return to what you have been.”
The boy nodded a second time, and a moment afterward began to collect sticks for the dying fire. As though to themselves the waves chanted:
Seas are wild tonight . . .
Stretching over Sado island
Silent clouds of stars.
There was no reply.
AFTERWORD
I suspect that this is my most successful story. You already know how I came to write it. “Death,” as I saw it, could be handled in two ways: Dr. Island could die, or Dr. Island could decree a death. In the same way, I could have a doctor named Island (a cop-out) or I could have a doctor who was in fact an island. You know the decisions I made.
The brain operation Nicholas suffered is perfectly real. It is (or was) done in cases of severe epilepsy that can be treated in no other way. It results in what appear to be two persons living in a single skull, a condition superficially similar to multiple personality.
As prophesied, this story won a Nebula.
LA BEFANA
W
hen Zozz, home from the pit, had licked his fur clean, he howled before John Bananas’ door. John’s wife, Teresa, opened it and let him in. She was a thin, stooped woman of thirty or thirty-five, her black hair shot with gray. She did not smile, but he felt somehow that she was glad to see him.
She said, “He’s not home yet. If you want to come in we’ve got a fire.”
Zozz said, “I’ll wait for him—,” and six-legging politely across the threshold sat down over the stone Bananas had rolled in for him when they had been new friends. Maria and Mark, playing some sort of game with bottle caps on squares scratched on the floor dirt, said, “Hi, Mr. Zozz—,” and Zozz said, “Hi—,” in return. Bananas’ old mother, whom Zozz had brought here from the pads in his rusty powerwagon the day before, looked at him from piercing eyes, then fled into the other room. He could hear Teresa relax, hear her wheezing outpuffed breath.
He said, “I think she thinks I bumped her on purpose yesterday.”
“She’s not used to you yet.”
“I know,” Zozz said.
“I told her, Mother Bananas, it’s their world and they’re not used to
“Sure,” Zozz said. A gust of wind outside brought the cold in to replace the odor of the gog-hutch on the other side of the left wall.
“I tell you it’s hell to have your husband’s mother with you in a place as small as this.”
“Sure,” Zozz said again.
Maria announced, “Daddy’s home!”
The door rattled open and Bananas came in, looking tired and cheerful. Bananas worked in the slaughtering market and though his cheeks were blue with cold, his two trousers cuffs were red with blood. He kissed Teresa and tousled the hair of both children and said, “Hi, Zozzy.”
Zozz said, “Hi. How does it roll?” And moved over so Bananas could warm his back.
Someone groaned and Bananas asked a little anxiously, “What’s that?”
Teresa said, “Next door.”
“Huh?”
“Next door. Some woman.”
“Oh. I thought it might be Mom.”
“She’s fine.”
“Where is she?”
“In back.”
Bananas frowned. “There’s no fire in there. She’ll freeze to death.”
“I didn’t tell her to go back there. She can wrap a blanket around herself.”
Zozz said, “It’s me—I bother her.” He got up.
Bananas said, “Sit down.”
“I can go. I just came to say hi.”
“Sit down.” Bananas turned to his wife. “Honey, you shouldn’t leave her in there alone. See if you can’t get her to come out here, okay?”
“Johnny—”
“Teresa, dammit!”
“Okay, Johnny.”
B
ananas took off his coat and sat down in front of the fire. Maria and Mark had gone back to their game.
In a voice too low to attract their attention Bananas said, “Nice thing, huh?”
Zozz said, “I think your mother makes her nervous.”
Bananas said, “Sure.”
