Mary had a rental car now, courtesy of Incoa red Dodge Neon. (When shed picked it up, Mary had asked the rental clerk if it ran on noble gas; all shed gotten was a blank stare in return.)
Mary left her Neon at the mine, and instead got into the passenger seat of Louises black Ford Explorer, sporting a white-and-blue vanity plate that read D2Owhich, after a moment, Mary realized was the chemical formula for heavy water. Louise got a blanket out of her cars trunksensible drivers in both Ontario and Quebec carried blankets or sleeping bags, in case of winter accidentsand she draped the blanket over Mary.
Mary found it awfully hot at first, but, fortunately, Louises car was air conditioned; few grad students could afford that, but Mary rather suspected Louise had no trouble getting good deals wherever she went.
Louise drove down the winding gravel road to the mine-site entrance, and Mary, under the blanket, did the best job she could of looking both animate and bulky. After a bit, Louise started to speed, as if trying to get away.
Were just passing the gate now, said Louise to Mary, who couldnt see anything. And its working! People are pointing at us and starting to follow.
Louise led them all the way back into Sudbury. If everything was going according to plan, Reuben would have waited until the reporters had taken off after the Explorer, then driven Ponter to his house just outside Lively.
Louise drove to the small apartment building she lived in, parking in the outdoor lot. Mary could hear other cars pulling up near them, some screeching their tires dramatically. Louise got out of the drivers seat and came over to the passenger door. Okay, she said to Mary, after opening the door, you can get out now.
Mary did so, and she could hear other doors slamming shut as their drivers presumably disembarked. Louise shouted Voilа! as she helped pull the blanket off Mary, and Mary grinned sheepishly at the reporters.
Oh, crap! said one of the journalists, and Damn! said another.
But a thirdthere were perhaps a dozen presentwas more savvy. Youre Dr. Vaughan, arent you? she called. The geneticist?
Mary nodded.
Well, demanded the reporter, is he or isnt he a Neanderthal?
It took forty-five minutes for Mary and Louise to extricate themselves from the journalists, who, although disappointed not to have found Ponter, were delighted to hear the results of Marys DNA tests. Finally, though, Mary and Louise made it into Louises apartment building and up to her small unit on the third floor. They waited until all the journalists had left the parking lotclearly visible from Louises bedroom windowthen Louise got a couple of bottles of wine from her fridge, and she and Mary went back down to her car and drove out to Lively.
They got to Reubens house just before 6:00 P.M. Reuben and Ponter had wisely not started making dinner, being unsure when Louise and Mary would arrive. Ponter actually had been lying down on Reubens living-room couch; Mary thought perhaps he was feeling a little under the weathernot surprising, after all hed been through.
Louise announced that she had to help make dinner. Mary learned she was a vegetarian, and had apparently felt bad about putting Reuben to extra effort the night before. Reuben, Mary noted, quickly accepted the offer of Louises aidwhat straight male wouldnt?
Mary, Ponter, said Reuben, make yourselves at home. Louise and I will get the barbecue going.
Mary felt her heart begin to race, and her mouth went dry. She hadnt been alone with any man sincesince
But it was only early evening now, and
And Ponter wasnt
It was a cliche, but it was also true, truer than it had ever been.
Ponter wasnt like other men.
Surely it would be all right; after all, Reuben and Louise wouldnt be far away. Mary took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Sure, she said, softly. Of course.
Great, said Reuben. Theres pop and beer in the fridge; well open Louises wine with dinner. He and Louise went into the kitchen, then, a couple of minutes later, headed out to the backyard. Mary found herself sucking in air as Reuben closed the glass door leading to the deck, but he didnt want to air-condition the great outdoors. Still, with the door closed and the hum of the air-conditioning equipment, she doubted Reuben and Louise could hear her now.
Mary turned her head to look at Ponter, who had risen to his feet. She managed a weak smile.
Ponter smiled back.
He wasnt ugly; really, he wasnt. But his face was quite unusuaclass="underline" like someone had grabbed a clay model of a normal human face and pulled it forward.
Hello, said Ponter, speaking for himself.
Hi, said Mary.
Awkward, said Ponter.
Mary remembered her trip to Germany. Shed hated being unable to make herself understood, hated struggling to read the directions on a pay phone, trying to order in a restaurant, attempting to ask directions. How awful it must be for Pontera scientist, an intellectual!to be reduced to communicating at a childs level.
Ponters emotions were obvious: he smiled, he frowned, he raised his blond eyebrow, he laughed; she hadnt seen him cry, but assumed he could. They didnt yet have the vocabulary to really discuss how he felt about being here; it had been easier to talk about quantum mechanics than about feelings.
Mary nodded sympathetically. Yes, she said, it must be very awkward, not being able to communicate.
Ponter tipped his head a bit. Perhaps hed understood; perhaps he hadnt. He looked around Reubens living room, as if something were missing. Your rooms do not have He frowned, clearly frustrated, apparently wanting to convey an idea for which neither he nor his implant yet had the vocabulary. Finally, he moved over to the end of a row of heavy built-in bookcases, filled with mystery novels, DVDs, and small Jamaican carvings. Ponter turned around and began to rub his back from side to side against the last bookcases edge.
Mary was astonished at first, then she realized what he was doing: Ponter was using the bookcase as a scratching post. An image of a contented Baloo from Disneys Jungle Book came to her mind. She tried to suppress a grin. Her own back itched often enoughand, she thought briefly, it had been a long time since shed had anyone to scratch it for her. If Ponters back was indeed hairy, it probably itched with great regularity. Apparently, rooms in his world had dedicated scratching devices of some sort.
She wondered if it would be polite to offer to scratch his back for himand that thought made her pause. Shed assumed shed never want to touch, or be touched, by a man again. There was nothing necessarily sexual about back scratching, but, then again, the literature Keisha had given her confirmed what she already knew: that there was nothing sexual about rape, either. Still, she had no idea what constituted appropriate behavior between a man and a woman in Ponters society; she might offend him greatly, or
Get over yourself, girl.
Doubtless she no more appeared attractive to Ponter than Ponter did to her. He scratched for a few moments longer, then stepped away from the massive bookcase. He gestured with an open palm at it, as if inviting Mary to take a turn.
She worried about damaging the wood or knocking stuff off the shelves, but everything seemed to have survived Ponters vigorous movements.
Thanks, said Mary. She crossed the room, moving behind a glass-topped coffee table, and placed her back against the bookcases corner. She shimmied a bit against the wood. It actually did feel nice, although the clasp of her bra kept catching as it passed over the angle.
Good, yes? said Ponter.
Mary smiled. Yes.
Just then, the phone rang. Ponter looked at it, and so did Mary. It rang again. Certain not for I, said Ponter.
Mary laughed and moved over to an end table, which had a teal one-piece phone sitting on it. She picked it up. Montego residence.