Lucy by Laurence Gonzales Page A

to do combat with him. Then she heard the shrill whistle as his cheeks puffed out. He dropped the whistle and shouted, “What in the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing, young lady, coming in here and busting up my wrestling meet?” Lucy was turning in a slow circle trying to determine what had gone wrong. It all seemed so clear one moment. But now this: What were these people doing here? Why were those boys fighting? Why had the people been cheering when one boy was obviously hurt? He said wrestling. Was this the Hellenic wrestling that she had read about? Then why weren’t they naked?
    The boy she had thrown was up now, dusting himself off. Her heart was hammering, as the man shouted at her and the crowd began to boo and grumble. Lucy realized that she had violated a grave taboo of this tribe. Unable to control her panic, she charged through the double doors and ran down the hall, knocking people out of her way. She reached the main doors and was outside, breathing hard, trying to think of where she could go. She saw strange sparkling lights coming up the street toward the school. She heard the wail of a siren. Lucy knew it meant that something bad was happening, and all at once she realized that it was happening to her. She fled through the neighborhood back yards, leaping fences as she went. She saw pale sunlight on wilted roses, squirrels on trash cans in alleys. She heard the syncopated, urgent rhythm of her breathing. As she loped across one yard, a large dog came flying at her, teeth bared, and she backhanded it out of the way and kept on going, hearing its pathetic squeal fade behind her.

10
    JENNY SAT ON ONE SIDE of Lucy’s chair. Her school counselor sat on the other, a thin and harried-looking man with thick glasses and a nearly bald head. The psychologist’s office was cold and lit from above by fluorescent tubes that made an incessant hum and gave off a gray and gassy glow.
    They all faced the psychologist, Dr. Ruth Mayer, who was in her fifties, soft and gray, with her hair pulled so tight that it seemed to stretch the skin of her face. She sat behind a large institutional desk tapping a pencil on a file folder. “Dr. Lowe, I understand that Lucy has gone through a traumatic experience recently. Given the nature of that experience, I wonder if she might be suffering from some sort of post-traumatic disorder.”
    “Yes, that’s possible. I don’t think it’s the case, but it’s possible.” Jenny could tell that Dr. Mayer was a mischief maker of the worst sort.
    “Has she had any counseling since the events?”
    “No.” Once Jenny had learned the truth about Lucy, sending her to a psychologist had seemed out of the question.
    “Don’t you think this might be an oversight on your part? After all, you’re a doctor.” Jenny could see where this was going. By assuming that someone could live without psychotherapy, Jenny had slighted the doctor’s profession.
    “I’m a PhD anthropologist, not a medical doctor. Lucy has shown no signs of distress. And I think that this whole incident was just a misunderstanding.”
    “Misunderstanding? She attacked one of the school’s star athletes. I fail to see how that could be a misunderstanding.”
    “She’d never seen a wrestling match before. All she saw was one boy attacking another, and she went to the other’s aid. Instinctively, if you will.”
    “Is that what happened, Lucy?”
    “Yes, ma’am. That’s what happened. I thought I was breaking up a fight.”
    “Every culture has sports, and most of them involve mock combat. What sort of community were you raised in?”
    Jenny jumped in to cover for Lucy. “Her father was a primatologist. They lived in an extremely remote part of the Democratic Republic of Congo in the jungle.”
    This seemed to give Dr. Mayer pause. She eyed them suspiciously for a time. Then she turned to the counselor and said, “Mr. Wicks, what has your experience of Lucy been so far?”
    “I haven’t seen her that