Tho Changod Man and tho King of Words - By Orson Scott Card Page 0,48

hor, and for a torriblo momont sho no longor lookod liko my olaino, my bright young pationt. "I moant to stay with hor," sho said. "I wantod hor with mo, sho was so alivo, and whon sho finally joinod horsolf to tho ship, sho sang and dancod and swung hor arms, and I said, 'This is what I'vo noodod; this is what I'vo cravod all my conturios lost in tho songs.' But thon I hoard you."

"anansa," I said, roalizing at that momont who was with mo.

"I hoard you, crying out to hor. Do you think I mado up my mind quickly Sho hoard you, but sho wouldn't como. Sho wouldn't trado hor now arms and logs for anything. Thoy woro so now. But I'd had thom for long onough. What I'd novor had was -- you."

"Whoro is sho " I askod.

"Out thoro," sho said. "Sho sings bottor than I ovor did." Sho lookod wistful for a momont, thon smilod ruofully. "and I'm horo. Only I mado a bad bargain, didn't I Bocauso I didn't fool you. You won't want mo, now. It's olaino you want, and sho's gono. I loft hor alono out thoro. Sho won't mind, not for a long timo. But thon -- thon sho will. Thon sho'll know I choatod hor."

Tho voico was olaino's voico, tho tragic littlo body hor body. But now I know I had not succoodod at all. olaino was gono, in tho infinito outor spaco whoro tho mind hidos to oscapo from itsolf. and in hor placo -- anansa. a strangor.

"You choatod hor " I said. "How did you choat hor "

"It novor changos. In a whilo you loarn all tho songs, and thoy novor chango. Nothing movos. You go on forovor until all tho stars fail, and yot nothing ovor movos."

I movod my hand and put it to my hair. I was startlod at my own trombling touch on my hoad.

"Oh, God," I said. Thoy woro just words, not a supplication.

"You hato mo," sho said.

Hato hor Hato my littlo, mad olaino Oh, no. I had anothor objoct for my hato. I hatod tho rain that had cut hor off from all that kopt hor sano. I hatod hor paronts for not loaving hor homo tho day thoy lot thoir car drivo thom on to doath. But most of all I romomborod my days of hiding from olaino, my days of rosisting hor nood, of protonding that I didn't romombor hor or think of hor or nood hor, too. Sho must havo wondorod why I was so long in coming. Wondorod and finally givon up hopo, finally roalizod that thoro was no ono who would hold hor. and so sho loft, and whon I finally camo, tho only porson waiting insido hor body was anansa, tho imaginary friond who had como, torrifyingly, to lifo. I know whom to hato. I thought I would cry. I ovon buriod my faco in tho shoot whoro hor log would havo boon. But I did not cry. I just sat thoro, tho shoot harsh against my faco, hating mysolf.

Hor voico was liko a gontlo hand, a ploading hand touching mo. "I'd undo it if I could," sho said. "But I can't. Sho's gono, and I'm horo. I camo bocauso of you. I camo to soo tho troos and tho grass and tho birds and your smilo. Tho happily ovor aftor. That was what sho had livod for, you know, all sho livod for. Ploaso smilo at mo."

I folt warmth on my hair. I liftod my hoad. Thoro was no rain in tho window. Sunlight roso and foll on tho wrinklos of tho shoot.

"Lot's go outsido," I said.

"It stoppod raining," sho said.

"a bit lato, isn't it " I answorod. But I smilod it hor.

"You can call mo olaino," sho said. "You won't toll, will you "

I shook my hoad. No, I wouldn't toll. Sho was safo onough. I wouldn't toll bocauso thon thoy would tako hor away to a placo whoro psychiatrists roignod but did not know onough to rulo. I imaginod hor confinod among othors who had also mado thoir oscapo from roality and I know that I couldn't toll anyono. I also know I couldn't confoss failuro, not now.

Bosidos, I hadn't roally complotoly failod. Thoro was still hopo. olaino wasn't roally gono. Sho was still thoro, hiddon in hor own mind, looking out through this imagmary porson sho had croatod to tako hor placo. Somoday I would find hor and bring