The Speed of Dark (40 page)

At the apartment, I start reading. I would like to finish Cego and Clinton by the morning. I am sure that they will summon me to talk about the treatment and make a decision. I am not ready to make a decision.

“
PETE
, ”
THE VOICE SAID. ALDRIN DIDN’T RECOGNIZE IT.
“This is John Slazik .” Aldrin’s mind froze; his heart stumbled and then raced.Gen. John L. Slazik , USAF, Ret. Currently CEO of the company.

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Aldringulped,then steadied his voice. “Yes, Mr. Slazik .” A second later, he thought maybe he should have said, “Yes, General,” but it was too late. He didn’t know, anyway, if retired generals used their rank in civilian settings.

“Listen, I’m just wondering what you can tell me about this little project of Gene Crenshaw’s.” Slazik’s voice was deep, warm, smooth as good brandy, and about as potent.

Aldrincould feel the fire creeping along his veins.“Yes, sir.” He tried to organize his thoughts. He had not expected a call from the CEO himself. He rattled off an explanation that included the research, the autistic unit, the need to cut costs, his concern that Crenshaw’s plan would have negative consequences for the company as well as the autistic employees.

“I see,” Slazik said. Aldrin held his breath. “You know, Pete,” Slazik said, in the same relaxed drawl,

“I’m a little concerned that you didn’t come to me in the first place. Granted, I’m new around here, but I really like to know what’s going on before the hot potato hits me in the face.”

“Sorry, sir,” Aldrin said. “I didn’t know. I was trying to work within the chain of command—”

“Um.”A long and obvious indrawn breath.“Well, now, I see your point, but the thing is, there’s a time—rare, but it exists—when you’ve tried going up and got stymied and you need to know how to hop a link. And this was one of the times it sure would’ve been helpful— to me.”

“Sorry, sir,” Aldrin said again. His heart was pounding.

“Well, I think we caught it in time,” Slazik said. “So far it’s not out in the media, at least. I was pleased to hear that you had a concern for your people, as well as the company. I hope you realize, Pete, that I would not condone any illegal or unethical actions taken toward our employees or any research subjects.

I am more than a little surprised and disappointed that one of my subordinates tried to screw around that way.” For the length of that last sentence the drawl hardened into something more like saw-edged steel; Aldrin shivered involuntarily.

Then the drawl returned. “But that’s not your problem. Pete, we’ve got a situation with those people of yours. They’ve been promised a treatment and threatened with loss of their jobs, and you’re going to have to straighten that out. Legal is going to send someone to explain the situation, but I want you to prepare them.”

“What—what is the situation now, sir?” Aldrin asked.

“Obviously their jobs are safe, if they want to keep them,” Slazik said. “We don’t coerce volunteers; this isn’t the military, and I understand that even if… someone doesn’t. They have rights. They don’t have to agree to the treatment. On the other hand, if they want to volunteer, that’s fine; they’ve already been through the preliminary tests. Full pay, no loss of seniority—it’s a special case.”

Aldrinwanted to ask what would happen to Crenshaw and himself, but he was afraid that asking would make whatever it was worse.

“I’m going to be calling Mr. Crenshaw in for an interview,” Slazik said. “Don’t talk about this, except to reassure your people that they’re not in jeopardy. Can I trust you for that?”

“Yes, sir.”

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“No gossiping with Shirley in Accounting or Bart in Human Resources or any of your other contacts?”

Aldrinfelt faint. How much did Slazik know? “No, sir, I won’t talk to anyone.”

“Crenshaw may call you—he should be fairly steamed with you— but don’t worry about it.”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll have to meet you personally, Pete, when this settles down a bit.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you can learn to work a little better with the system, your dedication to both company goals and personnel—and your awareness of the public-relations aspects of such things—could be a real asset to us.” Slazik hung up before Aldrin could say anything. Aldrin took a long breath—it felt like the first in a long time—and sat staring at the clock until he realized the numbers on it were still changing.

Then he headed over to Section A, before Crenshaw—who must have heard by now—could blow up at him on the phone. He felt fragile, vulnerable. He hoped his team would make the announcement easy.

I HAVE NOT SEEN CAMERON SINCE HE LEFT LAST WEEK. I DO
not know when I will see Cameron again. I do not like not having his car to park my car facing into. I do not like not knowing where he is or whether he is all right or not.

The symbols on the screen I watch are shifting in and out of reality, patterns forming and dissolving, and this is not something that had happened before. I turn on my fan. The whirling of the spin spirals, the movements of reflected light, make my eyes hurt. I turn the fan off.

I read another book last night. I wish I had not read it.

What we were taught about ourselves, as autistic children, was only part of what the people who taught us believed to be true. Later I found out some of that, but some I never really wanted to know. I thought it was hard enough coping with the world without knowing everything other people thought was wrong with me. I thought making my outward behavior fit in was enough. That is what I was taught: act normal, and you will be normal enough.

If the chip they will implant in Don’s brain makes him act normal, does does this mean he is normal enough? Is it normal to have a chip in your brain? To have a brain that needs a chip to make it able to govern normal behavior?

If I can seem normal without a chip and Don needs a chip, does that mean I am normal, more normal than he is?

The book said that autistics tend to ruminate excessively on abstract philosophical questions like these, in much the same way that psychotics sometimes do. It referred to older books that speculated that autistic persons had no real sense of personal identity, of self. It said they do have self-definition, but of a limited and rule-dictated sort.

It makes me feel queasy to think about this, and about Don’s custodial rehabilitation, and about what is happening with Cameron.

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If my self-definition is limited and rule-dictated, at least it is my self-definition, and not someone else’s. I like peppers on pizza and I do not like anchovies on pizza. If someone changes me, will I still like peppers and not anchovies on pizza? What ifthe someone who changes me wants me to want anchovies… can they change that?

The book on brain functionality said that expressed preferences were the result of the interaction of innate sensory processing and social conditioning. If the person who wants me to like anchovies has not been successful with social conditioning and has access to my sensory processing, then that person can make me like anchovies.

Will I even remember that I don’t like anchovies—that I didn’t like anchovies?

The Lou who does not like anchovies will be gone, and the new Lou who likes anchovies will exist without a past. But who I am is my past as well as whether I like anchovies now or not.

If my wants are supplied, does it matter what they are? Is there any difference between being a person who likes anchovies and being a person who does not like anchovies? If everyone liked anchovies or everyone didn’t like anchovies, what difference would it make?

To the anchovies a lot.If everyone liked anchovies, more anchovies would die.To the person selling anchovies a lot. If everyone liked anchovies, that person would make more money selling them. But to me,the me I am now or the me I will be later? Would I be healthier or less healthy, kinder or less kind, smarter or less smart, if I liked anchovies? Other people I have seen who eat or do not eat anchovies seem much the same. For many things I think it does not matter what people like: what colors, what flavors, what music.

Asking if I want to be healed is like asking if I want to like anchovies. I cannot imagine what liking anchovies would feel like, what taste they would have in my mouth. People who like anchovies tell me they taste good; people who are normal tell me being normal feels good. They cannot describe the taste or the feeling in a way that makes sense to me.

Do I need to be healed? Who does it hurt if I am not healed? Myself, but only if I feel bad the way I am, and I do not feel bad except when people say that I am not one of them, not normal. Supposedly autistic persons do not care what others think of them, but this is not true. I do care, and it hurts when people do not like me because I am autistic.

Even refugees who flee with nothing but their clothes are not forbidden their memories. Bewildered and frightened as they may be, they have themselves for a comparison. Maybe they can never taste their favorite food again, but they can remember that they liked it. They may not see the land they knew again, but they can remember that they lived there. They can judge if their life is better or worse by comparing it to their memories.

I want to know if Cameron remembers the Cameron he was, if he thinks the country he has come to is better than the country he left behind.

This afternoon we are to meet with the treatment advisers again. I will ask about this.

I look at the clock. It is 10:37:18, and I have accomplished nothing this morning. I do not want to accomplish anything in my project. It is the anchovy seller’s project and not my project.

MR. ALDRIN COMES INTO OUR BUILDING. HE KNOCKS
on my door and says, “Please come out; I want to talk to you in the gym.” My stomach knots up. I hear him knocking on the others’ doors.

They come out, Linda and Bailey and Chuy and Eric and all, and we file into the gym, all with tight faces.

It is big enough to hold all of us. I try not to worry, but I can feel myself starting to sweat. Are they going to start the treatment right away? No matter what we decide?

“This is complicated,” Mr. Aldrin says. “Other people are going to explain it to you again, but I want to tell you right away.” He looks excited and not as sad as he did a few days ago. “You remember that I said at the beginning I thought it was wrong for them to try to force you to take the treatment? When I called you on the phone?”

I remember that, and I remember that he did not do anything to help us and later told us we should agree for our own good.

“The company has decided that Mr. Crenshaw acted wrongly,” Mr. Aldrin says. “They want you to know that your jobs are completely safe, whatever you decide. You can stay just as you are, and you can work here, with the same supports you have now.”

I have to close my eyes; it is too much to bear. Against the dark lids dancing shapes form, bright-colored and glowing with joy. I do not have to do this. If they are not going to do the treatment, I do not even have to decide if I want it or not.

“What about Cameron?” Bailey asks.

Mr. Aldrin shakes his head. “I understand that he has already begun the treatment,” he says. “I don’t think they can stop at this point. But he will be fully compensated—”

I think this is a silly thing to say. How can you compensate someone for changing his brain?

“Now for the rest of you,” Mr. Aldrin says, “if you want the treatment, of course it will still be available, as promised.”

It was not promised but threatened. I do not say this.

“You will receive full pay for the duration of treatment and rehab, and you will continue to receive any pay raises or promotions that you would have received otherwise; your seniority will not be affected. The company’s legal department is in contact with the Legal Aid organization familiar with your Center, and representatives of both will be available to explain the legal aspects to you and help you with any legal paperwork that’s necessary. For instance, if you choose to participate you will need to make arrangements to have bills paid directly out of your accounts, and so on.”

“So… it’s completely voluntary?Really voluntary?” Linda asks, looking down.

“Yes.Completely.”

“I do not understand the reason Mr. Crenshaw would change his mind,” she says.

“It wasn’t exactly Mr. Crenshaw,” Mr. Aldrin says. “Someone— people—higher up decided Mr.

Crenshaw had made a mistake.”

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“What will happen to Mr. Crenshaw?” Dale asks.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Aldrin says. “I am not supposed to talk to anyone about what might happen, and they didn’t tell me anyway.”

I think that if Mr. Crenshaw works for this company he will find a way to cause us trouble. If the company can turn around so far in this direction, it could always turn back the other way, with a different person in charge, just as a car can go any direction depending on the driver.

“Your meeting this afternoon with the medical team will also be attended by representatives of our legal department and Legal Aid,” Mr. Aldrin says. “And probably a few other people as well. You will not have to make a decision right away, though.” He smiles suddenly, and it is a complete smile, mouth and eyes and cheeks and forehead, all the lines working the same way to show that he is really happy and more relaxed. “I’m very relieved,” he says. “I’m happy for you.”

This is another expression that makes no literal sense. I can be happy or sad or angry or scared, but I cannot have a feeling that someone else should have instead of that person having it. Mr. Aldrin cannot really be happy for me; I have to be happy for myself, or it isn’t real. Unless he means that he is happy because he thinks we will be happier if we are not feeling forced into treatment and “I’m happy for you”

means “I’m happy because of circumstances that benefit you.”

Mr. Aldrin’s beeper goes off, and he excuses himself. A moment later he puts his head back into the gym and says, “I have to go—see you this afternoon.”

THE MEETING HAS BEEN MOVED TO A LARGER ROOM. MR. ALDRIN
is at the door when we arrive, and other men and women in suits are inside the room, milling around the table. This one also has wood paneling that does not look as fake and a green carpet. The chairs are the same kind, but the fabric on the padding is dull gold with green flecks shaped like little daisies. At the front is a big table, with groups of chairs toeither side, and a big viewscreen hanging on the wall. There are two stacks of folders on the table. One has five folders, and the other has enough for each of us to have one.