The Children’s Home by Charles Lambert Page B

Doctor Crane inquires about Morgan’s sister and Morgan wonders about the nature of power
    O ne day, soon after the woman had been discovered, David asked Morgan about his sister.
    “How do you know I’ve got a sister? Did Engel tell you?”
    David shrugged. “I know you’ve got a sister,” he insisted, “but I don’t know her name.”
    After a moment, because Morgan had almost forgotten his sister’s name he thought of her so rarely, he said, “She’s called Rebecca.”
    “Why did she go away from here?”
    “She’s never really been here, not since she was a child. She went away to school, you see, while I was educated at home.” Why am I telling this to David? he wondered. Why should he need to know? Morgan had no desire to talk about his sister, but he could see that David would insist; his small bright features were set with determination. He would have to talk. He closed his eyes for a second as if to think, although he was mostly trying not to think. “She went away and she stayed away, really. When my mother was ill, she hardly ever visited, whether through her own choice or not I couldn’t say. At Christmas perhaps. I saw her at my father’s funeral. She’s taller than I am, tall and blond, a striking woman. We aren’t alike at all. I don’t think I’ve seen her since then, though I know she visited me in hospital. She saw me, you see, and then she went.”
    David wasn’t interested in this. “What does she do?” he said.
    “Do? She works in the family business, I believe. There are letters sometimes, things to sign. She sends them and I sign them and send them back.”
    “She’s important there?”
    “Well, yes, I suppose she must be running the entire show. She’s the owner, after all, along with me, and I have no interest at all, I have never had any interest in the family business. After my father’s death, there was a manager, like a regent, who took over until my sister was old enough, but he must be retired by now. Rebecca always liked being in charge, I remember that. I think that was why my mother didn’t like her.” His mother had always disliked Rebecca even as a child. He saw his sister in his mind’s eye. A stubborn, hard-featured child with short fair hair tugged back from her face and tied with ribbon into a single clump that would gradually work itself free. Small plump hands clenched by her side. Hating her mother back.
    “What is she like now?” said David. “I mean, is she good?”
    “Good?” said Morgan. He considered this for a moment. “I’ve no idea. I don’t know her, you see, David. I’ve never thought of her as good, or not good, for that matter. I don’t know how those words work when I think of her. Good, bad.” He remembered that he was talking to a child. “I suppose goodness depends on what you do, as much as what you are. I think she may have sent Engel here to look after me, when I most needed to be looked after. That would have been a good thing for her to do.” So perhaps she is good, he said to himself.
    David shook his head. “Engel isn’t here for you,” he said. He stood for a moment, in thought, before speaking again. “What does your family business do?” he said.
    “Do?” Morgan hadn’t expected this question.
    “Yes.” David sounded impatient now. He stamped his foot. “What does it do? It must do something. Make something, I don’t know.”
    “Yes, it does,” said Morgan. “It makes power.”
    David nodded.
    “That’s what I hoped,” he said. He thought again. “Where does power come from, Morgan?” he said finally.
    “Gas. Coal. The sun,” said Morgan.
    “No, not that kind of power,” said David. “The other kind.”
    “What other kind?”
    “I’ve been reading books,” said David, in a long-suffering way, as though no explanation were really needed. “The kind of power that kings have, and Caesars.”
    Morgan considered this. “From the strength of others, I suppose,” he said finally. “By