Orson Scott Card - Treasure Box

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Treasure Box

Orson Scott Card

To Russ and Tammy Card,

dear friends and beloved family,

for the faithfulness that carries you

along roads rough and smooth

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For the first time in many years, I actually wrote an entire novel at home. Thus

every page was wrung from the patience of my family. Kristine and Emily read

every chapter as the first draft emerged from the printer, and Geoff was not far

behind; the fax lines hummed as Kathy Kidd in remotest Sterling, Virginia,

received and read each night's work the morning after. To all four of you,

thanks for your responses, which helped me know what I had written and how it

needed to be improved.

Later, when the first draft was completed, I had great help from other advance

readers, most notably my friend David Fox and my wise editor at Harper, Eamon

Dolan; they also have my gratitude. Any flaws still remaining are probably due

to my stubborn disregard of good advice.

My thanks to Kathleen Bellamy and Scott Alien for good work under all

circumstances. Thanks also to Clark and Kathy Kidd, for giving me DC and

northern Virginia.

And last of all my thanks to Charlie Ben and Zina, for reminding me always of

the joyful striving of childhood.

CONTENTS

1. Harvest

2. Groceries

3. In the Garden

4. Prenuptial Agreement

5. Bliss

6. She Loves You, Yeah

7. No Place Like Home

8. Footprints

9. Missing

10. Memories

11. Reunion

12. Believer

13. Salad

14. Old Lady Tyler

15. Snow

16. The User

17. Hair

18. The Dragon

19. Into the Grave

1. Harvest

Quentin Fears never told his parents the last thing his sister Lizzy said to him

before they pulled the plug on her and let her die.

For three days after the traffic accident, Lizzy lay in a coma, her body hosed,

piped, pumped, probed, measured, medicated and fed so the doctors could keep her

organs in good condition for transplant, while Mom and Dad struggled with the

question of whether she was really dead.

Not that they had any doubts. The doctors showed them the flat lines of Lizzy's

brainwaves. The doctors reverently assured the Fearses that if there were the

tiniest spark of a hope that Lizzy was actually alive inside that bandaged head,

they would cling to that hope and do all in their power to revive her. But there

was hope only for the people whose lives might be saved by Lizzy's organs, and

then only if they could harvest them before they deteriorated. Mom and Dad

nodded, tears streaming down their faces, and believed.

But eleven-year-old Quentin did not believe the doctors. He could see that Lizzy

was alive. He could see how the huge bruise reached out from under the bandages,

blackening Lizzy's eyes; he watched the bruise change over the three days of the

coma, and he knew she was alive. Dead people's bruises didn't change like that.

And Lizzy's hands were warm and flexible. Dead people had cold, stiff hands. The

machines that measured brainwaves weren't infallible. And who was to say there

wasn't something deeper than the electrical activity of the brain?

"Quen understands about brain death," said Dad to one of the doctors late on the

first day of her coma. He spoke softly, perhaps thinking Quentin was asleep.

"You don't have to talk down to him."

The doctor murmured something even softer. Maybe it began as an apology, but it

ended more as a question, a doubt, a demand.

Whatever it was the doctor said, Dad answered, "He and Lizzy were very close."

Quentin murmured his correction: "We are close."

It was just a word. A slip of the tongue. Only it meant that Dad had given up.

She was already dead in his mind.

The men moved out into the corridor to continue their conversation. That

happened more and more in the hours and days that followed. Quentin knew they

were out there plotting how to get him out of the way. He knew that everything

any grown-up said to him was bent to that purpose. Grandpa and Grammy Fears came

to see him, and then Nanny Say, Mom's mom, but all conversations seemed to come

to the same end. "Come on home, dear, and let Lizzy rest."

"Let them murder her, you mean."

And then they'd burst into tears and leave the room and Dad and Mom would come

in and there'd be another fight in which Quentin would look them in the eye and

say—not screaming, because Lizzy had told him years ago that screaming just made

adults think of you as a child and then you'd never get any respect—he would

look them in the eye and say whatever would stop them, whatever would make them

leave the room with Lizzy still alive on the bed and Quentin still standing

guard beside her.

"If you drug me, if you drag me out of here, if you murder her in my sleep, I

will hate you for it for the rest of my life. I will never, never, never, never,

never..."

"We get the idea," said Dad, his voice like ice.

"Never, never, never, never, never..."

Mom pleaded with him. "Please don't say it, Quen."

"Never forgive you."

This last time the scene played out, on the third day of the coma, Mom rushed

crying from the room, out to the corridor where her own mother was already in

tears from what Quentin had said to her. Dad was left alone with him in Lizzy's

room.

"This isn't about Lizzy anymore," said Dad. "This is about you getting your own

way. Well, you're not going to get your own way on this, Quentin Fears, because

there's no one on God's green earth who has the power to give it to you. She's

dead. You're alive. Your mother and I are alive. We'd like to be able to grieve

for our little girl. We'd like to be able to think of her the way she was, not

tubed up like this. And while we're at it, we'd like our son back. Lizzy meant a

lot to you. Maybe it feels like she meant everything to you and if you let go of

her there'll be nothing left. But there is something left. There's your life.

And Lizzy wouldn't have wanted you to—"

"Don't tell me what Lizzy would have wanted," said Quentin. "She wanted to be

alive, that's what she wanted."

"Do you think your mother and I don't want that too?" Dad's voice barely made a

sound and his eyes were wet.

"Everybody wants her dead except for me."

Quentin could see that it took all of Dad's self-control not to hit him, not to

rage back at him. Instead Dad left the room, letting the door slam shut behind

him. And Quentin was alone with Lizzy.

He wept into her hand, feeling the warmth of it despite the needle dripping some

fluid into a vein, despite the tape that held the needle on, despite the

coldness of the metal tube of the bedrail against his forehead. "Oh, God," said

Quentin. "Oh, God."

He never said that, not the way the other kids did. Oh God when the other team

gets a home run. Oh God when somebody says something really stupid. Jesus H.

Christ when you bump your head. Quentin wasn't raised that way. His parents

never swore, never said God or Jesus except when they were talking religion. And

so when Quentin's own mouth formed the words, it couldn't be that he was

swearing like his friends. It had to be a prayer. But what was he praying for?

Oh God, let her live? Could he even believe in that possibility? Like the Sunday

school story, Jesus saying to Jairus, "She isn't dead, the little girl is only

sleeping"? Even in the story they laughed him to scorn.

Quentin wasn't Jesus and he knew he wasn't praying for her to rise from the

dead. Well, maybe he was but that would be a stupid prayer because it wasn't

going to happen. What then? What was he praying for? Understanding?

Understanding of what? Quentin understood everything. Mom and Dad had given up,

the doctors had given up, everybody but him. Because they all "understood."

Well, Quentin didn't want to understand.

Quentin wanted to die. Not die too because he wasn't going to think of Lizzy

dying or especially of her already being dead. No, he wanted to die instead. A

swap, a trade. Oh God, let me die instead. Put me on this bed and let her go On

home with Mom and Dad. Let it be me they give up on. Let it be my plug they

pull. Not Lizzy's.

Then like a dream he saw her, remembered her alive. Not the way she looked only

a few days ago, fifteen years old, the Saturday morning her friend Kate took her

joyriding even though neither of them had a license and Kate spun the car

sideways into a tree and a branch came through the open passenger window like

the finger of God and poked twenty inches of bark and leaves right through

Lizzy's head and Kate sat there completely unharmed except for Lizzy's blood and

brains dripping from the leaves onto her shoulder. Quentin didn't see Lizzy with

dresses and boys who wanted to take her out and a makeup kit on her side of the

bathroom sink. What Quentin saw in his dream of her was the old Lizzy, his best

friend Lizzy whose body was as lean as a boy's, Lizzy who was really his brother

and his sister, his teacher and his confidante. Lizzy who always understood

everything and guided him past the really dumb mistakes of life and made him

feel like everything was safe, if you were just smart and careful enough. Lizzy

on a skateboard, teaching him how to walk it up the steps onto the porch, "Only

don't let Mom see you or she'll have a conniption because she thinks every

little thing we do is going to get us killed."

Well it can get you killed, Lizzy. You didn't know everything. You didn't know

every damn thing, did you! You didn't know you had to watch out for a twig

reaching into the open window of your car and punching a hole in your brain. You

stupid! You stupid stupid...

"Mellow out," Lizzy said to him.

He didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to know whether it was Lizzy speaking

through those lips, out from under that heavy bandage, or merely Lizzy speaking

in the dream.

"I wasn't stupid, it was just the way things happen sometimes. Sometimes there's

a twig and there's a car and they're going to intersect and if there's a head in

the way, well ain't that too bad."

"Kate shouldn't have been driving without her license."

"Well, aren't you the genius, you think I haven't figured that out by now? What

do you imagine I'm doing, lying here in this bed, except going over and over all

the moments when I could have said no to Kate? So let me tell you right now,

don't you dare blame her, because I could have said no, and she wouldn't have

done it. We went joyriding because I wanted to as much as she did and you can

bet she feels lousy enough so don't you ever throw it up in her face, do you

understand me, you tin-headed quintuplet?"

Quentin didn't want her to tell him off right now. He was in the middle of a war

trying to save her life and the last thing he was worried about was Kate. "I'm

never going to see her again anyway."

"Well, you should, because if you don't, she's going to think you blame her."

"I don't care what she thinks, Lizzy! All I want is you back, don't you get

that?"

"Hey, Tin, there's no way. I'm brain dead. The lights are out. The body's empty.

I'm gone. Toast. Wasted."

He didn't want to hear this. "You... are... alive."

"Yeah, well, right, and it's a lot of fun."

"They're trying to kill you, Lizzy. Mom and Dad, just like the doctors. Grammy

and Grandpa and Nanny Say, too. They want to unhook you from everything and then

cut out your kidneys and your eyes and your heart and your lungs."

"My chitlins, you mean."

"Shut up!"

"My giblets."

"Shut up!" Didn't she know that this wasn't a joke? This was life and death

going on here and she was still joking like it didn't matter.

"It does matter," she said. "I'm just trying to cheer you up. Just trying to

show you I'm not really gone."

"Well don't tell me, tell them. If I try to tell them you talked to me, they'll

put me in the loony bin."

"They're coming to take me away, ha ha, hee hee, ho ho—"

"Stop it!"

"Tin, I'm here, not there, not in that body. Here."

But he wouldn't look up. Didn't want to see whatever she wanted him to see.

"All right, be that way. Stubbornest kid ever spawned of man and woman. You're

driving Mom and Dad crazy, you dig, you dig, you dig?"

He did the next step in the ritual. "I dig, I dig, I dig."

"Well, well, well," she said, and giggled.

"They're trying to kill you."

"My body's no good to me anymore, Tin. You know that. And even when it's gone

and buried or whatever, I'll still be here."

"Yeah, right, like you're going to come talk to me every day."

"Is that what this is about, then, Tin? What you want? I'm supposed to stay

around so you can cuddle me like a stuffed animal or something?"

"Mom and Dad should have been the ones trying to save you!" That was the crux of

it, wasn't it? Mom and Dad shouldn't have believed the doctors so easily. Too

easily.

"Tin, listen to me. Sometimes your Mom and Dad are the only ones who know when

it's time for you to die."

"That's the sickest lousiest most evil thing I ever heard anybody say! Parents

don't ever want their children to die!"

"They didn't put the tree there. They didn't put the car there. They didn't put

me in the car. They didn't put me in this bed. I did all that myself, Tin, or

chance did, or fate or maybe God, he hasn't said. The only choice I left for

them was whether my death was going to be completely meaningless or not. Give

them a break."

"I'll never forgive them."

"Then I'll never forgive you."

"For what!"

"For keeping me tied down like this, Tin."

He couldn't help it then. He opened his eyes. And she wasn't there. Nobody was

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TreasureBoxOrsonScottCardToRussandTammyCard,dearfriendsandbelovedfamily,forthefaithfulnessthatcarriesyoualongroadsroughandsmoothACKNOWLEDGMENTSForthefirsttimeinmanyyears,Iactuallywroteanentirenovelathome.Thuseverypagewaswrungfromthepatienceofmyfamily.KristineandEmilyreadeverychapterasthefirstdraftem...

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Orson Scott Card - Treasure Box

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