Adopted Son Read online

  Off in the corner, behind the majority of the crowd, a solitary man was protesting. He held aloft a large, handmade sign. The sign had a tempura-paint rendition of an HS child’s head. Underneath were the words, “These Are Our Children Too.” The man went almost completely unnoticed by those who came to listen to the Senator’s message. They came here to believe, to be inspired, to be assured. Assured that the future would turn out all right. They weren’t looking for a debate.

  A few hours after Ray Johnston’s victory speech. The Hayes residence, Fredrick, MD

  In most markets, the evening news that night showed at least part of Senator Johnston’s speech. The election had been a very popular subject that fall, with many incumbents losing to new maverick outsiders that promised results. It was the same as most elections in that regard. The people wanted a change because they didn’t like what was happening. Unfortunately, as with most elections, the only fundamental way in which challengers differed from the incumbents was name recognition. New ideas were few and far between. Of course, that didn’t stop people from hoping and dreaming that the election would make their lives better. Perhaps that creation of hope is the most important function of the election season.

  Janice Hayes sat on the sofa and watched the news with more enthusiasm than most of the electorate. It wasn’t that she had any particular political leanings, nor was it that she had a feeling that any of the candidates were truly better than any of the others. She was excited about the election because Ray Johnston had just been elected. One might think that it was because she was excited about the new senator’s politics, but that wasn’t it. It was because she had a personal link to Mr. Johnston in the form of her husband. It was one thing to watch an election, but another thing altogether to actually know a senator. She almost dropped the couple’s newborn from her arms when the news anchor started talking about the recent New York campaigns.

  “That’s him! That’s him Colin,” she said excitedly as the footage of the speech was played. “Isn’t this exciting? You actually know him! That’s him right?”

  “Yeah, that’s Ray,” Colin said dejectedly. He was slumped in a large recliner chair, trying to ignore the television and read an article in this month’s Journal of Biochemical Virology.

  “I’ve never known a senator before.”

  “Janice, you don’t know him now. You’ve never even met the guy.” Colin put down the journal.

  “But I will, won’t I? You’re going to take that job he offered you, aren’t you? You have to take it, think about what that’ll mean to the family.”

  Colin stood up and paced around the room a little. “I don’t think that I want to take that job Janice. I worked with Ray for months, I don’t think I want to work for him anymore. He’s going to cause problems, I tell you.” He left the room and wandered into the kitchen. He didn’t really need anything there, he just wanted to get out of the conversation. Janice wasn’t ready to let this drop. Ever since the Senator’s Chief of Staff called last week, Janice had been in a tizzy. They wanted to put Colin on a very important (or at least important sounding) interagency panel to study the HS virus. The phone call had come out of the blue one day. She had heard Colin talk about a guy named ‘Ray’ before when he was putting in all that overtime last year, but she never in her wildest dreams expected that it was THE Ray Johnston that he had been talking about. And now, Ray Johnston wanted to put her husband on a blue ribbon panel, and he didn’t want to do it? That didn’t make any sense, especially with things being the way they were now.

  Janice stood up and followed Colin into the kitchen, still clutching the infant to her chest. He was just standing there, facing the cupboard, an empty glass hanging limply from his hand. She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He turned to her. “You don’t understand Janice. You just have stars in your eyes. Ray Johnston isn’t a biologist. He doesn’t understand this virus. He thinks that he can wave money and guns at the problem and make it go away. That isn’t going to happen. This isn’t something that we are going to be able to stop. He said that he is going to ‘cure’ HS kids. You can’t cure HS kids, not once the virus has done its work. This thing is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I don’t want to be part of an effort that I know is going to fail. I don’t want to be part of Ray Johnston’s solution. He is going to get more desperate on this. Did you see some of those signs his supporters had? Who knows what those people will do when science can’t meet Ray’s promises? I don’t think that he knows what he is getting into. I don’t think that he knows what he is fast becoming the spokesman for. Can’t you feel an undercurrent beneath this?”

  Janice countered, “All I know is that I want what’s best for our family. I want to feel secure. I don’t want to live out here in some old drafty house in the sticks. I want to mingle with high society. I want what’s best for all of us, what’s best for Ben, and Neil.”

  “I want what’s best for our kids too Janice, that’s why I don’t think we should get involved with Ray and his guys. I haven’t talked to Ray in over a year. He doesn’t know about Neil. I don’t think that I would be on this panel if he knew about Neil.” Colin pushed aside some of the blanket and exposed Neil’s hand. The impossibly long fingers of the baby’s hand reached out and grabbed Colin’s fingers. “He says that he is for HS kids, but as this epidemic becomes more widespread, I don’t know how he’ll react, how the people will react. I don’t know if I want to be a part of that. We’ve got to look out for little Neil here.”

  “But that’s just another reason to get in there,” Janice replied. “Every day I see people speaking out against HS, saying that it’s dangerous to be around HS children. They say that it’s contagious, and that it’s somehow disloyal to have an HS kid. Well, if you were on the panel, if you got a chance to speak at the meetings, maybe you could change things. Maybe you could act as the voice of reason? Maybe you could help little Neil here.” She held out the blankets for Colin. He took hold of them and began to cuddle the infant to his chest. The child’s wide, black eyes stared back up at him. Colin smiled.

  “You know, I didn’t even want another child Janice. I knew that he would be HS-positive. I’ve worked around it so much I knew I had to be contaminated.”

  “It’s a little miracle from God,” Janice said knowingly. “I was taking birth control pills at the time, right? So the fact that I got pregnant anyway has to mean something doesn’t it?” Actually, Janice had been ‘forgetting’ to take her pills for some months before Neil was conceived, but Colin didn’t need to know that. “There has to be a message here. I say we listen to it. I say that you join up with Mr. Johnston and you help him. Not for the world, but for the family, for Neil, for me, for Ben. We need you more than your country needs you.”

  Colin relented. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll call back the guy from his office. I’ll talk about it some more, get some more information.”

  “That’s all I ask Colin. I love you.” She squeezed up against him and put her arms around him. It felt so good, the three of them, all cuddled together like that. She closed her eyes and placed her head on his shoulders.

  Two months before Ray Johnston’s victory speech, Underhill Avenue, Bronx, NY

  Little Franklin was struggling to keep up with the Father. Even though the priest walked slowly through the neighborhood streets, Franklin’s small legs had to work overtime to maintain the pace. He was quite a sight dressed for the winter. Nothing fit properly except his hat. The dark green hand-me-down parka was at least two sizes to big for him. His pants, although cinched tightly at the waist by the Sister that morning were floppy and falling down. It was almost impossible to find the correct size for him. His legs and arms were too long and skinny, even for specialty stores. The orphanage usually had to make due with donated clothing, even if that meant that Franklin tripped over the cuffs of his pants, had his shoes occasionally fly off, and had his shirt sleeves constantly getting dipped in soup bowls. The only thing that truly
fit was his purple cap, which had been hand-made just for him. Even that was getting a little tight, now that he was getting older and bigger.

  Father Blythe is walking ahead, arms loaded down with a brown paper bag containing some groceries. He is wearing a black tweed coat, open in the front. His white collar and black suit are visible to people he passes, many of whom are familiar to him. They wave and say, “Good afternoon Father,” as they pass. The Christmas season is coming after all, and it is a time when people begin to feel more spiritual. Father Blythe, sensing that his charge was falling behind, stopped and allowed Franklin to catch up. The two take a small break by sitting on a nearby stoop. They watch the cars pass on the street. The priest reaches into his sack and pulls out a small piece of candy, which he hands to Franklin.

  “Thank you for taking me to the store with you Father,” said the little boy. He had both hands on his piece of caramel, nibbling away between words like a squirrel on a nut.

  “It is important for you to get out and see the world Franklin. You spend too much time alone. You have to get used to the way the world works.” The boy kept chewing. “Someday you’re going to leave us, you are going to need to decide what you want to be when you get older, and the only way to do that is to see what other people are doing. You can’t get a good idea of the world by just watching TV you know.”

  “But I already know what I want to do Father,” said Franklin.

  “You do, do you? And what is that? A caramel tester?” He rubbed the boy’s head jokingly. The child squirmed out of his grasp.

  “I want to be just like you Father. I want to become a priest and run an orphanage, just like you.”

  “That is a noble goal Franklin, but being a priest isn’t an easy life. You are young still, you should probably think about it some more. If God wants you to join the Priesthood, it’ll happen, but you shouldn’t spend your life trying to emulate me. There are lots of important jobs you can do.”

  “But I’ve already started. I read the Bible everyday. Sister Mary Helen has been giving me lessons. I know the Ten Commandments by heart already see...” He then proceeded to rattle off the Ten Commandments, or eight of them anyway. He became stuck on the last two. Even so, the Father was impressed by both his resolve and his capabilities. HS was still a new disease. No one knew exactly how it affected people. With their increased cranial capacity, some medical professionals suggested that the children could have increased memory and cognitive capabilities. It hadn’t been proven yet, but as far as Father Blythe could tell, it was reasonable. Franklin had learned to read at only two years old. He seemed to pick up things quite quickly. The priest thought that Franklin’s intelligence was a blessing. He would need something to succeed in life, considering all the disadvantages he had been saddled with at birth.

  “That’s very good Franklin. I think that you deserve another candy for that one.” He handed the boy another piece of caramel and then stood up. “Come on, I think that Sister Mary Helen is waiting for us. She’ll be quite angry if we return with no caramels left huh?” The two laughed and began walking down the block to the orphanage.

  As they turned the corner of their block, Father Blythe immediately noticed something was wrong. There were a bunch of people on the front steps. Sister Mary Helen seemed to be talking to them about something. She seemed a bit distressed. The Father quickened his pace and soon pushed his way to the top of the stairs. He was about to introduce himself, but he found he didn’t need to. They already knew his name.

  “Father Blythe,” said one man holding a microphone. “Bill Palmer, Channel 6 News. What’s your reaction to the upset victory of Ray Johnston yesterday?”

  “Why are you asking me that? What do I have to do with anything?” He turned towards the obviously relieved nun, “You can go inside now Sister, I’ll talk to these people.” She turned and went back in the door, herding a small group of curious children along with her.

  “Well, you run the one of the first orphanages in the city that specializes in HS children, you must have some thoughts on his election. He based his campaign on the eradication of HS.”

  Father Blythe paused a moment. “First of all, I don’t run an orphanage for HS children. I run an orphanage for children, period. Whether a child has HS or any other disease doesn’t matter, all are welcome. Second, I have no comment on Ray Johnston or his views.”

  A second man stepped up. “Father Blythe, Roy Bellamy, Channel 8. There are some that say that Senator Johnston’s election is going to result in a harder line towards HS. Some are even calling for a quarantine of HS children. What are your thoughts on that?”

  “Regardless of what he may or may not believe, Ray Johnston is a politician, and like all politicians, he will say what the people want to hear in order to get elected. HS is a big issue right now, so of course he has made statements calling for a cure. Every other politician is doing the same thing. As for quarantine, that’s ridiculous. These children are no different than you or I. They are completely harmless. HS is a genetic disease, and however you may get it, putting these children away isn’t going to arrest its spread. What these kids need is to be accepted by society, as they are accepted by God. If we make them feel like freaks then all we are doing is harming our future. Like with all other diseases, people are scared, but we’ve got to remain rational with this. I’m sure that Senator Johnston and his fellow lawmakers will take the proper steps to combat this disease without resorting to panic. You people in the media are just going to make this situation worse by focusing on it. Go find a real news story to write about and leave these kids alone. They’ve got enough problems without you stirring the pot.”

  And with that, the Father opened the door to the foyer and prodded Franklin inside. “Good day gentlemen,” he said as he went inside. The reporters cried out a few final questions as the priest locked the door, but their calls were unanswered. Once inside, Franklin immediately ran to the front window and looked out at the small crowd that was still on the steps. One of the photographers saw him and snapped a picture through the window. “Get away from there Franklin,” said the priest, “you’re just encouraging them.” The Father closed the blinds and shooed the boy away from the window.

  George Austin Elementary School, Tyler TX. Three weeks after James Miller’s 6th birthday.

  The secretary had been warned that this day was coming, so she had been given specific orders. She was the only one with a window to the parking lot, so it only made sense that she would be the one to keep watch. She knew just what to do when she saw the old, red truck drive up and park in the visitors’ parking space. She was in the principal’s office before the occupants had even stepped onto the pavement. The principal, who had also been warned of this event, jumped into action. He was out the door and in front of the school faster than one would think possible, given his rather portly frame. He met the mother and child halfway down the covered sidewalk that led to the main entrance to the school. He had been given explicit instructions on what to do.

  “Mrs. Miller I presume,” he said to the mother as she stepped over the curb and made her way towards the school. “I’m Principal Gaffee. I was wondering when you would be arriving.” That wasn’t true, he had been dreading her arrival, but he had pretty much known when it would be. One of the school board members knew the records clerk at City Hall, and the birth records had been patiently scanned in anticipation of this event. Lorraine was a little confused with the special attention. She had been hesitant to do this, knowing what the prevalent feelings were in town, but she figured that it would be ok in the end. She had dismissed her jitters by deciding that this is how all mothers feel when they go to register their children for school. She had been living with HS for so long that she was half oblivious to Jim’s condition. To her, everything seemed normal, and she somehow believed that everyone else felt the same way. She kept walking down the path, right up to the fat, balding man who stood in the way. Principal Gaffee was a typical teacher. He was short and
fat compared to most men, and the hair had mostly left the top of his head behind, only occasionally making a return appearance as long strands that were held taut across the oily dome by judicious application of hair spray. He wore a white and blue striped dress shirt with short sleeves and a slightly off-kilter tie. The cuffs of his pants were muddy from walking in the grass behind the playground. He smiled broadly, if somewhat nervously, checked his manila envelope, and continued talking as the pair came closer.

  “...and this must be little Jim,” said the principal, rubbing the boy’s head in a gesture of familiarity. “How are you doing today son?” He smiled again, but his smile appeared strained, as if he was being told a joke by a man pointing a gun at him. The child looked up at the strange, sweaty man with his large, dark eyes. He didn’t say anything. If Lorraine could be classified as nervous, then Jim would have to be called terrified. He wasn’t used to being off the farm. His parents rarely took him into town. He didn’t have much contact with other people. But he had heard about school. He knew what it was supposed to be like. As much as the TV shows he watched in the afternoons made it sound like fun, he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave his mother and his toys and his solitude behind. He didn’t want to mix with a bunch of children who didn’t look like him, or act like him, or played with different toys than he did. It was all pretty standard anxiety for a six year-old. Jim knew that he looked different from most kids, but he didn’t attribute a value judgment to that, he didn’t understand what the difference meant, or how much importance to place on it.

  “Principal Gaffee, I’m here to register my boy for classes. He just turned six years old. I got a letter in the mail.” She held up the piece of paper as proof of her story. “It says that I need to bring him down here to register, so here I am.” Lorraine had a certain primordial respect for principals, as do most people. People really only deal with teachers and principals as children, and at that time their authority is absolute. That fear tends to stay with a person throughout adulthood, even if the actual authority dissolves away after graduation. Somewhere deep inside Lorraine’s mind was a small child hoping to stay out of detention.