My Brother's Keeper by Charles Sheffield Page B

hand could use some special exercises. But if you want to work at it, you could be doing this professionally in six months."
    "Nah." He closed the piano lid. "I'm better off this way. Twelve years of do-re-mi practice was enough. I'm goin' to try an' learn to play that thing you did, though—just to prove I can."
    He stood up. "I'll have to be off. Dixie will be up here in a minute. Take my advice, try an' act polite to 'im, even if he does come in 'ere an' start dancin' about like a bleedin' pet monkey. He gets nasty if you rub him up the wrong way—too fond of that bleedin' knife, it's goin' to finish him off one of these days."
    He scratched his head. "Well, see you tomorrer. Don't get into no trouble."
    I was left tied solidly in the chair, contemplating the pleasures of the evening ahead with Dancing Dixie as my companion. It was hard to work up any enthusiasm, even if I followed Pudd'n's advice and didn't get into no trouble. And I was getting awfully itchy to leave that chair.
     

- 7 -
     
    Dixie had his own ideas of a pleasant evening. First he left me with the door locked for about two hours, sitting in the dark. I had plenty of time to try straightening in my chair and testing the strength of the wood. I could get about an inch of play there, far too little to do me any good, and after a while my legs and wrists were giving me hell and no amount of bending could bring my head close to them. All the knots were tied on the underside.
    When Dixie finally rolled in and switched on the light, he was carrying a loaded tray of food, a flat half bottle of whiskey, and one glass.
    "Still here, are you?" he said. "It's amazing how you don't get bored."
    He poured himself a sizable Scotch, added water from a little jug, and sat down on the piano stool with the tray on his knee.
    "What about me?" I said. "I'm absolutely starving."
    Dixie stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth. "What yer talking about? Pudd'n fed you."
    "No he didn't. He took me downstairs, but when we got there I was too sick to eat. I felt bad."
    "Well, that's your bloody funeral, in'it?" Dixie ate the forkful of potato. "If you think you're getting any of this you'd better have another think."
    I leaned back in the chair and let my head loll over to the left. "You saw the operations I've had," I said, my voice all weak and throaty. "I can't eat much at a time, but if I don't eat anything at all I get really bad. I'm not supposed to go more than three or four hours without food."
    "That's your problem, then," said Dixie. "You had your chance with Pudd'n." He went on eating and drinking, but every half minute he would give me a worried and annoyed glance. I lay back, eyes half closed. I let my breathing become slowly more hoarse and labored. When he was finished he sat and fidgeted for a moment, then at last drained his glass and stood up. He left the room without speaking. I heard him going downstairs, while I strained at the chair again with the usual negative results.
    He was back in five minutes with a glass of milk and a plate that held a big lump of cheddar and a thick slice of buttered fruitcake.
    "Here." He put it down on my lap. "Now you can stop yer bloody grumbling."
    I nodded my head towards my bound hands. "You'll have to feed me. I can't move."
    "Like hell." His face turned red with anger. "I'm not your bloody wet nurse. Hold still." He took out his knife and held it carefully in his teeth, while he worked the knots on my right arm loose enough to move freely. "Now, you can work that the rest of the way for yourself. Don't try anything, though, or you'll wish you hadn't."
    He stood about two feet away from the chair, holding the knife lightly. I could sense from the look in his eye that he wished I would give him a reason to use it on me. I carefully worked at the loosened bonds until I had my hand free, then forced down the milk and the food. It was an effort—Pudd'n had fed me more than I really needed—but at last I was done.
    "Right,"