They found a table and ordered their coffee. When the gnarly man took off his raincoat, Dr. Saddler became aware of a strong smell of cheap perfume. He got out a pipe with a big knobbly bowl. It suited him, just as the walking stick did. Dr. Saddler noticed that the deep-sunk eyes under the beetling arches were light hazel.
"Well?" he said in his rumbling drawl.
She began her questions.
"My parents were Irish," he answered. "But I was born in South Boston--let's see--forty-six years ago. I can get you a copy of my birth certificate. Clarence Aloysius Gaffney, May 2, 1910." He seemed to get some secret amusement out of that statement.
"Were either of your parents of your somewhat unusual physical type?"
He paused before answering. He always did, it seemed. "Uh-huh. Both of 'em. Glands, I suppose."
"Were they both born in Ireland?"
"Yep. County Sligo." Again that mysterious twinkle.
She paused. "Mr. Gaffney, you wouldn't mind having some photographs and measurements made, would you? You could use the photographs in your business."
"Maybe." He took a sip. "Ouch! Gazooks, that's hot!"
"What?"
"I said the coffee's hot."
"I mean, before that."
The gnarly man looked a little embarrassed. "Oh, you mean the 'gazooks'? Well, I--uh--once knew a man who used to say that."
"Mr. Gaffney, I'm a scientist, and I'm not trying to get anything out of you for my own sake. You can be frank with me."
There was something remote and impersonal in his stare that gave her a slight spinal chill. "Meaning that I haven't been so far?"
"Yes. When I saw you I decided that there was something extraordinary in your background. I still think there is. Now, if you think I'm crazy, say so and we'll drop the subject. But I want to get to the bottom of this."
He took his time about answering. "That would depend." There was another pause. Then he said, "With your connections, do you know any really first-class surgeons?"
"But--yes, I know Dunbar."
"The guy who wears a purple gown when he operates? The guy who wrote a book on God, Man, and the Universe?"
"Yes. He's a good man, in spite of his theatrical mannerisms. Why? What would you want of him?"
"Not what you're thinking. I'm satisfied with my--uh--unusual physical type. But I have some old injuries--broken bones that didn't knit properly--that I want fixed up. He'd have to be a good man, though. I have a couple of thousand in the savings bank, but I know the sort of fees those guys charge. If you could make the necessary arrangements--"
"Why, yes, I'm sure I could. In fact I could guarantee it. Then I was right? And you'll--" She hesitated.
"Come clean? Uh-huh. But remember, I can still prove I'm Clarence Aloysius if I have to."
"Who are you, then?"
Again there was a long pause. Then the gnarly man said, "Might as well tell you. As soon as you repeat any of it, you'll have put your professional reputation in my hands, remember.
"First off, I wasn't born in Massachusetts. I was born on the upper Rhine, near Mommenheim, and as nearly as I can figure out, about the year 50,000 B.C."
Dr. Saddler wondered whether she'd stumbled on the biggest thing in anthropology or whether this bizarre man was making Baron Munchausen look like a piker.
He seemed to guess her thoughts. "I can't prove that, of course. But so long as you arrange about that operation, I don't care whether you believe me or not."
"But--but--how?"
"I think the lightning did it. We were out trying to drive some bison into a pit. Well, this big thunderstorm came up, and the bison bolted in the wrong direction. So we gave up and tried to find shelter. And the next thing I knew I was lying on the ground with the rain running over me, and the rest of the clan standing around wailing about what had they done to get the storm-god sore at them, so he made a bull's-eye on one of their best hunters. They'd never said that about me before. It's funny how you're never appreciated while you're alive.
"But I was alive, all right. My nerves were pretty well shot for a few weeks, but otherwise I was all right except for some burns on the soles of my feet. I don't know just what happened, except I was reading a couple of years ago that scientists had located the machinery that controls the replacement of tissue in the medulla oblongata. I think maybe the lightning did something to my medulla to speed it up. Anyway I never got any older after that. Physically, that is. And except for those broken bones I told you about. I was thirty-three at the time, more or less. We didn't keep track of ages. I look older now, because the lines in your face are bound to get sort of set after a few thousand years, and because our hair was always gray at the ends. But I can still tie an ordinary Homo sapiens in a knot if I want to."
"Then you're--you mean to say you're--you're trying to tell me you're--"
"A Neanderthal man? Homo neanderthalensis? That's right."
)
