Anna To The Infinite Power (16 page)

“I won’t,” he’d said. “Don’t forget to write.”

“I won’t,” she’d said. “Don’t forget to return the exercise books to Michaela.”

Don’t forget to write! As if I really were going on vacation, she thought, feeling bitter now. It’s a wonder he didn’t say, “Have a good time, Anna.” Well, she hadn’t forgotten to write. She’d sent Mom and Dad a short note, saying she had arrived, was receiving good treatment, eating good food, and everything was going fine. That was about all she could say. The censor would allow no description of the place, not even the mention of her private room.

In the days that she had been here, she had taken every conceivable kind of test, physical and mental. According to Dr. Barrett, they should have been nearly through with her. About a week, he’d said. But there was yet no mention of sending her home. What if there was going to be none; what if she was here to die? I’m probably dying, she thought, and yet I just can’t seem to believe it.

As she lay there, a warm sun beating down on her face, she heard the sound of a bouncing ball. At first, she paid no attention. Someone was obviously amusing himself throwing a ball against one of the brick walls someplace nearby. When the noise continued, she began to wonder about that person. Was it someone like herself, someone living alone in a locked room, lonely, frightened, waiting for something to happen?

Anna couldn’t quite tell where the sound was coming from. The wall on the far side of the next patio, she guessed. But that room was empty. So was the room on the other side of her. In the time she had been there not a murmur had come from either of them. Even if the rooms were soundproof, she would have heard movement in the patios.

Curious, she decided to take a quick peek. She glanced around for something to stand on. The metal patio table was just right--lightweight but sturdy. Anna dragged it over and climbed up on it to look into the adjacent patio. Empty. In the next instant a tennis ball came bounding over the far wall to bounce and finally come to rest on the patio tiles. Then a girl hoisted herself over the same wall and retrieved it. As she picked it up, she spotted Anna watching her. “I was just getting my ball,” she said, sounding as if she felt she owed someone an apology.

“I heard you bouncing it,” Anna said. The girl approached and glanced up at Anna. “I hope the noise didn’t bother you.”

She looks familiar, Anna thought. “No, it didn’t bother me.”

The girl stared and stared, a puzzled expression on her face. Finally she said, “Do I know you from someplace?”

“That’s funny. I was going to ask you the same thing. Where do you live?”

“Phoenix, Arizona.”

“Then I guess we couldn’t possibly know each other.” Anna told the girl where she lived and the girl agreed.

“Are you here for treatment?”

“Tests,” Anna said. “How about you?”

“I’m supposed to have some sort of rare blood disease. They think they can cure it. I can’t get very excited about it, though, because it doesn’t bother me. I think they must be crazy.”

Now Anna took a closer look at the girl, trying to decide whom she resembled. Suddenly it dawned on Anna. Her spine went rigid, her muscles tensed. This girl looked like the one in The Greenwich Department Store. Which meant that she looked like Anna. Of course, the girl’s hair was darker, much darker, her face longer, her body taller, yet the resemblance was unmistakable. But only if you were looking for it. “What’s your name?” Anna asked.

“Anna Burton. What’s yours?”

Still Anna couldn’t believe it. She watched the girl’s expression carefully as she said, “That’s a coincidence. My name is Anna, too--Anna Hart.”

The girl raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

Anna could see no more than casual interest in the girl’s eyes. “I guess it’s not all that unusual to run into someone with the same first name. Now if we both had the same middle name, that would really be something else.”

The girl said quickly, “You couldn’t have a middle name like mine. Mine’s a family name--Zimmerman.”

Anna felt sick now. The girl obviously didn’t know who she was, or rather, what she was, or why she was really here. Anna wondered fleetingly if she should tell her. Then she remembered her own shock at finding out. How could she inflict that knowledge on someone else? What could she say, anyhow? I’m an Anna Zimmerman, too. We are both her clones. Do you know what a clone is? Do you know that we are something to each other, but I’m not sure what. No, she could never say those words. If the girl didn’t know, and Anna felt sure she didn’t, then she was lucky.

“The way you’re looking at me, I’d almost think you did have the same middle name.”

Anna caught herself. She must have looked as stunned as she felt. “Oh, no.”

“I thought not. Nobody’d ever give anyone a name like that unless it was a family name.”

Anna smiled wanly. Strange, she thought, there’s a likeness about the two of us, and yet we look different from each other, too, more like possible sisters than twins. She decided that this girl must be another Anna Zimmerman gone sour. Were there others?

“Well, I guess I should be getting back. I get to use the gym in about ten minutes.” The girl moved to leave, then stopped. “Say, could you use a ball? I’ve got a couple more with me, and they’re not about to let me play tennis. This place is so boring you need something. Here, catch.” She tossed the ball up to Anna.

“Thanks,” Anna said. She watched until the girl had disappeared back over her wall. Anna got down from the table. She stood there a moment, trying to understand. A blood disease, they had told the girl. Well, perhaps she did have one. Maybe that’s what I have, too, Anna thought--a disease that’s causing the changes Dr. Barrett’s so concerned about. But how could that alter one’s hair coloring?

Another thought, a terrible thought, darted through Anna’s head now. Immediately she dragged the table over to the opposite wall. She climbed up on it, aimed the ball for the second patio beyond hers on the other side, threw it, and waited. After what seemed a long time, a head appeared above the wall, a blond head much lighter than her own, a face plumper, yet even across that distance Anna could see the likeness. Were they all here? Yes, she was sure of it. This was a concentration camp for all the Anna Zimmerman clones!

What is it, Rowan?” Michaela said, holding her apartment door ajar.

Rowan said, “Anna won’t be coming for her lesson today. She asked me to give these exercise books to you.” Although Anna had left on the previous Monday, Rowan had delayed returning the books, assuring himself that Anna would certainly be back by Saturday for her next lesson. But Anna was not back. He had no choice but to stop by before orchestra practice that day. “In fact, I’m not sure when she’ll be ready for more lessons.”

“I know,” Michaela said.

Her words startled Rowan. How could she know? Dr. Barrett had cautioned all of the Harts to say nothing. Rowan decided that what she knew had to be the story they had concocted to tell others. “I imagine Dad’s already told you about Anna’s asthma -- how she had to go stay with relatives of ours in Colorado because of it.”

“Oh yes--Colorado,” she said solemnly. She glanced down at his violin case. “I know you must be on your way to orchestra practice, but can you come in for a moment, Rowan? I have a problem I’d like to ask you about.”

Flattered, he said, “Oh, sure. I’ve got plenty of time.”

Inside she motioned him into a dining area where her large collection of music boxes covered the table. He wondered if she always kept them there.

“You remember how intrigued Anna was with one of these?” she said.

Rowan nodded. He again saw Anna thrusting the box at Michaela, saying, “I was the one who took it.” Now he wondered if he’d had the right to humiliate her in that way, even going as far as apologizing for her to Michaela. He remembered exactly how Anna had looked afterward when she’d told him she was sorry, her voice almost a whisper. Remembered, too, how she had appeared in the library that day, talking about the concentration camp--small and fragile.

Michaela gestured toward the music boxes. “My problem, Rowan, is that I’d like Anna to have one to remember me by, but I can’t, in good conscience, give her one. I mean, it almost seems as if I’d be condoning her stealing. At least, she might get that impression.”

To remember her by? “Are you leaving here?”

“Yes, Rowan. Your former music history teacher will be back in a few days, and I have another job up north waiting for me.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” Rowan’s mind was full of worries about Anna, yet he still felt a sense of loss to think of Michaela gone. “We’ll miss you.”

She smiled mischievously. “Even Anna?”

“Oh, Anna said --” he broke off.

“Tell me what Anna said.”

“You won’t be offended?”

“No, I won’t be offended, Rowan. I can probably guess anyhow.”

“Well, it’s the stupidest thing, but she was really afraid of you in the beginning. She thought you were evil. Isn’t that a laugh?”

She smiled.

“But in the end --” My God, he was talking about Anna as if she were dead. “I mean, before she left she said that she really liked you.”

He thought she looked a little sad as she said, “That’s not too strange. People have always believed devoutly in both God and the devil, yet they can’t seem to tell one from the other.” Then she laughed. “And I can’t remember who said that, but somebody must have. I’d never have thought of it myself.”

That reminded him of how often in class she’d quoted some famous person, always sounding as if she were on the most intimate terms with whomever it was. He would miss that. Anna would, too, he guessed. With Anna in mind, he stared at the little music boxes. Yes, Anna would undoubtedly like one, but not the one she had taken. He was certain she would never want to hear that tune again.

He suddenly realized that he had never really given Anna a gift he’d picked out himself. For birthdays and Christmases he had always talked his mother into choosing something for him to give Anna. Now he said, “I’d like a buy Anna a gift. Would you let me buy one of the music boxes for her?”

Michaela beamed. “Oh, Rowan, that’s the perfect solution!”

He glanced over the table. “I wouldn’t want to give her the one she took.”

“It doesn’t have to be that one. The choice is yours.”

“I don’t have a lot of money.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. Just pick out something -- anything you think she’d like.”

Rowan began to examine the boxes. He avoided everything decorated with mother-of-pearl. It must in no way remind her of the other box. He looked at the bottoms to see what tunes they held. To Rowan, so well-versed in music, the pieces, waltzes, polkas, simple ditties, all seemed too trivial for his taste. He had to remind himself that music boxes had limitations and could only manage uncomplicated melodies. His eyes finally fastened on one that had a romantic painting on top, a pair of Renaissance lovers doomed to gaze raptly into each other’s eyes for all eternity. He thought it silly. All the same, he picked it up to see what song it contained. “Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet (Henry Mancini),” the bottom read. He moved to replace the box, then stopped himself. Instead, he wound the key on the bottom and listened. Of course. That was why the title seemed familiar. This was the piece Anna had played just before . . . He wanted to forget that day, his actions, everything about it. “Is it all right if I buy this one?” he asked Michaela. “She likes this piece.”

“Certainly.”

She looked pleased, he thought, as she scurried around, digging up a container as well as gift-wrap and ribbon, then wrapping the box. She didn’t want to take his money, but he insisted on paying her as much as he could afford, although he was sure that was far less than the box was worth.

“Now don’t trust this to the mails,” she said as she handed him the package. “The mechanism is much too delicate for that.”

“I won’t.” Anna should be home soon anyhow. He wanted to see the expression on her face when he gave it to her. Now he was convinced that he had chosen the perfect gift for redeeming himself, just the right thing for saying what he could not, that he was sorry he had turned away from her when she had needed him most.

Michaela said, “I hope everything goes well for you. And for Anna, too.”

“Yes.” He could think of nothing else to say. “Well, good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Rowan. Say good-bye to Anna for me.”

“I will.” He had the feeling that this was a special moment that called for something he was unequal to. An affectionate hug? No, she might misunderstand. A hearty handshake? Stupid. He could think of nothing apt, so he said simply, “Thanks for everything.”

Afterward, on his way to practice, he thought about her, wondered about her. He had a strange feeling that she knew about Anna, knew all about Anna. But how could she? Was it possible his father had told her? Somehow Rowan didn’t think so. Then he chided himself for letting his imagination work overtime.

Ten days had passed since Anna had left, and Rowan was growing more and more anxious about her.

“I’ve checked with Dr. Barrett every day and there’s no report yet,” his mother said.

“You know the old saw--no news is good news,” his father said lightly.

Too lightly. Rowan felt that he was the only one in the family who really cared about what was happening to Anna. He wondered if his parents were glad to have her off their hands, his mother because of her feelings of guilt, his father because Anna was a reminder of something he thought of as betrayal, as well as the excesses of science. Then Rowan reminded himself that he, too, was at fault. If he had not been so concerned about himself, he could, at least, have given Anna more support.

On the following day, a Friday, when there was still no word about Anna, he was troubled. He had left the conservatory at noon to prepare for the last play-off recital, a concert which was to be held that afternoon. He had gone home for a quick lunch, a shower, and a change of clothes. Even on this critical day, Anna was uppermost in his thoughts.