The Speed of Dark

I think he should say it plainly: if the treatment causes more damage, we would be worse off and the company would have to support us for longer. But I know that normal people do not say things plainly.

We do not talk among ourselves after he leaves. The others all look at me, but they do not say anything. I hope Linda takes the treatment anyway. I want to talk to her more about stars and gravity and the speed of light and dark.

In my own office, I call Ms. Beasley at Legal Aid and tell her that I have decided to agree to the treatment. She asks me if I am sure. I am not sure, but I am sure enough. Then I call Mr. Aldrin and tell him. He also asks if I am sure. “Yes,” I say, and then I ask, “Is your brother going to do it?” I have been wondering about his brother.

“Jeremy?” He sounds surprised that I asked. I think it is a reasonable question. “I don’t know, Lou. It depends on the size of the group. If they open it up to outsiders, I’ll consider asking him. If he could live on his own, if he could be happier…”

“He is not happy?” I ask.

Mr. Aldrin sighs. “I… don’t talk about him much,” he says. I wait. Not talking about something much does not mean someone doesn’t want to talk about it. Mr. Aldrin clears his throat and then goes on. “No, Lou, he’s not happy. He’s… very impaired. The doctors then… my parents… he’s on a lot of medication, and he never learned to talk very well.” I think I understand what he is not saying. His brother was born too early, before the treatments that helped me and the others. Maybe he didn’t get the best treatment, even of those available at the time. I think of the descriptions in the books; I imagine Jeremy being stuck where I was as a young child.

“I hope the new treatment works,” I say. “I hope it works for him, too.”

Mr. Aldrin makes a sound I do not understand; his voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “Thank you, Lou,” he says. “You’re — you’re a good man.”

I am not a good man. I am just a man, like he is, but I like it that he thinks I am good.

Tom and Lucia and Marjory are all in the living room when I arrive. They are talking about the next tournament. Tom looks up at me.

“Lou — have you decided?”

“Yes,” I say. “I will do it.”

“Good. You’ll need to fill out this entry form—”

“Not that,” I say. I realize that he would not know I meant something else. “I will not fight in this tournament—” Will I ever fight in another tournament? Will the future me want to fence? Can you fence in space? I think it would be very hard in free fall.

“But you said,” Lucia says; then her face changes, seems to flatten out with surprise. “Oh — you mean… you’re going through with the treatment?”

“Yes,” I say. I glance at Marjory. She is looking at Lucia, and then at me, and then back. I do not remember if I talked to Marjory about the treatment.

“When?” asks Lucia before I have time to think about how to explain to Marjory.

“It will start Monday,” I say. “I have a lot to do. I have to move into the clinic.”

“Are you sick?” Marjory says; her face is pale now. “Is something wrong?”

“I am not sick,” I say to Marjory. “There is an experimental treatment that may make me normal.”

“Normal! But, Lou, you’re fine the way you are. I like the way you are. You don’t have to be like everybody else. Who has been telling you that?” She sounds angry. I do not know if she is angry with me or with someone she thinks told me I needed to change. I do not know if I should tell her the whole story or part of it. I will tell her everything.

“It started because Mr. Crenshaw at work wanted to eliminate our unit,” I say. “He knew about this treatment. He said it will save money.”

“But that’s — that’s coercion. It’s wrong. It’s against the law. He can’t do that—”

She is really angry now, the color coming and going on her cheeks. It makes me want to grab her and hug her. That is not appropriate.

“That is how it started,” I say. “But you are right; he could not do what he said he would do. Mr. Aldrin, our supervisor, found a way to stop him.” I am still surprised by this. I was sure Mr. Aldrin had changed his mind and would not help us. I still do not understand what Mr. Aldrin did that stopped Mr. Crenshaw and caused him to lose his job and be escorted out by security guards with his things in a box. I tell them what Mr. Aldrin said and then what the lawyers said in the meeting. “But now I want to change,” I say, at the end.

She takes a deep breath. I like to watch her take deep breaths; the front of her clothes pulls tight. “Why?” she asks in a quieter voice. “It isn’t because of… because of… us, is it? Me?”

“No,” I say. “It is not about you. It is about me.”

Her shoulders sag. I do not know if it is relief or sadness. “Then was it Don? Did he make you do this, convince you that you weren’t all right as you were?”