can help."
Rob smiled wistfully at her affirmation of faith in his abilities. He had failed to change Mark's mind with talking, and now he was contemplating more drastic action. But if he were wrong ...
"Mistakes are too costly when you deal with people," Mark had admitted at one point in their session. "You're right when you say that I'm scared. What if my next mistake cost hundreds or thousands--or millions--of lives?"
Mark had learned as a freshman how easily mistakes could occur. He'd known of the taboo connected with the Mizari shrizzs, the combination drinking vessel/family heirloom that was assigned to each child as part of his or her coming-of-age ceremony, and had understood that, no matter what, the fragile object must never be touched by anyone outside the family.
"But when I saw Shissar drop it, that day at dinner," he'd reminded Rob today, "instinct took over. My cultural background said not to let such a beautiful thing break, and it completely overrode the knowledge I had. Even though Shissar's family forgave me, what if I'd broken a taboo that strong with a culture less"--he'd searched for words--"flexible, less tolerant than the Mizari? That one incident could have caused irrevocable harm!"
35
He'd shaken his head at the memory. "Good intentions just aren't enough."
Mark felt that his instincts had failed him again with Jon Whittaker ... or rather that they had failed Jon.
Thirteen months ago, in the middle of the school's artificial night, with incredible coolness and misguided courage, sixteen-year-old Jon Whittaker had slit the veins in both wrists and both ankles. The next morning Mark had opened the bathroom door and found his roommate's nude body sprawled halfway out of the bathtub, as though Jon might have changed his mind and been trying to summon help--too late.
"I should have seen it coming," Mark had repeated over and over during their subsequent sessions. "I should have guessed Jon would try something. He was so down. Why didn't I see? I might have stopped it!"
"It was my job to see it coming, and I didn't." Rob didn't try to conceal the bitter regret in his own voice. "We've talked about this before, Mark. It will haunt both of us until we die, I expect, but if anyone is to blame, I am. I'm the counselor. I'm the doctor. You were just Jon's friend, and believe me, you were the best friend anyone could have been to him." He straightened his shoulders with an effort. "I learned long ago that you have to forgive yourself and go on, or you're no use to anyone. You've got to learn to let it go, Mark."
The younger man nodded. "I know. I think I was learning to, when my mom ...
died. That brought it all back again, more painfully than ever."
"Mark, I think you should try looking at your remaining unaware of your mother's illness as her triumph, rather than your failure."
Mark looked thoughtful, as though that had never occurred to him before.
Rob pressed his momentary advantage. "She went to great lengths to keep from burdening you with that knowledge," he pointed out. "It would have broken her heart if she thought her decision to keep her ill health a secret led to the end of your dream. And don't forget, Mark, your becoming an interrelator was her dream, too."
Now, standing in the empty conference room, Rob gave a long sigh. "He agreed with every single damn word I said," he muttered, "but not one of them changed his mind."
36
He's just too conscientious, the doctor thought. But he doesn't realize that that very quality will make him a topnotch interrelator. I know he's got the courage to live with the risk and carry that burden. But I've got to make Mark realize that, too.
Bast padded through the doorway and meowed loudly. Rob turned to face her.
"Which is why," he announced solemnly to the cat's unblinking green eyes,
"I'm going to talk Kkintha ch'aait into going along with my ... plan. After all, it's not as though I arranged to have the Elpind drop in for a visit." He smiled