Now We Are Three
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_Where are we going? What will the world be like in the days--perhaps not too distant--when we have tested and tested the bombs to the finite degree? Joe L. Hensley, attorney in Madison, Indiana, and increasingly well known in SF, returns with this challenging story of that Tomorrow._
now we are three
_by Joe L. Hensley_
It didn't matter that he had quit. He was still one of the guilty. He had seen it in her eyes and in the eyes of others.
John Rush smoothed the covers over his wife, tucking them in where herrestless moving had pulled them away from the mattress. The twins movedbeside him, their smooth hands following his in the task, their blindeyes intent on nothingness.
"Thank you," he said softly to them, knowing they could not hear him.But it made him feel better to talk.
His wife, Mary, was quiet. Her breathing was smooth, easy--almost as ifshe were sleeping.
_The long sleep._
He touched her forehead, but it was cool. The doctor had said it was amiracle she had lived this long. He stood away from the bed for a momentwatching before he went on out to the porch. The twins moved back intowhat had become a normal position for them in the past months: One oneach side of the bed, their thin hands holding Mary's tightly, the milkyblind eyes surveying something that could not be seen by his eyes.Sometimes they would stand like this for hours.
Outside the evening was cool, the light not quite gone. He sat in therocking chair and waited for the doctor who had promised to come--andyet might not come. The bitterness came back, the self-hate. Heremembered a young man and promises made, but not kept; a girl who hadbelieved and never lost faith even when he had retreated back to theland away from everything. Long sullen silences, self-pity, broodingover the news stories that got worse and worse. And the children--oneborn dead--two born deaf and dumb and blind.
_Worse than dead._
You helped, he accused himself. You worked for those who set off thebombs and tested and tested while the cycle went up and up beyond humantolerance--not the death level, but the level where nothing was sureagain, the level that made cancer a thing of epidemic proportions,replacing statistically all of the insane multitude of things that mancould do to kill himself. Even the good things that the atom had broughtwere destroyed in the panic that ensued. No matter that you quit. Youare still one of the guilty. You have seen it hidden in her eyes and youhave seen it in the milky eyes of the twins.
_Worse than dead._
Dusk became night and finally the doctor came. It had begun to lightningand a few large drops of rain stroked Rush's cheek. Not a good year forthe farming he had retreated to. Not a good year for anything. He stoodto greet the doctor and the other man with him.
"Good evening, doctor," he said.
"Mr. Rush--" the doctor shook hands gingerly, "I hope you don't mind mebringing someone along--this is Mr. North. He is with the CountyJuvenile Office." The young doctor smiled. "How is the patient thisevening?"
"She is the same," John Rush said to the doctor. He turned to the otherman, keeping his face emotionless, hands at his side. He had expectedthis for some time. "I think you will be wanting to look at the twins.They are by her bed." He opened the door and motioned them in and thenfollowed.
He heard the Juvenile man catch his breath a little. The twins wereplaying again. They had left their vigil at the bedside and they weremoving swiftly around the small living room, their hands and arms andlegs moving in some synchronized game that had no meaning--theirmovements quick and sure--their faces showing some intensity, somepurpose. They moved with grace, avoiding obstructions.
"I thought these children were blind," Mr. North said.
John smiled a little. "It is unnerving. I have seen them play like thisbefore--though they have not done so for a long time--since my wife hasbeen ill." He lowered his head. "They are blind, deaf, and dumb."
"How old are they?"
"Twelve."
"They do not seem to be more than eight--nine at the most."
"They have been well fed," John said softly.
"How about schooling, Mr. Rush? The teaching of handicapped children isnot something that can be done by a person untrained in the field."
"I have three degrees, Mr. North. When my wife became ill and I began tocare for them I taught them to read braille. They picked it up veryquickly, though they showed little continued interest in it. I read anumber of books in the field of teaching handicapped children ..." Helet it trail off.
"Your degrees were in physics, were they not, Mr. Rush?" Now the touchof malice came.
"That is correct." He sat down in one of the wooden chairs. "I quitworking long before the witch hunts came. I was never indicted."
"Nevertheless your degrees are no longer bona fide. All such degreeshave been stricken from the records." He looked down and John saw thathis eyes no longer hid the hate. "If your wife dies I doubt that anycourt would allow you to keep custody of these children."
A year before--even six months and John would not have protested. Now hehad to make the effort. "They are my children--such as they are--and Iwill fight any attempt to take them from me."
The Juvenile Man smiled without humor. "My wife and I had a child lastyear, Mr. Rush. Or perhaps I should say that a child was born to us. Iam glad that child was born dead--I think my wife is even glad. Perhapswe should try again--I understand that you and your kind have left us aneven chance on a normal birth." He paused for a moment. "I shall file apetition with the circuit court asking that the Juvenile Office beappointed guardians of your children, Mr. Rush. I hope you do not chooseto resist that petition--feeling would run pretty high against anex-physicist who tried to prove he _deserved_ children." He turned awaystiffly and went out the front door. In a little while Rush heard thecar door slam decisively.
The doctor was replacing things in the black bag. "I'm sorry, John. Hesaid he was going to come out here anyway so I invited him to come withme."
John nodded. "My wife?"
"There is no change."
"And no chance."
"There never has been one. The brain tumor is too large and tooinaccessible for treatment or surgery. It will be soon now. I amsurprised that she has lasted this long. I am prolonging a sureprocess." He turned away. "That's all I can do."
"Thank you for coming, doctor--I appreciate that." Rush smiled bitterly,unable to stop himself. "But aren't you afraid that your other patientswill find out?"
The doctor stopped, his face paling slightly. "I took an oath when Igraduated from medical school. Sometimes I want to break that oath, butI have not so far." He paused. "Try as I may I cannot blame them forhating you. You know why."
Rush wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. "Don't you realize thatthe government that punished the men I worked with for their 'criminalnegligence' is the same government that commissioned them to do thatwork--that officials were warned and rewarned of the things that smallincreases in radiation might do and that such things might not show upimmediately--and yet they ordered us ahead?" He stopped for a moment andput his head down, touching his work-roughened hands to his eyes. "Theyput us in prison for refusing to do a job or investigated us until noone could or would trust us in civilian jobs--then when it was done theyput us in prison or worse because the very things we warned them of cametrue."
"Perhaps that is true," the doctor said stiffly, "but the choice ofrefusing was still possible."
"Some of us did refuse to work," Rush said softly. "I did, for one.Perhaps you think that we alone will bear the blame. You are wrong.Sooner or later the stigma will spread to all of the sciences--and toyou, doctor. Too
many now that you can't save; in a little while thehate will surround you also. When we are gone and they must findsomething new to hate they will blame you for every malformed baby andevery death. You think that one of you will find a cure for this thing.Perhaps you would if you had a hundred years or a thousand years, butyou haven't. They killed a man on the street in New York the other daybecause he was wearing a white laboratory smock. What do you wear inyour office, doctor? Hate-blind eyes can't tell the difference:Physicist, chemist, doctor.... We all look the same to a fool. Even ifthere were a cancer cure that is only a part of the problem. There arethe babies. Your science cannot cope with the cause--only mine can dothat."
The doctor lowered his head and turned away