brother.
"We got her, we got her ... we got the baby-sitter!" She and Bobby hugged each other in
rare, delirious agreement. "And they won't be back for a week"
8
The girl on the bed was not stupid: the visible and physical fact was fact. In some way,
for some reason, she was the prisoner of children.
Beyond the reach of such logic, however, beyond reason's control, her habits of inner
being continued. Spirit, will, vitality, told the mind that it was wrong, and at their
command, the body continued its motion. She raised and turned her head and carefully
explored her ropes. She tested them again and again, finding first hope and then
disappointment in a constant, steady rotation. Straining, her fingers reached for
unreachable knots and curled back again. At length, unconvinced but impotent, her
inner self desisted. From discovery, shock, indignity, and astonishment, her mood by
induction grew angry. -
Lying there, she rethought the classic thoughts of the vengeful, disobeyed adult: Wait'll
I get my hands on them," and "Wait'll l tell the Adams."
However satisfying this might be, however, the now coming thought of how distant a
day that would be, made her pause. The Adams were leaving England today if she had
the itinerary right: later they would be in Paris. They were still in the "going-away"
phase of the trip: the bleakness of time and distance this thought summoned up, made
her consider further.
During the four days she had been here--one with Dr. and Mrs. Adams and three alone
with Bobby and Cindy-she had met few other adults. The Tillmans, who ran the general
store, one or two of the Adams' church friends, the mother of one of the kids the young
Adams played with, and that was the lot. Sooner or later perhaps, one or another of
them might stop by, but in three days, it hadn't happened yet. The web of reliance on
others, wisely or falsely taken for
- granted, was abruptly torn. She had momentarily slipped through the mesh entirely.
Finally there were no neighbors closer than half a mile across a field, some woods, and
then a stream that joined the river. This was gentleman farmer country the houses were
placed like islands so that the privilege
9
of privacy and view was maintained-and privacy was severely respected. Even if she were
to work her gag off, she could scream from this quiet, air-conditioned room for a month,
and no one would hear her, except, of course, the children. Everything came back to the
children.
As she lay there, she could hear them in the kitchen two rooms and a hallway distant. After
their dance of glee, they had fled as if in need to talk secrets and all sorts of delicious
mischief. Now they were heating frozen Pop-Ups in the toaster-she knew the sound-and
slamming the refrigerator door and giggling. The mood was exuberant, naughty and a lot
of fun, and it didn't promise to subside.
"Umnn!" It was Barbara's first sound of complaint, discomfort, exasperation. This all might
go on for some time.
Shifting her body to find relief that barely existed, she sighed. Then she closed her eyes.
All right, don't think about the time. Think about the children. Think about making them let
you go.
Think, Barbara Miller, age twenty, baby-sitter, money-needer, college junior, education
major, history minor, B-averager, free-style swimmer, prom chairman, sorority sister, dutiful
daughter, runner of errands, dreamer of lovely futures, think,
She tried.
Even given that thought was difficult in this all new, never-before-experienced situation,
however, the fact of the matter was that Barbara was just not the true thinking type. She
was intelligent and sensitive enough-perhaps a little too sensitive-but her instinctive
manner was to intuit life, to sense it, to feel where it was flowing and then run there. It
gave her a grace and liveliness, but it did not well fit her for the role of analyst and planner.
When faced by such a need, she always automatically said, "Mother, what do you think?
Daddy, what do you think?" or "Ted, what do you think about it?" "Terry, what's the best
thing to do?" The situation was
10
so recurrent with Terry-even unavoidable-that the resultant joke never lost its flavor. When
she was so interrupted, Terry had taken up the habit of turning back and mimicking, "Ter-
ree ... P" Barbara was never insulted; actually, she could barely stifle a giggle when she
saw Terry's irritation. "Well, what is it?"
Barbara and Terry had been KKGs and roommates at college for two years, and in that
time, Terry had advised, adjudicated, and planned things in almost every part of Barbara's
life. It was that way; Barbara kept things light and busy, and Terry kept them tracking.
"Terry, what'm I going to do?"
Barbara turned her cheek down on the pillow and closed her eyes; and of course, that very
question came to her mind. "Terry, what ... ?"
It wasn't hard to imagine what she'd say.
"But Barb, for godsakes, how?" Terry was headshaking amused. "You're bigger than they
are, you're stronger, you're smarter. How could you let them do a thing like this to you?"
"It was after .I went to sleep"-Barbara felt guilty at once--"Maybe I snored, and that's how
they knew I was sleeping, or something. Anyhow, the children or Bobby alone-I guess it had
to be Bobby-came into the room with something, drugs or something, in a rag. I had a bad
dream. That must've been when he was making me breathe it. Afterwards, they tied me
up."
"But why?,, Imagined Terry was unconcerned with sympathy. Her inaudible voice was
disbelieving, of course, but now equally amused. Possibly she smiled.
"I don't know."
"Then find out," Terry said simply. "They can't keep you gagged forever. You've got to eat
and drink-even they know that. Anyhow pretty soon they'll get curious, they'll want to know
what you think about their grand joke. And when they do ungag you, don't yell or scream or
lose your temper. You're three fourths of a teacher by now, you've read your learning
psych, you know how their minds work. Use some of
11
it. Talk to them; be interested in all this. There're only two of them, they know you, they
like you. Sooner or later they'll get bored silly and let you go."
Terry, as always, was hard to refute. Hers was a practical, a reasoning, an analytical
mind devoid of whims and enthusiasms. Moreover, at this moment, hers was a
welcome--if imagined-argument.
"That's right. ... " Encouraged, Barbara pursued the thought. "And they can't keep me
tied up forever. I've got to go to the bathroom and get some exercise and blood
circulation. That could be my excuse for getting up, and when. I do. . . . " In time,
however, she became aware that" she was thinking toward an absent audience. Terry
vanished-bored or called away on more important matters-and was gone. The room
was empty once more. On the other hand, it was perceptibly more bearable.