Free The Philosopher's Apprentice by James Morrow Page A

garish edifice met my gaze, a kind of ancient Spanish villa secluded by cypresses, each tower capped by a conical roof covered in tiles suggesting fish scales. Thick, swarthy vines crisscrossed the dark stone walls like twine securing a brown paper package.
    â€œTell me your full name,” I said. “Is it Donya Jones maybe? Donya Smith?”
    â€œDonya Sabacthani.” Puckering her lips, my hostess whistled “Pop Goes the Weasel” as she filled the remaining teacup and held it out to me.
    â€œShouldn’t this be for Rupert?” I asked, staring into Donya’s eyes. Her irises, like Edwina’s and Londa’s, were two different shades of green.
    â€œGiraffes don’t like Hawaiian Punch.”
    â€œDonya, do you know your mother’s first name? Does she call herself something like Judy or Carol or Edwina?”
    â€œI call her Mommy. She’s the best mommy in the whole world. She built the wall just for me.”
    â€œCould her name be Edwina?”
    â€œI don’t know, but I can show you her picture !”
    Donya reached under the table and obtained a blue lacquered music box. She lifted the lid, unleashing a tinny rendition of “Lara’s Theme” from Doctor Zhivago. The green velvet interior held several pieces of costume jewelry, a compact mirror, and a snapshot of Edwina wearing a grin as artificial as a paper carnation.
    â€œMy mother’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Donya said.
    â€œVery pretty,” I echoed. In a rainy-day, Blanche DuBois sort of way. “I’m a friend of hers.”
    â€œAre you a molecular geneticist, too?”
    â€œNo, I’m a teacher, like Henry and Brock. My student is your sister Londa. She’s seventeen years old.”
    â€œI don’t have a sister Londa. Mommy says I’m a lonely child.”
    â€œAn only child?”
    â€œThat’s what I meant. Only children are lucky. They get their mommies all to themselves. What makes you think I have a sister Londa?”
    I took my first swallow of Hawaiian Punch. It tasted vaguely like watered-down mumquat nectar. Something extremely odd was happening on this end of the archipelago. If the March Hare suddenly appeared at the present festivity, I would not be entirely surprised.
    â€œMy student’s name is Londa Sabacthani,” I said.
    â€œWell, she can call herself that if she wants to,” Donya said, “but that doesn’t mean she’s allowed to be my sister.” She picked up the snack plate and addressed the chimp. “Would you like a cookie, Deedee?”
    I affected a falsetto and dubbed in Deedee’s voice. “I would love a cookie.”
    â€œWhat kind?”
    â€œVanilla wafer.”
    My hostess served her chimp a vanilla wafer and said, “I invited Mommy to the party, but she’s in Chicago this week.”
    â€œI know,” I said. “An artificial-intelligence conference.”
    â€œThat’s right. She’s teaching people to be nice to their computers.”
    I sipped more punch. Sinuhe’s favorite question rattled around in my skull. Why hadn’t Edwina told me about this second child? Why had she bisected the island with a wall? Why did her daughters need separate estates? I wondered whether the woman in the photograph might actually be Edwina’s twin sister, likewise a molecular geneticist and likewise attending a neural-network conference in Chicago—a fanciful theory, but not unimaginable.
    I drained my Hawaiian Punch. “Donya, I have to say something. This is important. If you ask me, a five-year-old girl should not be out flying a kite by herself.”
    â€œMommy says that as long as I stay inside the wall, nothing bad will ever happen to me.”
    â€œI believe that an adult should be watching over you at all times.”
    Donya gestured toward the rear window. “Henry’s looking at me right now.”
    My opinion of parenting