“That’s a very nice dress,” said Alice. “It adds to the effect you were trying to achieve. Where did you get it?” Alice felt almost as if she were seeing double, viewing Iris simultaneously as a mysterious alien and as a beautiful and charming child. She began to appreciate the subtle power of the alien’s choice of body forms.
“I grew it,” Iris said. She led Alice into the backyard. A large plant was growing there. Hanging from a pair of its larger branches were two long pods. The pod walls were translucent, and Alice could see that one contained something yellow, the other something blue.
“These aren’t quite finished,” Iris said, “but they will be by this evening.” She pointed to another plant across the yard. “I have underwear growing there,” she said.
“The world of women’s fashion will never be the same,” said Alice as they returned to the house. She went to the kitchen and rummaged through the food supply, finally deciding to cook up a big pot of spaghetti. She explained the fine points of cooking spaghetti and making sauce to Iris as she thawed a package of ground beef in the microwave. She thought how strange it was to be teaching cooking to a being who could grow her own underwear.
Iris touched the meat. “Oh yes,” she said, “I had forgotten. You still eat the flesh of animals. Is this what you call a cow?”
“Yes,” said Alice as she dropped clumps of the meat into the oiled frying pan and sprinkled it with garlic salt. “I’m afraid we’re still rather primitive in our sources of food. Over the centuries we’ve selectively bred animal species that we feed on grass and grain and then kill for meat. No one who has thought much about the practice is particularly happy with it, but as a species we’re genetically programmed to enjoy eating meat.”
Iris sniffed. “It does smell good,” she said. “I hadn’t expected that.”
Roger poked his head out of his bedroom door. “What’s that I smell?” he asked. “Spaghetti sauce with lots of garlic?”
“Good nose,” said Alice. “Might you perchance be hungry?”
“I feel as if I were in the last stages of terminal starvation,” said Roger. “I hope you made a lot.”
“It may not be up to the highest standards of gourmet cuisine, but there’s plenty of it,” said Alice. “Why don’t you see if George is ready to join the living?” She rested her right hand on the soft flesh of her left armpit as she talked and noticed a peculiar sensation. There was an electric tingle under her arm, and she felt she was looking at herself in an unfamiliar way from a long distance off. She looked at Iris. “I just touched my body and experienced a strange sensation. Was I Reading?”
“Yes, I think perhaps you were,” said the girl. “Learning to Read yourself is the first step in the process you must learn.”
George, looking pale and disoriented, walked out of the bathroom and sat at the dining table. The others came to join him.
Alice served up plates heaped with spaghetti, sauce, and hand-grated parmesan. Then she poured red California jug wine into glasses. Holding out a glass, she turned to Iris. “This is red wine, a beverage made from the juice of a kind of fruit, grapes, which has been fermented by yeast cells. The fermentation converts sugar into alcohol, which when ingested has some interesting effects on the human nervous system. In small quantities we find it relaxing, but too much can be harmful and disorienting. Normally we do not serve wine to children. What should I do about you?”
Iris put a fingertip into the glass and looked thoughtful. “Fascinating,” she said. “Sugar, alcohol, tannic acid, and a whole array of complex long-chain molecules. Your species seems to have evolved specific genetic programming to deal with this substance, and it has some benefits. I think I should try some.” She took the glass. “I’ll synthesize an enzyme to aid me in dealing with the psycho-physiological effects.”
As Alice began to eat her own meal, she noticed that Iris was sipping wine and watching each of them intently, but not eating. She looked down at her plate self-consciously, then looked up. “Are you going to eat?” she asked Iris.
“Yes,” said the child, “but the process looks complicated, and I’m attempting to understand it. Roger rotates his fork against his spoon, rolls up the long strands, and moves the fork and spoon to his mouth together to transfer the food. George cuts the strands into small lengths and eats them with his spoon. You rotate your fork against the plate and bring the fork to your mouth, sucking in the loose ends. Why does each of you use a different method?”
“I suppose it’s a matter of how we learned to eat spaghetti as children,” said Alice. “Perhaps there is no good and proper way to eat spaghetti, so we each use a different awkward way.”
Alice carefully demonstrated her method to the child, who successfully transferred a roll of spaghetti and sauce to her mouth. She tasted it thoughtfully. “That is very interesting,” she said, taking a drink of water. “It is sweet and hot and salty and a bit bitter, all at the same time. In a human body the sensation of eating is very different from that of the Makers. It’s a very pleasant sensation.” She began to eat the spaghetti with some enthusiasm.
After they had finished off all of the spaghetti, they had more wine and Iris commenced the Reading lessons.
“You must understand,” she began, “that I will only be able to teach you a few basic skills now. The arts of Reading and Writing require lifetimes of work and discovery. You are at the starting point of a very long road. You must not expect too much too soon. But let us begin.”
As Alice had done by accident, they were instructed to place their right hand in contact with the soft flesh under their left arm, close their eyes, and concentrate.
After the electric sensation that Alice had experienced previously, the Reading commenced. Alice became aware of her own body in a way she could never have imagined. She could see clearly the small miracles of its operation, the cycles and processes she took for granted or was simply unaware of. She could see the tendencies to accumulate fat in the wrong places, the muscle tone that was withheld unless pounded in with physical exercise. She could see the programming associated with aging, the withdrawal of hormones and collagen replacement, the cross-linked proteins that were allowed to accumulate, the wrinkles, sags, and crow’s-feet that were the consequence. She could see the wired-in hair-graying cycle, the biological clock ticking toward the onset of her menopause.
She could also see the outright defects, the tendencies toward breast cancer, arterial plaque, and calcium loss that were part of her genetic heritage. “That’s awful!” she said aloud and looked around. George and Roger lost their self-absorbed expressions and looked at her, nodding in agreement.
“To me,” said Iris, “all of you Read like untended gardens that have been allowed to go to seed and decay. Now that you see the problems, perhaps we can begin to work on the solutions. Let me give you an example.” She swiped her index finger across each of their palms. “Read that,” she said.
Alice concentrated on the area of her right hand that Iris had just touched. Somehow she could see that it was a virus. She focused on it, wondering what its function was. Suddenly the answer popped into sharp focus. It was a retrovirus designed to transcribe itself permanently into a human cell nucleus as a small loop of DNA that coded for a specific enzyme.
What did this enzyme do? She considered this, and the answer became startlingly clear. In normal cells each strand of DNA had a special noncoding segment on each end, like the plastic tips of a shoestring. She could see that each time a cell divided this special end segment became shorter. And finally, when the segment length went to zero, the cell could not divide again, the natural cell renewal processes stopped, and the body began to age. The new enzyme systematically restored the end segments to human DNA. It did not require cells to divide, but it allowed them to when the body’s repair mechanisms made the request. “Wow!’ said Alice aloud. “It’s the Fountain of Youth!”