Marianna Faigon was born the daughter of Doctor Roland Faigon and Josephine Marx Faigon. Up until now her life has been routine, but after witnessing her mother death a great and horrifying power is growing in her. Will it make her a hero or the dar...
After changing into my casuals, I exited my bedroom and ran down the catwalk. Once I reached the steps, I flew down them like there was a fire blazing. No one was in sight, not even mother, who would often lurk about when Father was gone. I went outside to wait in the front garden for his return when a slight wind blew and sent my dark brown hair into disarray. I went into the house to find a comb, knowing mother would be appalled at the sight of a messy mane.
I remained in the parlor, until I heard voices in the foyer. Spying was my favorite pastime, and I could resist playing the fly on the wall. I considered for a moment that I might make a living as a gossip columnist, but Mother and Father would drop dead at the suggestion.
"Josie, how are you?" I heard my uncle's voice. "And little Mary."
"She's as difficult as ever, like her father," my mother said in a sarcastic tone. My words made me laugh to myself, but I remained silent, not wanting to make my presence known.
"And you, sister?" Uncle Martin asked. His voice sounded cheerful was busting to see him, but I wanted to hear more of the conversation before I made my presence known.
"I'm all right, and you would know that if you came to visit more often," Mother said in a teasing voice.
"Now, who is being difficult?" Uncle Martin asked with a bit of laughter in his voice. "If this is true of Mary then she takes after you."
Father and Uncle Martin laughed, while Mother stayed silent. At that moment, I emerged from my cocoon and greeted our guest.
"Welcome, Uncle Martin," I said, curtsying lazily.
"Oh, Mary, you have grown," Uncle Martin said smiling, "and looking very much a lady in those clothes."
"I told her to wear a dress," Mother said, still disapproving of my choice of wardrobe.
"Only slightly," I said in response to Uncle Martin's statement and ignoring Mother's disapproving words. "How long are you staying?"
"Yes, old man," Father chimed in as he picked up a fresh drink. "How long will it be this time?"
"Just a few days," Uncle Martin said disappointingly. "I have to be back in New York to interview potential students."
"Oh, yes, the school," Mother inquired. "How was the first year on your own?"
"Frightening, Josie," he said, "but wonderful." Martin Drell's face lightened which lead me to believe that some brainstorm just entered his mind. "I would love it if the three of you could come for a visit soon."
The conversation continued on our way towards the dining room, while Uncle Martin waited for an answer to the proposal he brought forth.
"Josie, don't ignore the question," Uncle Martin demanded.
"Oh, Marty, I'd love to say yes, but with the developments with the new experiment pending I couldn't say," she said disappointingly.
"Josie, you haven't been home since before Mary was born. I will hear no excuses this time." We stopped at the French doors that led to the dining hall, when Uncle Martin looked towards Father. "R.J., tell her."
"He's right, Josie," Father said, looking straight at mother. "Go with Mary. Everett and I can handle the lab."
"Only if we all go," Mother said stubbornly. As long as I can remember I never seen my parents apart. "Remember, Roland, we made that pact on our wedding night."
"That's not the only thing we did," he teased, and I turned away not wanting to think about when my parents did behind closed doors.
"Roland, please, not in front of Mary," Mother said embarrassingly, but I was the one who was red in the face. I just hoped no one noticed.
Father opened the door to the dining hall and ushered us all in when Mother shot him a sharp look. I could only guess what was going on with my parents.
Sometimes, they were hard to figure out. Father's eccentric behavior mixing with Mother's disapproving glances. Like oil and water, they seemed at times, but for the majority they were like peas in a pod.
Dinner was simple and easygoing. Mother and I clung to our vegetarian ways, while Father and Uncle Martin preferred steak.
Uncle Martin talked incessantly of his school, although I felt as if he had something to hide.
"What makes these children so extraordinary?" I asked, thinking that they admittance had to be more than just their intellectual endeavors. "Genius status is not uncommon."
"It is more than the feeding of the mind, Mary," Uncle Martin said, trying to answer my question. "It is a place of interaction with those of the same status."
"So, what you're saying is, these children are set apart," I said, but by the look on Uncle Martin's face, that wasn't his actually meaning.
"In a way," he said stumbling over the words. It seemed he was struggling to explain without really giving us the real meaning.
"That's not right," I said standing my ground. "These children are not cattle. They're lonely and confused. They need guidance and assurance...some form of a normal life."
Ignoring my statement, Uncle Martin turned to Father and said, "Are you sure she's only twelve?" He looked stunned that someone of my age could come up with the theory like that.
"In the physical sense, yes, but Mary's far more mature mentally. She's like a thousand-year-old scholar," Father said. If he was joking, I wasn't for sure.
I hoped it had been a compliment, although I didn't see the flattery. Father continued to speak as I felt he was about to humble our impromptu guest. "Martin, Old Man, this is not the subject to be debated with Mary. By rites, she is an expert."
"One thing we do agree on," Mother said and quietly lifted her fork to her mouth.
From what I could see the American male believed women and children to be forms of amusement. If at any time, a woman had anything enlightening or provocative to say, it was excused as eccentric thoughts of a flighty female. With children, it was considered the cute but naive observations of an undeveloped mind.
Itseemed Uncle Martin still held the mentality of a child and the intellect of agod. I hoped he would soon grow mature enough to utilize his abilities to theirfull extent. What good was knowledge without the vision to use it properly?
"Well, Uncle Martin, are you going to rebut my statement?" I asked.
"Never, dear Mary, how can I argue with such a pretty face?" he said, but Ijust rolled my eyes in disgust.
I hated it when he said things like that. Did he truly believe this to be myonly asset? Was this the only thing that could be appealing to a suitor? Itseemed too superficial to be true. Beauty, physical beauty, fades. Suchpreservation of the fleeing fancy was futile. The natural scheme of naturecommanded all things grow, change and whither. Outward appearances do not makeus who we are. Only through experience and teaching, do we become who we aresupposed to be.
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