Read He Who Shapes for Free Online Page B

had taken only one disconcerting second.
    Eileen followed him, holding lightly to the double-leashed
    harness. The dog padded soundlessly across the thick rughead
    low, as though he was stalking something. His eyes never left
    Render's.
    "So this is Sigmund . . . ? How are you, Eileen?"
    "Fine.Yes, he wanted very badly to come along, and /
    wanted you to meet him."
    Render led her to a chair and seated her. She unsnapped the
    double guide from the dog's harness and placed it on the floor.
    Sigmund sat down beside it and continued to stare at Render.
    "How is everything at State Psych?"
    "Same as always.May I bum a cigarette, doctor? I forgot
    mine."
    He placed it between her fingers, furnished a light. She was
    wearing a dark blue suit and her glasses were flame blue. The
    silver spot on her forehead reflected the glow of his lighter; she
    continued to stare at that point in space after he had
    withdrawn his hand. Her shoulder-length hair appeared a trifle
    lighter than it had seemed on the night they met; today it was
    like a fresh-minted copper coin.
    Render seated himself on the corner of his desk, drawing up
    his world-ashtray with his toe.
    "You told me before that being blind did not mean that you
    had never seen. I didn't ask you to explain it then. But I'd like
    to ask you now."
    "I had a neuroparticipation session with Doctor Riscomb,"
    she told him, "before he had his accident. He wanted to
    accommodate my mind to visual impressions. Unfortunately,
    there was never a second session."
    "I see. What did you do in that session?"
    She crossed her anides and Render noted they were well-
    turned.
    "Colors, mostly. The experience was quite overwhelming."
    "How well do you remember them? How long ago was it?"
    "About six months agoand I shall never forget them. I have
    even dreamt in color patterns since then."
    "How often?"
    "Several times a week."
    "What sort of associations do they carry?"
    "Nothing special. They just come into my mind along with
    other stimuli nowin a pretty haphazard way."
    "How?"
    "Well, for instance, when you ask me a question it's a sort of
    yellowish-orangish pattern that I 'see.' Your greeting was a kind
    of silvery thing. Now that you're just sitting there listening to
    me, saying nothing, I associate you with a deep, almost violet,
    blue."
    Sigmund shifted his gaze to the desk and stared at the side
    panel.
    Can he hear the recorder spinning inside? wondered Render.
    And if he can, can he guess what it is and what if's doing?
    If so, the dog would doubtless tell Bileennot that she was
    unaware of what was now an accepted practiceand she might
    not like being reminded that he considered her case as therapy,
    rather than a mere mechanical adaptation process. If he
    thought it would do any good (he smiled inwardly at the
    notion), he would talk to the dog in private about it.
    Inwardly, he shrugged.
    "I'll construct a rather elementary fantasy world then," he
    said finally, "and introduce you to some basic forms today."
    She smiled; and Render looked down at the myth who
    crouched by her side, its tongue a piece of beefsteak hanging
    over a picket fence.
    Is he smiling too?
    "Thank you," she said.
    Sigmund wagged his tail.
    "Well then," Render disposed of his cigarette near Mada-
    gascar, "I'll fetch out the 'egg' now and test it. In the meantime,"
    he pressed an unobtrusive button, "perhaps some music would
    prove relaxing."
    She started to reply, but a Wagnerian overture snuffed out
    the words. Render jammed the button again, and there was a
    moment of silence during which he said, "Heh heh. Thought
    Respighi was next."
    It took two more pushes for him to locate some Roman pines.
    "You could have left him on," she observed: "I'm quite fond
    of Wagner."
    "No thanks," he said, opening the closet, "I'd keep stepping
    in all those piles of leitmotifs."
    The great egg drifted out into the office, soundless as a cloud.
    Render heard a soft growl behind as he drew it toward the
    desk. He turned