As the silent limousine slid along through the torrential
rains, Professor Victor Trelawney reclined in the back, lazily, feeling
mighty pleased with himself. He was about to embark on the greatest
mission of his career. It was to be a triumph of such historical importance
that it brought a smirk to his lips whenever he thought of it. It was
almost as if he, Trelawney, had been given the divine power to say,
in the words of the Book of Genesis: "Let the waters bring forth
abundantly fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament
of heaven."
He took a deep breath. It was almost
too much, even for him. He dozed off and was jostled awake by the car
stopping suddenly. The driver turned round.
"This is the place, mister."
Slightly dazed Trelawney tried to look out of
the window. They were misted on the inside and dappled with rain on the outside
so there was little to see. He gave an impatient shrug. What the hell did it
matter, anyway. He groped for his umbrella and shifted his body to the door.
"I trust you'll see to my luggage," he said to
the driver, who gave him a brooding look in return.
Trelawney struggled out of the car, with some
difficulty, for he was a very fat man. His fame had brought both the boon and
the bane of being able to indulge in his passion for food. And he had indulged.
He considered it his only weakness.
Opening his brolly he looked up the monumental
steps of the Dutch National Museum of Natural History. He had expected hordes
of eager biologists and students to welcome him. Instead there were only bars
of rain driven into the stone with such force that the shattering drops rebounded
almost kneehigh. Anger filled him, quick as always. What kind of treatment was
this for a man of his stature? Damn these provincials. Behind him he heard the
driver swear as he lifted his colossal, metal trunk from the back of the car.
Inspired by his anger Trelawney started to drag
his heavy frame up the steps. When he was halfway, he heard the engine of the
limousine being started. With a gasp of dismay he turned, just in time to see
the black coffin drive off in veils of spray. His shiny trunk stood at the bottom
of the steps, pelted by the rain.
Trelawney's face became crimson. He almost shook his
brolly at the departing car.
"May your drowning be slow," he muttered. "Very
slow."
He cast another look at his trunk, scowling. He'd
never get that thing up the stairs alone. Someone would have to get it for him.
He resumed his ascent, puffing and wheezing, growing more incensed with every
step he took. By the time he had reached the perron he was ready for mass murder.
He banged on the door. Sweat was poring down his face and running in ticklish
rivulets down his back. Someone was going to pay for this. Who the hell did these
yokels think he was?
After several, infuriating, minutes the door was
finally opened. An old, decrepit doorkeeper gazed at him with blinking eyes.
Trelawney almost pushed him over in his haste to get indoors.
"Easy, easy," said the old man. "What's the hurry?"
Trelawney closed his umbrella. He trembled with
rage.
"I AM PROFESSOR VICTOR TRELAWNEY!" he shouted,
causing such booming echoes in the great hall, that he was startled into lowering
his voice. "I'm here on a mission of global importance," he said softly but menacingly. "The
ecology of the world depends on what I have to do in a matter of weeks. That's
the hurry. So why is there no goddamn body here to welcome me? Infernal idiots!"
The old man chuckled.
"There's nobody here but me and young Otto over
there," he said, pointing at a figure that had appeared in the doorway of an
office beside the entrance.
Trelawney's anger evaporated. This was too much. In
speechless amazement he gazed at the old man, who continued to chuckle and began
nodding his head.
"That's right," he said. "Just us. All the others
have been drafted. It's the war, you know."
Trelawney heaved a sigh. Of course. That damned
farce. He should have guessed. He looked at the other man, Otto wasn't it? Trelawney
almost burst into laughter at the sight of him. The figure in the doorway could
easily pass as a twin of the Monster of Frankenstein. About seven feet tall,
with a muscular body and a drooping head. His face betrayed the mind of a simpleton.
Small, drowsy eyes, a drooling mouth, and an expression of vacant friendliness.
"Hello, p-p-professor," he said, with a deep,
dragging voice. "I'm Otto. I've been told to help you."
"O my God," said Trelawney, turning to the old
man. "You don't mean to say that this moron is to be my assistant?"
"That's right," said the doorkeeper. "There's
only us,"
"O, no. This won't do," said Trelawney. "Where's
the phone?"
"It's in the office but it don't work."
"Doesn't work?"
"Nope. Happens all the time. The rains, you know."
For a moment Trelawney was overcome by frustration.
Then he clenched his teeth. What the hell. He'd do it alone. That had always
been best anyway. Then he remembered his trunk. He turned to the monster.
"Perhaps you can make yourself useful by getting
my trunk. It's still outside."
The friendly smile on Otto's face expanded into
a gleeful grin.
"Sure, p-p-professor," he grunted. "I'll get it
for you." And he ambled to the door. His head bobbed like the head of a lame
horse, but he moved with amazing swiftness.
"Perhaps you'd like a cuppa tea, professor?" said
the old man. "I've got the kettle on."
Trelawney was about to annihilate the old fool
with a scathing reply, but realized it would do little good.
"Why not," he said. As he turned to follow the
man, the big door was flung open and Otto reappeared, carrying the sixty-pound
trunk under one arm as if it were a loaf of bread. The boy's display of strength
annoyed Trelawney.
They drank tea in the office. Nobody spoke. The
old man fell asleep, Otto just gazed at Trelawney in mute admiration.
The department of avian specimens of the Dutch National Museum of Natural History
was - without a doubt - the finest in the world. There were few species of
birds that did not have several representatives here, if only in the form of
empty skins, each encased in a box and stored in one of the mahogany cabinets
that lined the walls of a hall big enough to house a church. It was four stories
high, with a narrow gallery on each floor. A tall, gothic window adorned the
far wall, framing a beautiful glass-in-lead scene of a phoenix rising from
the ashes. Out of the gloom that obscured the arched ceiling there loomed a
chandelier like a gigantic christmas tree adorned with icicles. An oak conference
table stood in the middle of the marble floor, bearing four large table lamps
with computer terminals. High-backed chairs stood around it. A scent of beeswax
pervaded the atmosphere.
With Otto at his heels Trelawney waddled across the
floor.
"Ah, this is more like it," he said, rubbing his
hands as he looked around. "Good. Very good. And now to work."
He activated one of the terminals and sat down
in front of it. A few keystrokes brought him into the catalog. His mouth watered
at the sight of the wealth of specimens.
"Right. Let's begin with the Anatidae." he struck
a key.
A long list of latin names appeared, each followed
by an identification number and a place code indicating where the specimen was
to be found. A glance at the first two place codes made Trelawney very uncomfortable.
They read (I) A-26-G7 and (III) G-18-X3. If that meant what he feared it meant,
he was in dire trouble.
He turned round to Otto. To his disgust the dumb
brute had not moved. He had not even put down the trunk. He just stood there,
looking happily dazed, holding the trunk under his arm as if he had forgotten
about it.
"You can put that thing down now, Otto," said
Trelawney, "And be careful."
Otto grinned.
"Sure, p-p-professor." He said and placed the
trunk on the floor with amazing gentleness.
"Come over here." said Trelawney. Otto
came, his head abob.
Trelawney pointed at the first place code on the
screen.
"What does this refer to?"
Otto looked startled.
"River two, p-p-professor?" he asked.
"No. Refer to. REFER to! What does it stand for?"
Fearfully the young man gazed at the screen.
"Stand for?" he mumbled to himself.
Trelawney pursed his lips in anger. The boy was
a complete idiot. Jesus!
"What's it USED for?" asked Trelawney.
"O," said Otto with a grin "It's the p-p-place
c-c-code, p-p-professor. It tells me where I c-c-can find the birds."
"Well? Where do you find this one." Trelawney
pointed.
Otto grinned.
"First floor, section A, c-c-cabinet 26, row G,
box 7." he droned.
"And this one?"
"Third floor, section G, c-c-cabinet 18, row X,
box 3."
Trelawney groaned. As he had feared the birds
were scattered all over the place. If he had to get them himself, he'd be exhausted
before the hour was out and he shuddered to think how long it would take his
imbecile assistant to gather them. O well, he'd just have to try. He got out
his stuff. Microscanner, cell probe and the ledgers, filled with little plastic
envelopes like stamps. Each envelope bore the name of the specimen to be collected.
Trelawney installed himself at the table.
He printed a list of the first sixty birds he
needed and handed it to Otto.
"Get me the anserinae first."
Otto gaped.
"Anseriwhat, p-p-professor?"
Trelawney closed his eyes in exasperation. He was about to
suffocate. He had to swallow several times before he could speak again.
"You can read, can't you?"
The tall boy blushed.
"Letters are hard, p-p-professor," he said. "I
mix them up."
Trelawney felt the first twinge of despair. This
must be some sick joke, he thought.
"But I'm good at figures, p-p-professor." said
the boy. "I really am."
"Are you now?" sneered Trelawney. "Well, get me
the first twenty numbers on this list."
The boy cast a casual glance at the list, put
it back on the table and ambled off.
Trelawney leaped from his chair.
"Hey! Numbskull. You've forgotten the list!"
"No need, p-p-professor," mumbled the boy and
broke into a trot.
Trelawney slumped back into his chair, shaking
his head. He'd have to get another assistant. This was madness. And he only had
a few weeks, if that. The violence of the rains was becoming ominous. His triumph
was turning into a disaster. Feeling a bit sick he watched Otto run to the wall,
open doors, grab boxes, run on, leap up stairs and race along the galleries stopping
only briefly to grab other boxes. In five minutes he was back, balancing two
stacks of ten boxes on his outstretched arms.
Trelawney sighed. That imbecile must just have
grabbed boxes at random. They could not possibly be the right ones. To his boundless
astonishment they were. All twenty.
The boy stood grinning at him like a big ape.
"Any more, p-p-professor?" he asked.
Trelawney could not bear the childish glee on
the boy's face. The brute seemed to be mocking him. He apparently was one of
these specialized idiots who are marvels at arithmetic but cannot spell their
own name.
"Yes," Trelawney said sullenly. "Get the rest."
Without a second glance at the list, Otto was
off again.
Trelawney should have been delighted at having
his first problem so easily solved. Yet he was not. It irked him that this imbecile
could do something he could not even contemplate doing.
He opened the first box. It contained the skin
of a female Anser Albifrons. Carefully he took it out, placed it in the compartment
under his microscanner and began to test it for signs of disease. When he had
run all the tests, he clipped a small fragment from the tailfeathers and dropped
it into the first envelope. When he looked up, Otto stood beside him, with another
twenty boxes. His face was flushed. He emitted a faint though penetrating smell
of perspiration.
"Where shall I put them, p-p-professor?" he panted.
"On the table. And stop calling me p-p-professor."
The boy blushed.
"I'm sorry, p-p-psir,"
Trelawney worked as fast as he could. Still, it took
him well over five minutes for each bird. He needed at least one male
and one female. His list contained well over two thousand birds, multiplied
by two made four thousand times five was twenty thousand minutes. More
than 300 hours. Even if he only slept six hours a night he would need
three weeks of uninterrupted labor. And he wondered whether he had
the time. The incessant clatter of raindrops on the gothic window made
him doubt it.
He worked feverishly. Each time he had finished with
a bird, Otto would rush up, place it tenderly in its box and hurry off to return
it to its cabinet. Maliciously, Trelawney refrained from suggesting that the
boy should wait until he had say ten birds so as to save himself the trouble
of nine unnecessary trips. Served him right for being so cocky about his menial
ability.
The hours fled. At first Trelawney enjoyed the
work. It had been long since he had done basic research but he was still a wizard
at it. The depth of his know-how flattered him. With playful ease he ran the
tests, never faltering, never doubting. When he came across the first diseased
specimen, he had to call Otto, point out the identification number and wait till
the boy had brought a second specimen.
As he sat waiting, he gazed at the window. Daylight
was beginning to fail, turning the phoenix into a harbinger of darkness and doom.
As if it knew. In a matter of weeks it would be shattered, washed away by the
conquering waters. Trelawney sighed. It all seemed so unreal, no matter how tangible
the hammering drops on the glass were. He could still remember the first time
he had heard about the asteroids. Over a year ago at the December convention
in Chicago. During the NFL playoffs. Old Timmy Gascoigne had taken him along
to a game and confided in him afterwards.
"Have I got news for you." he had said.
"You're in love again," Trelawney had replied.
Timmy had collapsed into one of his roaring bellylaughs.
"Yeah, that too. But we've got an honest-to-god,
end-of-the-world situation on our hands."
"Aw, come on."
"It's true. I'm not supposed to tell you yet but
you'll hear tomorrow anyway. You're in on the Noah Project."
And there, in the snow-swept parking lot of Soldier
Field stadium Trelawney was told about the asteroids. A large previously unknown
swarm had entered the solar system the year before. Nobody had taken any notice
at first. Resources were slim and asteroids had little to offer anyway. Mere
vermin of the skies, as they had always been known in the profession. Then Amadeus
Semmelweis, a semi-retired astronomer from Vienna published a paper in the German
Journal of the Skies. He had studied the asteroid swarm and predicted that their
course was likely to bring them in collision with earth. Still nobody took any
notice. In despair old Amadeus turned to the tabloids. This led to a few sensational
articles on the impending end of the world, but nothing else. Amadeus Semmelweis
died and the whole matter was forgotten. Trelawney himself had not even heard
of the asteroids till that December day, when he learned from his old roommate
that both the USA and the USSR had commissioned a few lowly assistants to check
Semmelweis' findings only to discover that he had been absolutely right. There
could be no doubt that earth was indeed going to collide with the greater part
of the asteroid swarm. Panic in high places. An unprecedented agreement was concluded
between the two superpowers. To avoid worldwide anarchy all knowledge of the
asteroids was to be suppressed. Politics were forgotten. Spies and terrorists
went scot-free while amateur astronomers were hunted down and butchered like
rabid dogs.
When it was found that the asteroids consisted
almost entirely of ice, there was some relief, but it was short-lived when calculations
proved that the swarm contained enough water to swamp the planet to the peaks
of the Andes. To put it simply: if all the asteroids landed on earth, mankind
was to experience another flood.
An elaborate ploy of impending war between the
East and the West was devised, enabling both powers to start building domed cities
that would be able to exist under water. All able men were drafted for so-called
defensive construction work. Once they entered the building sites, they were
cut off from the outside world. And even inside they were kept under the illusion
that they were working on military projects. Meanwhile a global census was conducted
to select those who qualified for survival. Young families mostly but also men
and women of exceptional talent.
Of course it had been impossible to prevent all
leaks, but the secret services had a field day. Anyone spreading the slightest
rumor was certain to contract a swiftly lethal disease.
All in all the ploy had worked. Another year had
passed. Now the vanguard of the swarm was penetrating the atmosphere, bringing
these interminable rains. Most domed cities were operational, if far from perfect,
and the first evacuations were in full swing. According to the last estimates
Trelawney had heard, lowland countries were expected to become uninhabitable
in five weeks' time. Just his luck to be in one of the lowest countries in the
world.
He was startled from his thoughts by Otto's return.
"Here's the bird, sir," he said.
With a grunt Trelawney took it and set to work
again. For two more hours he worked without pause, quickly and efficiently, almost
entranced, hardly aware of Otto's presence. But he could not help hearing the
sound of the rain. That deep, droning noise, like a monstrous humming, rising
and falling in volume. Twice it died away completely, leaving a silence of sorts,
wonderfully soothing, although filled with all kinds of wet splashes, drips and
gurgles as the water sought its way down along the building. But neither of the
dry spells lasted for more than fifteen minutes.
After two hours, Trelawney decided to take a ten-minute
break. He drew back from the terminal and rubbed his eyes. Otto sat in another
chair, some three yards away, gazing at him. Trelawney realized that he must
have been sitting there the whole time, like a trusty dog.
Trelawney managed a reluctant grin, which was
returned by a beaming smile.
"Need anything, p-p-p ...sir?" said Otto, jumping
up eagerly.
Trelawney shook his head.
"You're not finished?" Otto asked, with a wail
of disappointment.
"No, I've only just begun. This will take weeks."
"O, good," said Otto.
He cast a quizzical look at the microscanner.
"What are you doing, sir?"
Trelawney was tempted to say he was running a
simple integrated multiprobe interdisciplinary status test, but relented.
"I'm taking samples, Otto. That's all."
"What for?"
Trelawney sighed.
"To make new birds." He said, grudgingly.
Otto's drooping nether lip dropped even further.
Suspicion knitted his brow. He looked at the microscanner and the little envelopes.
Then a hesitant smile brightened his face.
"Ah, that's a joke, is it, sir?" he asked.
"No, Otto, it is not a joke. It's an invention
of mine. But it's too difficult to explain. And I'm hungry. Could you get me
something to eat?"
"You c-c-can have my sandwiches, sir."
Trelawney shook his head.
"No, Otto, that won't do. I need proper nourishment.
This is hard work. Surely you can send out for something? A big juicy steak would
be fine. Some french fries. A bottle of Burgundy."
The boy began to shake his head, but stopped himself.
For once he closed his mouth in a determined expression.
"I c-c-can try, sir. I c-c-can try," he said and
shuffled away.
Trelawney could not help but smile. Despite his
loathing for the boy's subhuman intelligence, he was beginning to soften slightly
to the brute. At any rate he was eager to help. Perhaps he had been too hasty
in assuming ulterior motives in his glee. He seemed too stupid for those.
He looked at the darkness beyond the table, which
was flooded by yellow lamplight. The rain lashed at the window, relentlessly.
He sure hoped the predictions hadn't been too optimistic. It would be a momentous
tragedy if he and his work were to be lost for posterity.
For two weeks Trelawney worked like a mad mole. Two
hours in full concentration, followed by his ten-minute break. But
as time wore on, those ten minutes were not enough. He would feel so
drained of energy that it took fifteen to twenty sometimes even thirty
minutes for him to recuperate. Those were the times he cursed Otto
most for his imbecility. If only he had been a competent assistant.
Together they would have completed the job in a fortnight. The worst
part was that Otto believed himself to be a great help. He started
to use first person plural.
"How are we doing, sir?" he would ask, to Trelawney's
utter disgust. It made him malicious. He would look into the blank, grinning
face and mentally insult him. You impertinent cretin, he would think, a well-trained
chimpanzee could do what you do. And better. Thank god I won't have to put with
the likes of you in the dome. There's a comforting thought. All the misfits and
incompetents are to be washed away. Good riddance, too. At last mankind will
be cleansed of its genetic blunders.
Otto himself was totally unaware of Trelawney's
dislike. Happily he continued to run off with each bird that Trelawney had tested.
Nothing was too much for him. He made coffee, went out to get amazingly good
food, swept the floor, waxed the woodwork, prepared a bed for his professor every
night and woke him when his six hours' sleep had passed. As a manservant he had
no peers.
There was one thing about him that Trelawney did
not understand. Despite his glaring imbecility Otto seemed desperate to know
what he, Trelawney, was doing. The boy kept pestering him with questions. One
day Trelawney could stand it no longer.
"Otto," he said, "I'm perfectly willing to explain,
but I don't think you would understand."
"I c-c-can try," said Otto.
"O, all right then. Do you know what a cell is?"
Otto nodded.
"That's where they put bad people."
"No Otto. A cell is like a brick. You do know
what a brick is?"
Otto guffawed.
"Of course," he said. "I'm not that stupid."
"Right," said Trelawney. "Houses are made of bricks.
The bodies of all living things are also made of bricklike parts. They are called
cells."
Otto looked at him open-mouthed, raised a hand
to his eyes.
"Bricks?" he asked. "In here?"
"Yes Otto. Very, very small bricks. So small that
they cannot be seen."
"That's true," said Otto, "I don't see any."
"Well," said Trelawney feeling quite a fool. "Each
of these bricks contains a plan of the whole house. If you know what one brick
looks like, you know what the whole house looks like."
"Like a photograph?" asked Otto, spellbound.
"Yes, like a photograph. And I am the man who
has discovered how to bring that photograph to life." He took the specimen he
had just tested from the microscanner, a stuffed rook - grotesquely lifelike
with its beak half open - and held it aloft. "I have taken some cells from this
bird. They are dead, of course. But by means of very complicated machinery I
can copy its so-called photograph into a blank, living cell. And that cell will
grow into a new bird."
Otto gasped.
"Really? One that flies?"
"Yes, Otto. This dead bird will fly again. This
very same bird."
"That's marvelous, p-p-professor ... oops ...
sir. Marvelous."
"Yes, isn't it?" said Trelawney, pleased with
the response.
Otto nodded.
"I like working here." he said softly "It's nice
and q-q-quiet and warm and I don't get scolded so much. But I always feel sorry
for the birds. They weren't made to be put in boxes, were they, sir? They must
fly."
"Yes Otto, they must."
Another week had passed when one late afternoon Otto
came running into the hall, drooling with excitement.
"P-p-professor!" he shouted. "The telephone works
again. And there's a c-c-call for you."
Trelawney leapt to his feet. As fast as his weight
would allow he ran to the doorkeeper's office. The old man was chuckling into
the receiver. Trelawney snatched it from him.
"Trelawney here."
"Professor Trelawney?"
"Yeah. Who else? Who are you?"
"Angelsby, sir. Scientific liaison officer. You're
to come in immediately. The ice cap of Greenland has destabilized. There's fear
of a collapse and a tidal wave that will swamp half of Europe."
"I need one more day."
"I would advise against it, sir. I'd..."
Silence.
"Hello? Hello!?" Trelawney shouted. Nothing. He
flung the receiver back in its cradle. A tidal wave. Jesus! Hastily he returned
to the hall. Otto was just coming down the stairs, toting thirty boxes. He looked
at Trelawney expectantly.
"What's new, doc," he said, breaking into a hiccupy
laugh.
"O, shut up, you damned moron!" snapped Trelawney,
running up to the table. A tidal wave. He had to get out. Fast. Run Trelawney,
run. Then his eye fell on the monitor. Only forty species to go. No. Damn it.
He wasn't going to run, he was going to finish this.
He sat down, grabbed a box, and flung the little
ball of feathers into the scanner. It was a Golden-crowned Kinglet. The tiny
carcass brought a sudden rush of memories. The winter of 49. Just after his operation,
paid for by his foster father, after the needless agony of sixteen years with
a harelip. How proud he had been. The joy of being inconspicuous. That winter
surely ranked as the happiest time of his life. Girls no longer froze at the
sight of his ugly mouth. Not only was he ignored, which would have been grand
enough, but girls even expressed a friendly interest in him. He had known his
first love. In snowbound Minnesota woods he had walked out with Millicent, a
strapping farmer's daughter. At a fallen Tamarac he had felt the caress of tender
lips on his mouth for the very first time, to the titters of a flock of Kinglets
in the tree. Ah, yes. Those Kinglets. Tears came to his eyes as he scanned the
tiny body. Damn the tidal wave. This creature was to fly again, so it might one
day titter in the ears of one so much in love as he had been, that winter's day
in 49.
His eyepiece misted over. He had to draw his head
back.
"What's wrong, p-p-professor?" asked Otto .
"Nothing," snapped Trelawney. "Get me some coffee."
Done! With a violent curse Trelawney slammed the ledger
shut on the final envelope.
"Right, Otto. Let's move. Pack my trunk and get a car.
We've got to get the hell out of here."
"We, sir?" asked Otto, spluttering with excitement. "C-c-can
I c-c-come with you?"
"Of course. I need you to carry my trunk."
"Oh, great!" cried the boy and began to bustle
about like a fussy old hen.
Trelawney felt a sudden qualm. The poor brute
had no idea. There was no place for him inside the dome. Trelawney shrugged his
shoulders. Let's not get sentimental here, he thought. This was an emergency
if ever there was one. The last thing mankind needed now was the likes of Otto.
Besides, the imbecile would not understand what was happening anyway. When they
reached the dome, he would be quite content to return, unaware of the fate awaiting
him. Still, Trelawney ached a little as he watched the loving care with which
Otto packed the trunk and returned all the boxes to their proper places. Trelawney
did not have the heart to tell him he might just as well fling them into the
garbage can. He was glad when the boy left the hall to get a car.
While he waited, Trelawney wandered about the hall
and came to a small room at the back. Otto's apparently. It only contained
a table with chair, a locker and a clipboard with newspaper clippings
and photographs. Trelawney looked at the board without much interest
till his attention was drawn by a large, color photograph of a muscular
youth in football attire. "Heissman bound?" read the caption. Trelawney
looked closer. The boy bore a striking resemblance to Otto, minus the
moronic expression and the drooping lower lip. Surely it couldn't be?
Trelawney read one of the newspaper clippings. "College football star
survives horrendous crash. Tragic end to promising career."
With growing nausea Trelawney read the article.
It featured Otto all right. A brilliant student and masterful quarterback who
had driven his car into a tree to avoid a pair of swans, leaving him with irreparable
brain damage. Trelawney almost gagged. He sank down into the chair.
"Jesus!" he muttered.
When Otto returned, gibbering with glee that he had
found an automobile, Trelawney dared not look at him. He felt smaller
than he had ever felt, even with his harelip. The prospect of becoming
the savior of palearctic birdlife seemed utterly worthless now. He
hardly dared think of Otto's true identity. It was too painful.
Otto had come up with a brilliant find. A 4WD with
a devilish driver. When they took off Trelawney sat slumped in the
back, feeling sick, while Otto sat up front, gazing about with glistening
eyes.
"Wow," he shouted again and again. "This is exciting,
p-p-psir."
Trelawney was too dejected to respond.
Evacuation was in full swing. The roads were crammed
with honking vehicles, but miraculously their driver managed to keep
his jeep going, veering from the road, racing across shoulders, even
bumping other cars out of his way. He got them within five miles of
the coast. Then the pile-up became solid. There was no escape. The
road ran on an embankment, bordered on both sides by flooded farmlands.
They had to walk. Otto took the trunk under his
arm and followed Trelawney as he plodded ahead. It was late afternoon. The dripping
sky was like solid, dark gray cement. Three miles from their goal the embankment
had caved in. A back abyss, filled with swirling water, barred their way. Frantic
evacuees were pacing the shore. Occasionally someone would try to wade across
but was swept away by the raging waters.
Trelawney looked at Otto in despair.
"We must get across," he said.
"No problem," said Otto, and jumped into the water.
It was waisthigh, swirling and bubbling but the boy stood like a tree.
"Come on, p-p-psir...." he shouted.
Trelawney jumped. Instantly the water swept him
off his feet but Otto grabbed his coat, dragged him up. Slowly, the boy started
to move. Trelawney clung to him like a frightened child. Again and again his
feet swept from under him, but each time Otto pulled him back.
They reached the other side.
"I'm strong, ain't I, p-p-psir...." said Otto,
beaming with glee.
"Yes, Otto, very strong."
They walked on, slowly, Trelawney leaning on Otto's arm. When they reached
the entrance to the dome, Trelawney was in agony. His VIP-pass to the dome
burned in his pocket. A life of fame and leisure beckoned from the brightly
lit reception hall. Cruel death loomed on the outside. He looked at Otto, who
stood grinning at him, insensitive to the rain that was soaking him to the
skin. Trelawney clenched his fists in impotent anger. He was an old man. Otto
was young. His brain might be damaged but his genes could still produce wonderful
offspring. A mind equal, perhaps even superior to his own, but ornamented by
a gentle disposition, infinitely above his warped self that was the legacy
of his miserable youth. What to do?
"Shouldn't we go inside, sir?" asked Otto.
Trelawney choked.
"Only one of us can go, Otto," he said feebly.
"Oh?" said Otto. "Well, that's easy. You go. I
must go back to look after the birds anyway."
Trelawney could not bear it. He had to fight back
his tears.
"You don't understand!" he shouted. "There's going
to be a flood. The water will cover the land. You'll be drowned."
Dumbly Otto gazed at him.
"You'll die," said Trelawney.
Otto blinked.
"Die?" he said.
"Yes," said Trelawney. "You'll be drowned."
Otto smiled, with infinite sadness.
"Just as well," he said, softly.
"Don't say that!" screamed Trelawney. "You're
a fine boy. You deserve to live. Here!" he dragged the pass from his pocket. "Take
it. Go inside."
Otto drew back.
"And what about you?"
Trelawney shrugged.
"I've done enough. Go. Take the birds. See them
fly. Hear the Kinglets titter."
Otto drew back even further, face aghast.
"No professor. I'm a moron. You said so yourself.
You're important. I'm nothing."
"Oh, Otto ..." wailed Trelawney .
The boy placed the trunk gently on the ground.
Trelawney pounced on him, grabbed him by the hair,
but the young boy was too strong for him. He janked himself free, leaving Trelawney
with a handful of curls. Otto ran out of reach.
"Make new birds, p-p-professor," he shouted. "Make
them fly. I'll be all right. I swim very good. I'm like a fish in water. I'm
not afraid of no flood."
"Otto!" screamed Trelawney "Come back. For god's
sake."
But Otto trotted away into the rain. From afar
his voice rang out one more time.
"Make them fly p-p-professor. Make them fly."
Then he was gone. Trelawney sank to his knees
and wept. He wept for a very long time. When he had no more tears to weep, he
rose. His right hand still clutched a handful of Otto's hair. His breath faltered.
Otto's hair. Otto's cells. Unimpaired. Trelawney broke into a smile, wry and
melancholy yet infinitely glad. Carefully he wrapped the tuft of hair into a
handkerchief. Then he grasped one of the handles of the trunk and started to
drag the thing toward the entrance of the dome.
Rotterdam 1990/ Drenthe 2003