Michael Armstrong- Mother To Elves

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MICHAEL ARMSTRONG

MOTHER TO ELVES

THE WHEELS OF THE Mandelbrot screen whirled round and round, pixels flickering

on and off on the liquid crystal screen, colors shifting as the fractal waves

rippled through new equations. Clara, Mrs. Thompson's only daughter and the

child of the late Mr. Thompson, God bless his soul, knelt before the screen,

staring at the images, fascinated and totally absorbed. Mrs. Thompson watched

her daughter, smiled at her and the other children and their parents, waiting

she had waited dozens of times before. She hoped that this time the long trip

the four trolley changes to get across Urbus -- would be worth it.

Mrs. Thompson hoped that of all the doctors and therapists in Beyond's only

city, that this one, with the tests he had ordered and the odd questions he

had

asked on their last visit, would finally be able to unlock the strange secrets

of Clara's mind. She hoped that he could explain why, at the age of three,

Clara

had yet to utter one single word, and why she had become such an odd child.

Clara looked up at the screen with her huge, ice blue eyes. She had a long and

strange looking face, but not an ugly strange or a hideous strange face--just

different, almost cute, enough so that people often commented on it. Glancing

her mother, and then quickly away when Mrs. Thompson caught her gaze, Clara

reached for the screen.

A re-set button lay just within a child's reach on the Mandelbrot generator,

which was sort of the idea, and Clara stretched her long fingers and punched

the

button. The screen flickered to black, and then the cycle started again, a

simple wave starting and then becoming more and more complex. Clara tapped the

re-set button again, and again, barely waiting long enough for the cycle to

start. Then, some chip of logic within the screen's microprocessor shut the

screen down, and it stayed black despite Clara's continued pounding of the

re-set button. Finally, she sat down, glared at the screen, and turned to Mrs.

Thompson.

"Jesus Goddamn Christ, Mother, this fucker doesn't work," Clara said.

"Clara?!" Mrs. Thompson rose as if some rude man had pinched her behind, and

went to her child. "Clara!" Her first thought was, Was that all it took, just

sitting in that doctor's waiting room?

"Holy mother of Mary," Clara said. "Good damn it, Momma, this asshole thing

doesn't work."

"Clara!" she screamed. "Oh my god! Holy Jesus!"

"Jesus erring Christ," Clara said.

"My god." The other parents looked at Mrs. Thompson, at the strange child

quietly speaking obscenities and her mother shouting joyful praises.

A door opened in the wall separating the reception area from the mysterious

chambers beyond, and the doctor himself appeared.

"What's the problem?" asked Dr. Ramos.

"My daughter," Mrs. Thompson said, "can speak."

"Goddamn it," Clara said.

"Well." The doctor glanced down at the clipboard in his hands, thought for a

moment, smiled, and then looked up. "You're Mrs. Thompson? Your daughter is

Clara?"

"Yes, yes. My daughter can speak. She's never spoken before! Never! Ever!"

Mrs.

Thompson waved at her.

"Fucking Hallelujah!" Clara said.

"Never?" Dr. Ramos flipped through the clipboard, then looked at Clara, then

the clipboard. "Well of course! It's amazing. She's never spoken until now? It

makes perfect sense!"

"It does?"

"Sucking eggs Mary Lamb of God," said Clara.

"Absolutely," said Dr. Ramos, and he waved them both back to his office.

In the doctor's office Mrs. Thompson told Dr. Ramos the story about the

Mandelbrot generator, about Clara turning it on and off. He asked Clara a few

questions. Clara responded in more complete sentences. Dr. Ramos looked at

Clara, at her long, droopy face, at her sweet smile and her eerie blue eyes

with

the strange star-shaped patterns in the iris. The two Beyond suns shone

through

Dr. Ramos' office window, lighting up Clara's downy blonde hair and making it

glow like a corona. Dr. Ramos punched up her file on his desk slate, slapped a

cuff around her arm and quickly checked Clara's blood pressure -high, as usual

-- and then Dr. Ramos grinned, as if he had discovered a gold nugget the size

a potato underneath the clutter of his desk.

"She's an elfin child, all right," he said. "A pixie person. The proper term

'Williams' Syndrome.' Clara has all the diagnostic signs: the facial

characteristics, the eyes, high blood pressure. Have you had an image scan

done?

Have you talked to a cardiologist?"

"Cardiologist? No, why . . .?"

"Well, I'll bet she has a supravalvular aortic stenosis, of course." Mrs.

Thompson frowned at the term. "Narrowing of the aorta. We'll have to call the

Navy, of course, standard procedure in the case of a genetic treasure like

Clara."

"Genetic treasure? Navy? Wait a second, Doctor . . ."

"It's amazing," he said, almost ignoring Mrs. Thompson. "Incredible! What a

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Michael Armstrong- Mother To Elves

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