The Santaroga Barrier (5 page)

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Authors: Frank Herbert

BOOK: The Santaroga Barrier
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The disconnected telephone call haunted Dasein. Was the line really down? What would Selador do? Selador knew the dangers here.
Dasein felt the sedative pulling him down into sleep. He tried to focus on the investigation. It was such a fascinating project. He could hear Selador explaining the facets that made the Santaroga Project such a glittering gem—
“
Taken singly, no item in this collection of facts could be considered alarming or worthy of extended attention. You might find it interesting that no person from Cloverdale, California, could be found in a mental hospital. It might be of passing interest to learn that the people of Hope, Missouri, consumed very little tobacco. Would you be alarmed to discover that all the business of Enumclaw, Washington, were locally owned? Certainly not. But when you bring all of these and the other facts together into a single community, something disturbing emerges. There is a difference at work here.
”
The drip of water in the bathroom was a compelling distraction.
Dangerous difference,
Dasein thought.
Who'll look in on me?
he wondered.
It occurred to him to ask himself then who had sounded the alarm. The breaking window had alerted someone. The most likely person would be Johnson, the room clerk. Why would he bring help to the person he was trying to kill? The paranoia in his own thoughts began to impress itself on Dasein.
It was an accident, Dasein thought.
It was an accident in a place of dangerous difference.
 
Dasein's morning began with a sensation of hunger. He awoke to cramping pains. Events of the night flooded into his memory. His head felt as though it had been kicked from the inside.
Gently, he pushed himself upright. There was a window directly ahead of him with the green branch of an oak tree across it. As though his muscles were controlled by some hidden force, Dasein found himself looking up at the door to see if there was a gas jet. Nothing met his questing gaze but a patch on the wallpaper to mark the place where a jet had been.
Holding his head as level as possible, Dasein eased himself out of bed and into the bathroom. A cold shower restored some of his sense of reality.
He kept telling himself:
It was an accident.
A bluejay was sitting on the oak branch screeching when Dasein emerged from the bathroom. The sound sent little clappers of pain through Dasein's head. He dressed hurriedly, hunger urging him. The bluejay was joined by a companion. They screeched and darted at each other through the oak tree, their topknots twitching. Dasein gritted his teeth, faced the mirror to tie his tie. As he was finishing the knot, he saw reflected in the mirror the slow inward movement of the hall door. A corner of a wheeled tray appeared. Dishes clattered. The door swung wider.
Jenny appeared in the doorway pushing the tray. Dasein stared at her in the mirror, his hands frozen at the tie. She wore a red dress, her long black hair caught in a matching bandeaux. Her skin displayed a healthy tan. Blue eyes stared back at him in the mirror. Her oval face was set in a look of watchful waiting. Her mouth was as full as he remembered it,
hesitating on the edge of a smile, a dimple flickering at her left cheek.
“Finish your tie,” she said. “I've brought you some breakfast.” Her voice had a well-remembered, throaty, soothing tone.
Dasein turned, moved toward her as though pulled by strings. Jenny abandoned the cart, met him halfway. She came into his arms, lifting her lips to be kissed. Dasein, feeling the warmth of her kiss and the familiar pressure of her against him, experienced a sensation of coming home.
Jenny pulled away, studied his face. “Oh, Gil,” she said, “I've missed you so much. Why didn't you even write?”
He stared at her, surprised to silence for a moment, then: “But I did write. You never answered.”
She pushed away from him, her features contorted by a scowl. “Ohhh!” She stamped her foot.
“Well, I see you found him.” It was Dr. Piaget in the doorway. He pushed the cart all the way into the room, closed the door.
Jenny whirled on him. “Uncle Larry! Did you keep Gil's letters from me?”
Piaget looked from her to Dasein. “Letters? What letters?”
“Gil wrote and I never got the letters!”
“Oh.” Piaget nodded. “Well, you know how they are at the post office sometimes—valley girl, fellow from outside.”
“Ohhh! I could scratch their eyes out!”
“Easy, girl.” Piaget smiled at Dasein.
Jenny whirled back into Dasein's arms, surprised him with another kiss. He broke away slightly breathless.
“There,” she said. “That's for being here. Those old biddies at the post office can't dump
that
in the trash basket.”
“What old biddies?” Dasein asked. He felt he had missed part of the conversation. The warmth of Jenny's kisses, her open assumption nothing had changed between them, left him feeling defenseless, wary. A year had passed, after all. He'd managed to stay away from here for a year—leaning on his wounded masculine ego, true, fearful he'd find Jenny married … lost to him forever. But what had she leaned on? She could've come to Berkeley, if only for a visit.
And I could've come here.
Jenny grinned.
“Why're you grinning?” he demanded. “And you haven't explained this about the post office and the …”
“I'm grinning because I'm so happy,” she said. “I'm grinning because I see the wheels going around in your head. Why didn't one of us go see the other before now? Well,
you're
here as I knew you would be. I just
knew
you would be.” She hugged him impulsively, said: “About the post office …”
“I think Gilbert's breakfast is getting cold,” Piaget said. “You don't mind if I call you Gilbert?”
“He doesn't mind,” Jenny said. Her voice was bantering, but there was a sudden stiffness in her body. She pushed away from Dasein.
Piaget lifted a cover from one of the plates on the cart, said: “Jaspers omelette, I see.
Real
Jaspers.”
Jenny spoke defensively with a curious lack of vitality: “I made it myself in Johnson's kitchen.”
“I see,” Piaget said. “Yes … well, perhaps that's best.” He indicated the plate. “Have at it, Gilbert.”
The thought of food made Dasein's stomach knot with hunger. He wanted to sit down and bolt the omelette … but something made him hesitate. He couldn't evade the nagging sense of danger.
“What's this Jaspers business?” he asked.
“Oh, that,” Jenny said, pulling the cart over to the chair by the desk. “That just means something made with a product from the Co-op. This is our cheddar in the omelette. Sit down and eat.”
“You'll like it,” Piaget said. He crossed the room, put a hand on Dasein's shoulder, eased him into the chair. “Just let me have a quick look at you.” He pinched Dasein's left ear lobe, studied it, looked at his eyes. “You're looking pretty fit. How's the head?”
“It's better now. It was pretty fierce when I woke up.”
“Okay. Eat your breakfast. Take it easy for a day or two. Let me know if you feel nauseated again or have any general symptoms of lethargy. I suggest you eat liver for dinner and I'll have Jenny bring you some more iron pills. You weren't in there long enough to cause you any permanent trouble.”
“When I think of that Mr. Johnson's carelessness, I want to take one of his cleavers to him,” Jenny said.
“We
are
bloodthirsty today, aren't we,” Piaget said.
Dasein picked up his fork, sampled the omelette. Jenny watched him, waiting. The omelette was delicious—moist and with a faint bite of cheese. He swallowed, smiled at her.
Jenny grinned back. “You know,” she said, “that's the first food I ever cooked for you.”
“Don't rush him off his feet, girl,” Piaget said. He patted her head, said: “I'll leave you two for now. Why don't you bring your young man along home for dinner? I'll have Sarah make what he needs.” He glanced at Dasein. “That all right with you?”
Dasein swallowed another bite of the omelette. The cheese left a tangy aftertaste that reminded him of the unpasteurized beer Burdeaux had served. “I'd be honored, sir,” he said.
“Honored, yet,” Piaget said. “We'll expect you around seven.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “It's almost eight-thirty, Jenny. Aren't you working today?”
“I called George and told him I'd be late.”
“He didn't object?”
“He knows … I have a friend … visiting.” She blushed.
“Like that, eh? Well, don't get into any trouble.” Piaget turned, lumbered from the room with a head-down purposeful stride.
Jenny turned a shy, questioning smile on Dasein. “Don't mind Uncle Larry,” she said. “He darts around like that—one subject then another. He's a very real, wonderful person.”
“Where do you work?” Dasein asked.
“At the Co-op.”
“The cheese factory?”
“Yes. I'm … I'm on the inspection line.”
Dasein swallowed, reminded himself he was here to do a market study. He was a spy. And what would Jenny say when she discovered that? But Jenny posed a new puzzle. She had a superior talent for clinical psychology—even according to Dr. Selador whose standards were high. Yet … she worked in the cheese factory.
“Isn't there any work … in your line here?” he asked.
“It's a good job,” she said. She sat down on the edge of the
desk, swung her legs “Finish your breakfast. I didn't make that coffee. It's out of the hotel urn. Don't drink it if it's too strong. There's orange juice in the metal pitcher. I remembered you take your coffee black and didn't bring any …”
“Whoa!” he said.
“I'm talking too much I know it,” she said. She hugged herself. “Oh, Gil, I'm so happy you're here. Finish your breakfast and you can take me across to the Co-op. Maybe I can take you on the guided tour. It's a fascinating place. There are lots of dark corners back in the storage cave.”
Dasein drained his coffee, shook his head. “Jenny, you are incorrigible.”
“Gil, you're going to love it here. I know you are,” she said.
Dasein wiped his lips on his napkin. She was still in love with him. He could see that in every look. And he … he felt the same way about her. It was still
love me love my valley,
though. Her words betrayed it. Dasein sighed. He could see the blank wall of an unresolvable difference looming ahead of them. If her love could stand the discovery of his true role here, could it also stand breaking away from the valley? Would she come away with him?
“Gil, are you all right?” she asked.
He pushed his chair back, got up. “Yes. I'm …”
The telephone rang.
Jenny reached behind her on the desk, brought the receiver to her ear. “Dr. Dasein's room.” She grinned at Dasein. The grin turned to a scowl. “Oh, it's you, Mr. Pem Johnson, is it? Well, I'll tell you a thing or two, Mr. Johnson! I think you're a criminal the way you almost killed Dr. Dasein! If you'd … No! Don't you try to make excuses! Open gas jets in the rooms! I think Dr. Dasein ought to sue you for every cent you have!”
A tinny, rasping noise came from the phone. Dasein recognized only a few words. The grin returned to Jenny's face. “It's Jenny Sorge, that's who it is,” she said. “Don't you … well, I'll tell you if you'll be quiet for a minute! I'm here bringing Dr. Dasein what the doctor ordered for him—a good breakfast. He doesn't dare eat anything you'd have prepared for him. It'd probably have poison in it!”
Dasein crossed to a trunk stand where his suitcase had been
left, opened it. He spoke over his shoulder. “Jenny, what's he want, for heaven's sake?”
She waved him to silence.
Dasein rummaged in the suitcase looking for his briefcase. He tried to remember what had been done with it in the confusion of the previous night, looked around the room. No sign of it. Someone had gone to the other room for his things. Maybe whoever it was had missed the briefcase. Dasein thought of the case's contents, wet his lips with his tongue. Every step of his program to unravel the mystery of the Santaroga Barrier was outlined there. In the wrong hands, that information could cause him trouble, throw up new barriers.
“I'll tell him,” Jenny said.
“Wait a minute,” Dasein said. “I want to talk to him.” He took the phone from her. “Johnson?”
“What do you want?” There was that twangy belligerency, but Dasein couldn't blame him after the treatment he'd received from Jenny.

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