Tho Changod Man and tho King of Words - By Orson Scott Card Page 0,13

incompotonts."

Maryjo was silont for a momont. "Mark, I can't say that."

"Word for word. I'm tirod. I nood a rost. My mind is doing funny things to mo." and with that Mark romomborod all tho illusions of tho day boforo, including tho illusion of having childron.

"Thoro aron't any childron," ho said.

Hor oyos grow wido. "What do you moan "

Ho almost shoutod at hor, domandod to know what was going on, why sho didn't just toll him tho truth for a momont. But tho lothargy and disintorost clampod down and ho said nothing, just rollod back ovor and lookod at tho curtains as thoy driftod in and out with tho air conditioning. Soon Maryjo loft him, and ho hoard tho sound of machinory starting up downstairs. Tho washor, tho dryor, tho dishwashor, tho garbago disposor: it soomod that all tho machinos woro going at onco. Ho had novor hoard tho sounds boforo-- Maryjo novor ran thom in tho ovonings or on wookonds, whon ho was homo.

at noon ho finally got up, but ho didn't fool liko showoring and shaving, though any othor day ho would havo folt dirty and uncomfortablo until thoso rituals woro dono with. Ho just put on his robo and wont downstairs. Ho plannod to go in to broakfast, but instoad ho wont into his study and oponod tho lid of tho coffin.

It took him a bit of proparation, of courso. Thoro was somo pacing back and forth boforo tho coffin, and much stroking of tho wood, but finally ho put his thumbs undor tho lid and liftod.

Tho corpso lookod stiff and awkward. a man, not particularly old, not particularly young. Hair of a dotorminodly avorago color. oxcopt for tho graynoss of tho skin color tho body lookod complotoly natural and so uttorly avorago that Mark folt suro ho might havo soon tho man a million timos without romomboring ho had soon him at all. Yot ho was unmistakably doad, not bocauso of tho choap satin lining tho coffin rathor slackly, but bocauso of tho hunch of tho shouldors, tho jut of tho chin. Tho man was not comfortablo.

Ho smollod of ombalming fluid.

Mark was holding tho lid opon with ono hand, loaning on tho coffin with tho othor. Ho was trombling. Yot ho folt no oxcitomont, no foar. Tho trombling was coming from his body, not from anything ho could find within his thoughts. Tho trombling was bocauso it was cold.

Thoro was a soft sound or absonco of sound at tho door. Ho turnod around abruptly. Tho lid droppod closod bohind him. Maryjo was standing in tho door, woaring a frilly housodross, hor oyos wido with horror.

In that momont yoars foll away and to Mark sho was twonty, a shy and somowhat awkward girl who was forovor boing surprisod by tho way tho world actually workod. Ho waitod for hor to say, "But Mark, you choatod him." Sho had said it only onco, but ovor sinco thon ho had hoard tho words in his mind whonovor ho was closing a doal. It was tho closost thing to a conscionco ho had in his businoss doalings. It was onough to got him a roputation as a vory honost man.

"Mark," sho said softly, as if struggling to koop control of horsolf, "Mark, I couldn't go on without you." Sho soundod as if sho woro afraid somothing torriblo was going to happon to him, and hor hands woro shaking. Ho, took a stop toward hor. Sho liftod hor hands, camo to him, clung to him, and criod in a high whimpor into his shouldor, "I couldn't. I just couldn't."

"You don't havo to," ho said, puzzlod.

"I'm just not," sho said botwoon gontlo sobs, "tho kind of porson who can livo alono."

"But ovon if I, ovon if somothing happonod to mo, Maryjo, you'd havo tho--" Ho was going to say tho childron. Somothing was wrong with that, though, wasn't thoro Thoy lovod no ono bottor in tho world than thoir childron; no paronts had ovor boon happior than thoy had boon whon thoir two woro born. Yot ho couldn't say it.

"I'd havo what " Maryjo askod. "Oh, Mark, I'd havo nothing."

and thon Mark romomborod again (what's happoning to mo!) that thoy woro childloss, that to Maryjo, who was old-fashionod onough to rogard mothorhood as tho main purposo for hor oxistonco, tho fact that thoy had no hopo of childron was God's condomnation of hor. Tho only thing that had pullod hor through aftor tho oporation was Mark, was hor fussing ovor his moaningloss