Prayers to Broken Stones by Dan Simmons Read Free Book Online Page B

like nothing so much as an operatic falsetto.
    Robby had been coming to the Chelton Day School for the Blind for six years. His life before that was unknown. He had been discovered by a social worker visiting Robby’s mother in connection with a court-ordered methadone-treatment program. The door to the apartment had been left open, and the social worker heard noises. The boy had been sealed into the bathroom by the nailing of a piece of plywood over the bottom half of the door. There were wet papers on the tile floor, but Robby was naked and smeared with his own excrement. A tap had been left on, and water filled the room to the depth of an inch or two. The boy was rolling fitfully in the mess and making mewling noises.
    Robby was hospitalized for four months, spent five weeks in the county home, and was then returned to the custody of his mother. In accordance with further court orders, he was dutifully bussed to Chelton Day School for five hours of treatment a day, six days a week. He made the daily trip in darkness and silence.
    Robby’s future was as flat and featureless as a line extending nowhere, holding no hope of intersection.
    “Shit, Jer, you’re going to have to watch after the kid tomorrow.”
    “Why me?”
    “Because he won’t go into the goddamn pool, that’s why. You saw him today. Smitty just lowered his legs into the water, and the kid started swinging and screaming. Sounded like a bunch of cats had started up. Dr. Whilden says he stays back tomorrow. She says that the van is too hot for him to stay in. Just keep him company in the room till Jan McLellan’s regular aide gets back from vacation.”
    “Great,” said Bremen. He pulled his sweat-plastered shirt away from his skin. He had been hired to drive the school van, and now he was helping to feed, dress, and babysit the poor bastards. “Great. That’s just great, Bill. What am I supposed to do with him for an hour and a half while you guys are at the pool?”
    “Watch him. Try to get him to work on the zipper book. You ever see that page in there with the bra stuff—the eyes and hooks? Let him work on that. I useta practice on that with my eyes shut.”
    “Great,” said Bremen. He closed his eyes against the glare of the sun.
    Bremen sat on the front stoop and poured the last of the scotch into his glass. It was long past midnight, but the narrow street teemed with children playing. Two black teenagers were playing the dozens while their friends urged them on. A group of little girls jumped double dutch under the streetlamp. Insects milled in the light and seemed to dance to the girls’ singing. Adults sat on the steps of identical rowhouses and watched one another dully. No one moved much. It was very hot.
    It’s time to move on.
    Bremen knew that he had stayed too long. Seven weeks working at the day school had been too much. He was getting curious. And he was beginning to ask questions about the kids.
    Boston, perhaps. Farther north. Maine.
    Asking questions and getting answers Jan McLellan had told him about Robby. She had told him about the bruises on Robby’s body, about the broken arm two years before. She told him about the teddy bear that a candy striper had given the blind boy. It had been the first positive stimulus to evoke an emotion from Robby. He had kept the bear in his arms for weeks. Refused to go to X-ray without it. Then, a few days after his return home, Robby got into the van one morning, screaming and whining in his weird way. No teddy bear. Dr. Whilden called his mother only to be told that the God-damned toy was lost. “God-damned toy” were the mother’s words, according to Jan McLellan. No other teddy bear would do. Robby carried on for three weeks.
    So what? What can I do?
    Bremen knew what he could do. He had known for weeks. He shook his head and took another drink, addingto the already-thickened mindshield that separated him from the senseless, pain-giving world.
    Hell, it’d be better for Robby if I