Homepage
Login
Profile
BookClubs
dmBox
Read Ebook: Family Tree by Fontenay Charles L Orban Paul Illustrator
Font size:
Background color:
Text color:
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page
Ebook has 296 lines and 12716 words, and 6 pages
"Dr. Allison," said Sands behind him, raising his voice slightly as Truggles walked away, "may even consent to tell you why Blan Forsythe's face is liver-colored. From what I hear of you, Mr. Truggles, that probably is your principal complaint against him."
Truggles straightened as though stabbed between the shoulder blades. He quickened his pace.
That had been a telling blow. Could Sands know? No, it was impossible. The recurring waves of time and travel had long since obliterated Truggles' distant past. The Brazilian was a secret demon in his own heart, his private, bitter hatred, the swarthy ogre who had crushed the flower of his life and whose face arose to torment him only in times of bitterness.
Sands was an idiot. All of these people in Marston Hill were idiots, letting a man like Forsythe fool them, liking him, looking up to him. They were empty shells, people, to be possessed alike by the strong, whether angel or demon. He, Truggles, would pit his strength against Forsythe.
As for Sands....
Old fool! Entrenched politician! Truggles had dealt with such civic laxity before. Direct action would be necessary.
There was a touch of frost on the grass the evening Masefield Truggles went again to the Allison home. Dr. Alex Allison, a chubby man with rimless spectacles, admitted him.
Truggles caught a glimpse of Phyllis Allison and the boy, Donald, in the kitchen as Allison led him through the dining room. They mounted a short flight of stairs to Allison's study.
Allison offered him wine and a cigar. Truggles refused. Allison placed the wine decanter back on the shelf unopened, but lit a cigar and settled back comfortably in his chair.
"Well, Mr. Truggles?" he asked briskly, with the air of a man who had no time to waste. Truggles looked him over, assessing him, and decided on the direct attack.
"I wonder if you are aware, Dr. Allison," he said softly, "that your employer is breaking up your home?"
He waited for the reaction. There was none. Allison puffed calmly on his cigar and waited. The light glinted from his spectacles as he kept his eyes fixed steadily on Truggles' face.
"Dr. Allison, your wife confessed to me that she still loves her former husband, Blan Forsythe," said Truggles, emphasizing every word.
"I was aware of that," said Allison unconcernedly. "Most women who know Blan are desperately in love with him. Is that all you came to see me about?"
He half rose from his chair. Truggles made a hurried gesture of protest. He realized he had tried to move too fast.
"No, no," said Truggles hastily. "Forgive me, Dr. Allison, but I was agitated over the situation. What I really came here for was to ask you to give me some information about Mr. Forsythe."
"Why?" asked Allison.
The flat question caught Truggles unprepared. He was aware that his mouth hung open foolishly as he tried desperately to frame an answer that would not be too revealing.
"Why--I was trying to lay to rest some rumors," he stammered at last. "Mayor Sands said you might tell me something about Mr. Forsythe."
Allison was silent for a long minute. He took the cigar from his mouth, knocked half an inch of ash into an ashtray and resumed his puffing.
"Mr. Truggles, how much do you know about mice?" Allison asked.
Truggles stared at him, unable to answer. This interview was beginning to take on a nightmarish aspect.
"What do you consider to be the principal difference between mice and men, Mr. Truggles?" pursued Allison.
"Really, Dr. Allison, I don't see--I don't know what point you're trying to make, but a mouse is an animal and a man is--well, a man."
"Nothing else?"
"Well, a man is bigger than a mouse." He began to feel familiar ground under his feet. "A man is bigger more ways than physically. He is bigger spiritually, emotionally. He thinks. He has a--"
"Ben Sands told me about his talk with you. So you don't believe in evolution? You don't believe the ancestors of men and monkeys came from a common stock?"
"I do not, sir. It is inconceivable...."
"How would mice strike you, then? Would you rather believe that men descended from mice than monkeys?"
Again the bewildered Truggles found himself physically incapable of answering.
"Blan Forsythe is the real originator of this theory, as a result of his very personal interest in sudden evolutionary changes through doubling of chromosomes. It is reasonable to suppose that the ancestor of man himself, with all of his survival advantages, arose through such a process. Man has 48 chromosomes. Now, Mr. Truggles, what sort of animal would you guess has half that number--24 chromosomes?"
"Mice?" hazarded Truggles thinly.
"Is that what is called a mutation?" asked Truggles, interested in spite of himself.
"Mutation? A mutation is a change in one gene. Men mutate every day. How many millions upon millions of years do you think it would take simple mutations to build a man from a rodent--or a lemur, either, for that matter?"
"Well, really, Dr. Allison, I believe you misunderstand what I asked you. Your theory is fine, I'm sure, among scientists, but I'm interested in information about Blan Forsythe."
"That's what I've given you. Blan Forsythe is a tetraploid man. His cells carry 96 chromosomes instead of the normal 48. Every cell of his body is doubled."
"Is that why his skin is liver-colored?" asked Truggles, remembering what Sands had said.
Allison smiled.
"Coincidence," he said. "It's true that liver cells have doubled chromosomes, but that isn't the reason for the color."
"What does all this mean, then?" asked Truggles.
Allison laid his half-smoked cigar carefully on the edge of the ashtray and gazed at Truggles through his spectacles.
"Blan Forsythe is a new species," he said slowly. "He is not man. Everyone has theorized that a superman might arise from a mutation, perhaps caused by radiation. My God, a hundred mutations of individual genes wouldn't make a superman overnight! But Blan Forsythe is one--a tetraploid man--a superman."
"And what is a superman, Dr. Allison?" asked Truggles drily, thinking of Nietzsche and the Sunday comic strips.
"Who knows? How can you and I comprehend the novel qualities, the undreamed-of abilities of such a creature? Do you think a mouse could understand a man's ability to reason, to talk, to build machines? Blan may not realize them himself. After all, he was reared in a human society, and no doubt the tetraploid rodent which is our ancestor seemed little different from his associates. There are two things I'm sure of: the differences are there, and they are qualities you and I could never point to and say, 'This is an ability of the superman.'"
Truggles' mouth twisted in a crooked smile. Allison had allowed his enthusiasm to draw him out. Allison was vulnerable now.
"And because this man--this creature--is different, you allow him to cuckold you?" he demanded in a low, ugly voice.
Allison was not vulnerable.
"Don't let Phyllis mislead you," he said quietly. "She thinks Donald is Blan's child because she always yearned to give Blan the child he wanted. Donald was born two years after they were divorced."
"She seems very sure," insinuated Truggles.
"It is possible for a tetraploid to be fertile in a mating with a normal diploid," said Allison. "Persian wheat, with 14 chromosomes, crossed with a grass which has seven chromosomes, to produce common wheat. That was Blan's hope while he and Phyllis were married, and it's still his hope with the others. I was his doctor and associate then, as I am now. Neither Phyllis nor Donald has more than the normal number of chromosomes, and Blan has not seen Phyllis since they were divorced."
"What, then, Dr. Allison, is this 'Power' that your wife says the boy has?"
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page