I straightened the crumpled little body carefully, not daring to touch the quiet little head. Mr. Diemus and I looked at each other as we knelt on opposite sides of the child. His lips opened, but I plunged before he could get started.
“If he dies,” I bit my words off viciously, “you killed him!”
His mouth opened again, mainly from astonishment. “I-” he began.
“Barging in on my classroom!” I raged. “Interrupting classwork! Frightening my children! It’s all your fault, your fault!” I couldn’t bear the burden of guilt alone. I just had to have someone share it with me. But the fire died and I smoothed Abie’s hand, trembling.
“Please call a doctor. He might be dying.”
“Nearest one is in Tortura Pass,” Mr. Diemus said. “Sixty miles by road.’”
“Cross country?” I asked.
“Two mountain ranges and an alkali plateau.”
“Then-then-” Abie’s hand was so still in mine.
“There’s a doctor at the Tumble A Ranch,” Joel said faintly. “He’s taking a vacation.”
“Go get him.” I held Joel with my eyes. “Go as fast as you know how!”
Joel gulped miserably. “Okay.”
“They’ll probably have horses to come back on,” I said. “Don’t be too obvious.”
“Okay,” and he ran out the door. We heard the thud of his running feet until he was halfway across the schoolyard, then silence. Faintly, seconds later, creek gravel crunched below the hill. I could only guess at what he was doing-that he couldn’t lift all the way and was going in jumps whose length was beyond all reasonable measuring.
The children had gone home, quietly, anxiously. And after the doctor arrived we had improvised a stretcher and carried Abie to the Peterses’ home. I walked along close beside him watching his pinched little face, my hand touching his chest occasionally just to be sure he was still breathing.
And now-the waiting…
I looked at my watch again. A minute past the last time I looked. Sixty seconds by the hands, but hours and hours by anxiety.
“He’ll be all right,” I whispered, mostly to comfort myself.
“The doctor will know what to do.”
Mr. Diemus turned his dark empty eyes to me. “Why did you do it?” he asked. “We almost had it stamped out. We were almost free.”
“Free of what?” I took a deep breath. “Why did you do it? Why did you deny your children their inheritance?”
“It isn’t your concern-“
“Anything that hampers my children is my concern. Anything that turns children into creeping frightened mice is wrong. Maybe I went at the whole deal the wrong way, but you told me to teach them what I had to-and I did.”
“Disobedience, rebellion, flouting authority-“
“They obeyed me,” I retorted. “They accepted my authority!” Then I softened. “I can’t blame them,” I confessed. “They were troubled. They told me it was wrong-that they had been taught it was wrong. I argued them into it. But oh, Mr. Diemus! It took so little argument, such a tiny breach in the dam to loose the flood. They never even questioned my knowledge-any more than you have, Mr. Diemus! All this-this wonder was beating against their minds, fighting to be set free. The rebellion was there long before I came. I didn’t incite them to something new. I’ll bet there’s not a one, except maybe Esther, who hasn’t practiced and practiced, furtively and ashamed, the things I permitted-demanded that they do for me.
“It wasn’t fair-not fair at all-to hold them back.”
“You don’t understand.” Mr. Diemus’ face was stony. “You haven’t all the facts-“
“I have enough,” I replied. “So you have a frightened memory of an unfortunate period in your history. But what people doesn’t have such a memory in larger or lesser degree? That you and your children have it more vividly should have helped, not hindered. You should have been able to figure out ways of adjusting. But leave that for the moment. Take the other side of the picture. What possible thing could all this suppression and denial yield you more precious than what you gave up?”
“It’s the only way,” Mr. Diemus said. “We are unacceptable to Earth but we have to stay. We have to conform-“
“‘Of course you had to conform,” I cried. “Anyone has to when they change societies. At least enough to get them by until others can adjust to them. But to crawl in a hole and pull it in after you! Why, the other Group-“
“Other Group!” Mr. Diemus whitened, his eyes widening.
“Other Group? There are others? There are others?” He leaned tensely forward in his chair. “Where? Where?” And his voice broke shrilly on the last word. He closed his eyes and his mouth trembled as he fought for control The bedroom door opened. Dr. Curtis came out, his shoulders weary.
He looked from Mr. Diemus to me and back. “‘He should be in a hospital. There’s a depressed fracture and I don’t know what all else. Probably extensive brain involvement. We need X rays and-and-” He rubbed his hand slowly over his weary young face. “Frankly, I’m not experienced to handle cases like this. We need specialists. If you can scare up some kind of transportation that won’t jostle-” He shook his head, seeing the kind of country that lay between us and anyplace, and went back into the bedroom.
“He’s dying,” Mr. Diemus said. “Whether you’re right or we’re right, he’s dying.”
“Wait! Wait!” I said, catching at the tag end of a sudden idea. “Let me think.” Urgently I willed myself back
