparison that they could TP right out again before they got hurt. The blast
can't travel any faster than the speed of light, you see, while there is no
limit to the speed of thought.
But I still haven't given them permission to teleport themselves out of
this time yet. I want to go over the ages pretty carefully before I do; I'm not
taking any chances, even though I don't see how they could wind up in any
trouble. Still, Robert claimed the Brights went from the future back into the
beginning, which means they could be going through time and overtake any of the
three of us, and one of them might be hostile—
I feel like a louse, not taking Jim's cameras, specimen boxes and recorders
along. But there's time for that. Plenty of time, once I get the feel of
history without being encumbered by all that stuff to carry.
Speaking of time and history—what a rotten job historians have done!
For instance:
George III of England was neither crazy nor a moron. He wasn't a
particularly nice guy, I'll admit—I don't see how anybody could be with
the amount of flattery I saw—but he was the victim of empire expansion
and the ferment of the Industrial Revolution. So were all the other European
rulers at the time, though. He certainly did better than Louis of France. At
least George kept his job and his head.
On the other hand, John Wilkes Booth was definitely psychotic. He could
have been cured if they'd had our methods of psychotherapy then, and Lincoln,
of course, wouldn't have been assassinated. It was almost a compulsion to
prevent the killing, but I didn't dare.... God knows what effect it would have
had on history. Strange thing, Lincoln looked less surprised than anybody else
when he was shot, sad, yes, and hurt emotionally at least as much as
physically, yet you'd swear he was expecting it.
Cheops was plenty worried about the number of slaves who died while
the pyramid was being built. They weren't easy to replace. He gave them four
hours off in the hottest part of the day, and I don't think any slaves in the
country were fed or housed better.
I never found any signs of Atlantis or Lemuria, just tales of lands far
off—a few hundred miles was a big distance then, remember—that had
sunk beneath the sea. With the Ancients' exaggerated notion of geography, a big
island was the same as a continent. Some islands did disappear, naturally,
drowning a few thousand villagers and herdsmen. That must have been the source
of the legends.
Columbus was a stubborn cuss. He was thinking of turning back when the
sailors mutinied, which made him obstinate. I still can't see what was eating
Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great—it would have been a big help to
know the languages, because their big campaigns started off more like vacation
or exploration trips. Helen of Troy was attractive enough, considering, but she
was just an excuse to fight.
There were several attempts to federate the Indian tribes before the white
man and the Five Nations, but going after wives and slaves ruined the movement
every time. I think they could have kept America if they had been united and,
it goes without saying, knew the deal they were going to get. At any rate, they
might have traded for weapons and tools and industrialized the country somewhat
in the way the Japanese did. I admit that's only speculation, but this would
certainly have been a different world if they'd succeeded!
One day I'll put it all in a comprehensive and corrected history of
mankind, complete with photographs, and then let the "experts"
argue themselves into nervous breakdowns over it.
I didn't get very far into the future. Nowhere near the Star Men, or, for
that matter, back to the beginning that Robert told us about. It's a matter of
reasoning out the path and I'm not a Bright. I'll take Robert and Star along as
guides, when and if.
What I did see of the future wasn't so good, but it wasn't so bad, either.
The real mess obviously doesn't happen until the Star Men show up very far
ahead in history, if Robert is right, and I think he is. I can't guess what the
trouble will be, but it must be something ghastly if they won't be able to get
out of it even with the enormously advanced technology they'll have. Or maybe
that's the answer. It's almost true of us now.
November, Friday 14th
The Howells have gone for a weekend trip and left Robert in my care. He's a
good kid and no trouble. He and Star have kept their promise, but they're up to
something else. I can sense it and that feeling of expectant dread is back with
me.
They've been secretive of late. I catch them concentrating intensely,
sighing with vexation, and then breaking out into unexplained giggles.
"Remember your promise," I warned Star while Robert was in the
room.
"We're not going to break it, Daddy," she answered seriously.
They both chorused, "No more leaving this time."
But they both broke into giggles!
I'll have to watch them. What good it would do, I don't know. They're up to
something, yet how can I stop them? Shut them in their rooms? Tan their hides?
I wonder what someone else would recommend.
Sunday night
The kids are gone!
I've been waiting an hour for them. I know they wouldn't stay away so long
if they could get back. There must be something they've run into. Bright as
they are, they're still only children.
I have some clues. They promised me they wouldn't go out of this present
time. With all her mischievousness, Star has never broken a promise to
me—as her typically feminine mind interprets it, that is. So I know they
are in our own time.
On several occasions Star has brought it up, wondering where the Old Ones,
the Bright Ones, have gone—how they got off the Moebius Strip.
That's the clue. How can I get off the Moebius Strip and remain in the
present?
A cube won't do it. There we have a mere journey along the single surface.
We have a line, we have a plane, we have a cube. And then we have a
supercube—a tesseract. That is the logical progression of mathematics.
The Bright Ones must have pursued that line of reasoning.
Now I've got to do the same, but without the advantage of being a Bright.
Still, it's not the same as expecting a normally intelligent person to produce
a work of genius. (Genius by our standards, of course, which I suppose Robert
and Star would classify as Tween.) Anyone with a pretty fair I.Q. and proper
education and training can follow a genius's logic, provided the steps are
there and especially if it has a practical application. What he can't do is
initiate and complete that structure of logic. I don't have to,
either—that was done for me by a pair of Brights and I "simply"
have to apply their findings.
Now let's see if I can.
By reducing the present-past-future of man to a Moebius Strip, we have
sheared away a dimension. It is a two-dimensional strip, because it has no
depth. (Naturally, it would be impossible for a Moebius Strip to have depth; it
has only one surface.)
Reducing it to two dimensions makes it possible to travel anywhere you want
to go on it via the third dimension. And you're in the third dimension when you
enfold yourself in the twisted cube.
Let's go a step higher, into one more dimension. In short, the tesseract.
To get the equivalent of a Moebius Strip with depth, you have to go into the
fourth dimension, which, it seems to me, is the only way the Bright Ones could
get off this closed cycle of past-present-future-past. They must have reasoned
that one more notch up the dimensions was all they needed. It is equally
obvious that Star and Robert have followed the same line of reasoning; they
wouldn't break their promise not to leave the present—and getting off the
Moebius Strip into another present would, in a sort of devious way, be
keeping that promise.
I'm putting all this speculation down for you, Jim Pietre, knowing first
that you're a Tween like myself, and second that you're sure to have been doing
a lot of thinking about what happened after I sent you the coin Star dropped.
I'm hoping you can explain all this to Bill and Ruth Howell—or enough, in
any case, to let them understand the truth about their son Robert and my
daughter Star, and where the children may have gone.
I'm leaving these notes where you will find them, when you and Bill and
Ruth search the house and grounds for us. If you read this, it will be because
I have failed in my search for the youngsters. There is also the possibility
that I'll find them and that we won't be able to get back onto this Moebius
Strip. Perhaps time has a different value there, or doesn't exist at all. What
it's like off the Strip is anybody's guess.
Bill and Ruth: I wish I might give you hope that I will bring Robert back
to you. But all I can do is wish. It may be no more than wishing upon a
star—my Star.
I'm trying now to take six cubes and fold them in on one another so that
every angle is a right angle.
It's not easy, but I can do it, using every bit of concentration I've
learned from the kids. All right, I have the six cubes and I have every angle a
right angle.
Now if, in the folding, I ESP the tesseract a half twist around myself
and—