Letters to Jenny (28 page)

It’s been a long time, girl, since I met you, and longer since you met me, because you knew me through my novels, while I learned of you only when I received your mother’s first letter. Now we have met personally, for the first time.

It is said that a person who saves the life of another person is thereafter responsible for that other person. I didn’t understand that, at first; it seemed to me that it was the one who was saved who owed the debt. But as time passed I came to appreciate the meaning of it. A person who is dying will not have much concern with this world. Whether he goes to Heaven or to Hell or to nothingness, he is finished here. But if someone else interferes with his life—his death—and brings him back to this world, then he may not be ready for it. He may have had reason to leave this world, and be ill prepared to handle it. So the one who brings him back should at least see that the life he returns to is worthwhile, and that he can cope with it.

When I wrote to you while you were in the coma I wasn’t sure that my letter would bring you out of it, but I gave it the best try I could. Now it may be that you had decided to wake up on your own, the day my letter arrived. That you said to yourself “Well, I’ve had a good sleep, and it’s time to get up. Oh, there’s a letter from Piers Anthony? How nice. What’s for lunch?”

Was it that way? [Here was the first reaction from Jenny: a trace of a smile, and perhaps a slight squeeze of her hand. Humorous negation: it wasn’t that way.]

But maybe you were walking through the valley of the shadow of death, and you faced resolutely toward that other world. Until my hand caught your hand, and held you, and turned you back toward this world.

Now understand, I did not do this alone. When my hand caught yours, my other hand was holding your mother’s hand, and her other hand was holding your daddy’s hand, and there was a line of therapists and friends extending from our world toward you. [At this point I reached back and put my hand on the arm of the next closest person, Jenny’s father, illustrating the chain.] But they could not quite reach you, until I came and added one more link, and finally caught your hand.

So I do feel responsible. The chain needed every link, and I was the last link. I helped bring you back to this world. Then I thought about it, and wondered whether it was right to have done this. If I had brought you back only to a life of paralysis, to a life of no joy—then maybe I had done you no favor. Maybe I should have left well enough alone.

But it was too late. I could not undo what I had done, and I think I would not have changed it if I could have. So I had to justify it.

When I was your age, I was not happy. I had not suffered as you have, yet I reviewed my life, and realized that if I could have the choice of living it over exactly as it had been, or of never existing at all, I would choose not to exist. But that was early in my life. As I lived longer, my life improved, not steadily—it was two steps forward and one step backward—until today I have what is by any standard a very good life. If I had to live it all over now, I would do so.

I realized that I had to do what I could to make your life worth living, so that twenty years from now you can look back and say “Yes, yes, it was worth it, taken as a whole, the bad with the good, and I would do it again.” So I wrote to you, and encouraged you, and tried to help you in whatever way I could.

This convention is part of that. I think your salvation lies in art, in your drawing and painting. With the assistance of the computer you may be able to paint as well as you could with full use of your body. There are several good artists here, and they will talk to you. There are many other things to see here, and I think you will enjoy it.

And Richard Pini of Elfquest is here, and he has something for you. [Jenny broke into a great smile.] I will fetch him now.

Then I introduced Richard Pini, and got an immense smile from her. Richard gave her a color portrait of Jenny Elf, painted by Wendy Pini, looking just like Jenny but with pointed ears. He treated her like a little princess, and I could see how thrilled she was. Her two favorite realms are Xanth and Elfquest, and representatives of both were here to be with her. It was my hope that she could have a really good day, and it was coming true.

Then Jenny had to rest, and I went with Toni-Kay to look at the art exhibit. There were many beautiful and strange paintings, my favorite kind. After that I had to go autograph books at a Waldenbooks. They were supposed to have Sci-Con flyers there, but didn’t par for the course. They limited it to hardcovers, so it was not pressed; indeed it was quite slack in the middle of the two hours they had scheduled. But it evidently sold a number of
Total Recalls
, my version of the big Arnold Schwarzenegger movie for next year. I had not had a chance to eat lunch, but they dug up some chocolate doughnuts for me, and I munched on them while signing copies. One of the fans gave me a package of whole wheat crackers and smoked cheese. This business of eating: I am a creature of regular habits, but forget the notion of regular meals during such excursions. Why I don’t like to travel, # whatever.

Back at the hotel, I met Jenny in her convention dress: purple satin (I’m a dunce about such things, but that’s what it looked like to me) with matching high-heeled shoes: her first pair. She was like a doll. She had a corsage of artificial roses, and she gave me one. I wore it for the rest of the convention, and took it home: my memento of Jenny. Toni-Kay presented the painting she had brought: “Cats in the Window.” It showed a cluster of the softest, furriest cats sitting in a boarded cobwebbed window frame. Jenny collects cats; there are twelve at her home, because no stray can be allowed to go unrescued. By one of those supernatural coincidences, the wrapping paper Toni-Kay had chosen matched the shade of Jenny’s fancy dress.

Then Richard Pini and I took Jenny to the art exhibit, along with her parents and the therapists from the hospital and Toni-Kay and Barbara, so it was a party of nine or ten. Jenny indicated which paintings she liked, and Jenny’s mother entered bids for them. Jenny was really quite choosy; her mind is all there, and only the connections between it and her body are weak. Ron Lindahn gave her his personal tour of his art on display, which art was most impressive; he and his wife Val were the Art Guests of Honor for this convention. I have associated with him for two years, since meeting him at the World Fantasy Con in Nashville and making the compact to produce the Xanth Calendars. Kelly Freas, the dean of genre artists, came to say hello; Jenny met him at a convention years ago, as a child long before the accident, and he remembered her.

We emerged to the main hall, and the folk of the convention came to meet Jenny. She was the center of attention, surrounded by people, while Richard Pini and I stood back and watched, ignored. That was exactly the way we wanted it. It was Jenny’s hour. There was a small woman in an Elfquest costume, and three huge Klingons from
Star Trek
who kissed Jenny’s cheek and posed with her for photographs. Jenny has on occasion been treated by other children at the hospital as if she is retarded; she is not, and it was infuriating. She just can’t talk or move well. Here at the convention there was none of that; no one talked down to her. They even presented her with an award for best costume.

Finally she had to retire to her room, because she can’t remain sitting for long. She was very tired, but also very happy. She hoped to come out again after resting, but couldn’t make it. It was unfortunate that everything had to be jammed into a single day; originally she was to stay for the whole convention, so that her excursions could be properly spaced. But the convention folk had done everything I hoped for, and made it a phenomenal experience for her. Jenny was like Cinderella at the Ball, the center of attention for the occasion.

I signed autographs at 5
P.M.
After forty-five minutes someone came up and reported “You’ll be glad to know that the end of the line is now in the building.” It’s a good thing we limited it to one title per person! Someone gave me some homemade chocolate chip cookies; I was amidst signing and didn’t catch the name, to my regret.

Then we saw Jenny off. They tucked her Xanth cushion behind her head—my wife made that for her, and she keeps it with her—, loaded her into her wheelchair, and the wheelchair into the van and she was gone. She was tired, and I understand was falling asleep already, and that was surely best. But for me, and I think for many others, it was like the lights going down; the main event was over. She had been queen for a day, but now it was done.

In the early evening Richard Pini and I met with Kirby McCauley, who represents both of us, to discuss details of the graphic adaptation of
Isle of View
. Normally an agent represents the writer against the publisher, but this is a special project I’m into for love rather than money; my only concern was that the contract be fair to all parties. I hope the adaptation is a wild success and sells millions of copies and makes everyone rich—but I’ll settle for Jenny Elf coming to life in pictures as Jenny’s fantasy self.

I went to the Green Room, reserved for guests (as opposed to fans), and inquired what leftovers there were, as I had not had time for supper, and lunch had been those doughnuts. They dug up tofu salad, bagels and hot chocolate, being most accommodating. In fact the convention proprietors were good throughout; I told them how much I appreciated the way they treated Jenny. They knew that I had attended only for Jenny; in fact the program book lists me as the guest of Jennifer Elf, and they donated the proceeds of their Sketch-A-Thon to the Ronald McDonald House in Jenny’s name. I think that came to something like $900. I don’t have much use for McDonald’s, but I certainly approve of their House, which serves the families of those in distress, as it did for Jenny’s family when the accident was new and it was uncertain whether Jenny would live, let alone recover.

There were other programs, such as the Costume Dance, but that started at 11
P.M.
, past my bedtime. I would have stayed up for it if I could have gone with Jenny. As it was, I read myself to sleep on
Conan the Defiant
by Steve Perry; it was one of several books he sent me, when we were setting up for a collaborative project which I then scuttled for reasons unrelated to his merit as a writer. (I turned out six novels—almost 700,000 words—in 1988, and it will be only four in 1989—but one is the 200,000-word historical
Tatham Mound
, perhaps the major novel of my career. My schedule for 1990 stands at five, and I was simply getting overextended.) They say that Robert Jordan is the best Conan writer, but I liked this Perry Conan better than the Jordan Conan I read. Which is not to disparage Jordan; I am highly impressed by his major fantasy.

Sunday morning I discovered what had been there all the time: a big basket of flowers and fruit sent by Jenny’s family. I am a professional writer, an experienced observer who notes the nuances as well as the larger picture in all things. So how come I can’t see what’s under my nose? Had my wife been with me, she would have noticed the basket as we entered the room. But she had to stay home to feed the horses, because both our daughters are now in college and can’t do it. This was the first time I had traveled alone since the 1966 Milford Conference. Why I don’t like to travel—oh, never mind.

So my meals thereafter consisted of wheat crackers, chocolate chip cookies, bananas, apples and grapes, all provided as gifts from those attending the convention. The pears, unfortunately, were like rocks, being unripe, and the apples were borderline; apparently the folk who provide these items are more interested in appearance than consumption. Thus the best intentions of those who pay for these things are diverted by those who assemble them. I did not dare touch the oranges; the acid sensitizes my teeth, so that I can’t even brush them without pain. But the rest helped, and I got through, despite getting sensitive on the left side. Well, a week or so would see that fade. Why I don’t like to—forget it.

Ron Lindahn showed me eight of the pictures for the 1991 Xanth Calendar, and they were phenomenal; the artists are outdoing themselves, and it should be an even better calendar than the 1990 edition. I suspect that the existing one is already just about the best calendar in the genre. (I know, I know; let’s just leave the critics out of this. They
always
have another opinion. I should mention, however, that there is also an Elfquest Wolfriders Calendar for 1990, and yes, Jenny has one of those too.) I am the sponsor of the Xanth Calendars; I pay for them, Ron Lindahn makes them up, and then we sell the package to the publisher for printing and distribution. That way there is no editorial interference, and we can do the best job for the calendar and the artists. Now if only we can get better distribution …

At 10
A.M.
I joined Guest of Honor Todd Hamilton for autographing the
Visual Guide
to
Xanth
only. We were ready, the fans were ready—but it seemed that every copy of the book in eastern Virginia had sold out and neither stores nor distributor had any more. Now this might be taken as an indication of really hot selling—but the truth was unfortunately mundane. The publisher and distributor had simply not provided enough copies. There is nothing like a self-fulfilling prophecy: decide which books will not sell, and distribute few enough copies to guarantee it, never mind how many folk actually want to buy them. It is not the first time I have been rendered from a best-selling author to a low-selling author by the carelessness of others. I had not even received my author’s copies, though the book had been on sale for several weeks; Ricia Mainhardt had gotten some from the publisher, and she gave me one for myself and one I could take, suitably autographed, to Jenny. Thus it was that I discovered significant errors in the volume. Sigh. I had gone over the text, but hadn’t seen the late charts and illustrations. Most of the fans simply could not get copies, so the signing was a fair flop. This is unfortunately typical. When writers take over the world, things will be run better. Why I don’t like to travel to autograph: begin a list. At any rate, I took advantage of the slack to introduce Toni-Kay to Todd, who gave her advice on marketing her art and passed her on to Ron Lindahn, who gave her more that I hope will enable her to move forward in a career in art. In art, as in writing, there are folk who have talent but who aren’t into the swing of marketing; the right advice can make a significant difference. You need everything to make it: talent, persistence, good advice, luck and compromise.