Felix had developed a fondness for country life, little as he had wanted to undertake it. Had it not been for his continuous work on the Great Research he might have taken up horticulture seriously. There was something deeply satisfying, he found, in making a garden do what he wanted it to do.
He would have spent all his holidays fussing with his plants, if Phyllis had concurred. But her holidays were less frequent than his, since she had resumed putting in one shift a day at the nearest primary development center as soon as Theobald was old enough to need the knocking around he would get from other children. When she did have a holiday she liked to go somewhere-a flying picnic, usually.
They had to live near the Capital, because of Felix's work, but the Pacific was only a little over five hundred kilometres west of them. It was convenient to pack a lunch, get to the beach in time for a swim and a nice, long, lazy bake, then eat.
Felix wanted to see the boy's reaction the first time he saw the ocean. "Well, son, this is it. What do you think of it?"
Theobald scowled out at the breakers. "It's all right," he grudged.
"What's the matter?"
"The water looks sick. And the sun ought to be off that way, not there. And where's the big trees?"
"What big trees?"
"The high slim ones, with big bushes at the top."
"Hmmm ... what's wrong with the water?"
"It ain't blue."
Hamilton walked back to where Phyllis lay on the sand. "Can you tell me," he said slowly, "whether or not Baldy has ever seen stereos of royal palms-on a beach, a tropical beach?"
"Not that I know of. Why?"
"Think back. Did you use such a picture to extensionalize for him?"
"No, I'm sure of that."
"You know what he's read-has he seen any flat-picture like that."
She checked back through her excellent and well-arranged memory. "No, I would have remembered it. I would never have put such a picture in his way without explaining it to him."
The incident occurred before Theobald had been entered at the development center; what he had seen, he had seen at home. Of course it was possible that he had seen it in a news or story cast in the receiver at home, but he could not start the machine himself and neither of them recalled such a scene. Nevertheless, it was damned funny.
"What did you start to say, dear?"
Hamilton gave a slight start. "Nothing, nothing at all."
"What kind of 'nothing'?"
He shook his head. "Too fantastic. My mind was wandering."
He went back to the boy and attempted to pump him for details in an effort to ferret out the mystery. But Theobald was not talking. In fact, he was not even listening. He said so.
On a similar occasion but much later an event occurred which was quite as disturbing, but a little more productive. Felix and the boy had been splashing in the surf, until they were quite tired. At least Felix was, which made a majority with only one dissent. They lay down on the sand and let the sun dry them. Presently the salt drying on the skin made them itch, as it has a habit of doing.
Felix scratched Theobald between the shoulder blades- that awkward spot-and reflected to himself how catlike the child was in many ways, even to the sybaritic way in which he accepted this small sensuous pleasure. Just now it suited him to be petted; a moment later he might be as haughty and distant as a Persian torn. Or he might decide to cuddle.
Then Felix lay on his stomach, Theobald straddled his back and returned the favor. Felix was beginning to feel rather catlike himself-it felt so good!-when he began to be aware of a curious and almost inexplicable phenomenon.
When one human monkey does another the great service of scratching him, delightful as it is, it never quite hits the spot. With infuriating obtuseness, despite the most careful coaching, the scratcher will scratch just above, just below, all around the right spot, but never, never, never quite on it, until, in sheer frustration, the scratchee will nearly dislocate his shoulder going after it for himself.
Felix was giving Theobald no instructions; in fact, he was nearly falling asleep under the warm relaxing ecstasy of his son's ministrations, when he suddenly snapped to attention.
Theobald was scratching where Felix itched.
The exact spot. An area of sensation had only to show up for him to pounce on it and scratch it out of existence.
This was another matter that had to be taken up with Phyllis. He got up and explained to her what had happened, attempting the meanwhile to keep it from the child's attention by suggesting that he go for a run down the beach-"But don't go in more than ankle deep."
"Just try him," he added, when he had told her of it. "He can do it. He really can."
"I'd like to," she said. "But I can't. I'm sorry to say that I am still fresh and clean and free from vulgar distresses."
"Phyllis-"
"Yes, Felix?"
"What kind of a person can scratch where another person itches?"
"An angel."
"No, seriously."
"You tell me."
"You know as well as I do. That kid's a telepath!"
They both looked down the beach at a small, skinny, busy silhouette. "I know how the hen felt that hatched the ducks," said Phyllis softly. She got quickly to her feet. "I'm going in and get some salt on me, and let it dry. I've got to find out about this."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Probably a blind alley-"
HAMILTON FELIX took his son into the city the next day. There were men attached to the Great Research who knew much more about such things than either he or Phyllis; he wished them to examine the boy. He took Theobald to his office, supplied him with a scroll and a reader, a dodge that would tie him to one spot almost as effectively as if he were chained down, and called Jacobstein Ray by telephone. Jacobstein was in charge of a team investigating telepathy and related phenomena.
He explained to Jake that he was unable to leave his own office at the moment. Could Jake drop over, or was he tied up? Jake could and would; he arrived a few minutes later. The two men stepped into an adjoining room, out of earshot of the child. Felix explained what had taken place on the beach and suggested that Jake look into it.
Jake was willing and interested. "But don't expect too much from it," he cautioned. "We've demonstrated telepathy in young children time and again, under circumstances which made it a statistical certainty that they were receiving information by no known physical means. But there was never any control in the business, the child was never able to explain what was going on, and the ability faded away to nothing as the child grew up and became more coherent. It seems to shrivel away just like the thymus gland."
Hamilton looked alert. "Thymus gland? Any correlation?"
"Why, no. I just used that as a figure of speech."
"Mightn't there be?"
"It seems most unlikely."
"Everything about this business seems most unlikely. How about putting a crew on it? A good biostatician and one of your operators?"
"I will if you wish."
"Good. I'll stat an open voucher to your office. It's probably a blind alley, but you never know!"
Let us add that it was a blind alley. Nothing ever came of it, but a slight addition to the enormous mass of negative information constituting the main body of scientific knowledge.
Felix and Jake went back into the room where Theobald sat reading. They seated themselves first, in order to be on the same level as the child, and Felix performed the introduction with proper attention to the enormous and vulnerable dignity of a child. He then said:
"Look, sport, Dad wants you to go with Jake and help him with some things for an hour or so. How about it?"
"Why?"
That was a tough one. With less-than-adult minds it had been found to be optimum procedure to keep them from knowing the purpose of the experimentation. "Jake wants to find out some things about the way your mind works. He'll talk with you about it. Well... will you help him?"