Building Blocks (9 page)

Kevin didn't understand, but Brann did. Maybe just because he was older. Or maybe because he'd just
let his brain split apart so he could let some new ideas in. “We could do a circuit of the walls,” he suggested.

“But you already tried that, didn't you?”

“I guess so. And—everything I memorized I forgot as soon as I panicked. I thought I was being so smart. I didn't mean to get you into this kind of trouble, Kevin.”

“I know. It's OK, really.”

“Can you remember anything?”

“I just followed your voice, until I could see the light, and where you were—you were like a silhouette, because you were shining it in the other direction. The echoes must have confused you, do you think?”

“I don't think, I know. But listen, can you picture it? People who draw, artists—”

“I'm not an artist,” Kevin interrupted.

“Yeah, but you must have a good visual memory. Don't argue with me, I'm having an idea, it can't hurt if I just have it. Can you remember where I was standing?”

Kevin thought. Brann waited. While he waited he moved the light beam around walls. “There,” Kevin said.

“Are you sure?”

“Well, there was the shadow from a rock like a huge spear, and I remember that and that rock looks like it might cast that kind of shadow.”

Brann got up to stand about as far from the wall as he thought he'd been. Kevin stayed behind him, directing him where to stand until it looked right. “Now,” Brann said. “Back off to where you might have come in.”

“But I can't see barely anything.”

“We need to get a fix on the general area where you came in,” Brann explained patiently. “Until it looks, as much as you can remember, just like it did.”

“Do I have to?”

“It's the best way to try, I think. If you get too scared I can turn around and shine the light, but if you could just try it—I've been all around these walls seven times and I couldn't' see anything and I'm not sure even this will work. So if we can make it as close to how it was, that'll be our best bet. Because your visual memory is what we're banking on.”

He heard the shuffling footsteps behind him. It took a long time, until Kevin finally said, “Here.”

Brann turned around, shone the light in the direction of Kevin's voice and crossed the room. “There's a
ledge,” he said, his heart rising, “so far so good.” He put the flashlight into the narrow opening.

The beam shone down an endless tunnel, reflecting back upon itself. Brann's heart sank. Now he could see how the roof of the tunnel gradually sank down to meet the floor, closing it off. He drew his arm out of the opening.

“I already tried that one, that's not it.” His voice sounded hollow.

“You mean you went in it?”

“No, I looked down it, because it felt like about the right height. But it's too long, see?” He stepped back to let Kevin look. “It wasn't that long a tunnel and this one just closes down, narrows down. See?”

Kevin peered in. “I don't think so,” he said. “It's an optical illusion, because the tunnel slanted down, remember?”

Brann didn't remember that. But he knew he couldn't trust himself. “Shall we try? How long was it, do you remember?”

“Awfully long.”

“But you were moving in the dark so that might make it seem longer. I don't know. Why did you come down anyway?”

“I thought maybe you'd hurt yourself or something. You'd been gone a long time.”

“You're really something, kid, you know that?”

“No, I'm not. Do you want to try this?”

“We can always back out again. I guess. Let's take a chance on your visual memory.”

“I don't know—”

“It's OK,” Brann reassured him. “Do you want to go first, or me? We should hold onto ankles or something. So we don't get separated.”

“You go first, please,” Kevin said.

They clambered into the narrow tunnel. Brann, flashlight in his mouth again, his pace impaired by Kevin's hand holding onto his left ankle, tried to remember how narrow it had seemed before, whether his shoulders had rubbed in the same way, how low he'd had to hold his head, whether it had taken this long, seemed this long a stretch . . .

When he saw the darkness open up ahead, and dim daylight filtering through with false brightness from overhead, he opened his mouth to tell Kevin. The flashlight clattered on the stones and went out. “It's OK,” Brann said, “you were right, we're out!” He scrabbled along the stone floor until he picked up the
flashlight. Then he pulled his body out of the tunnel and reached a hand to haul Kevin out. He hugged the boy in sheer relief, feeling how short he was and how narrow his chest. “You did it,” he said again.

Kevin nodded, his face pale.

Brann shook the flashlight and it came on again, the batteries rattling inside of the metal tube. “Let's get out of here.”

They clambered on all fours up the steep incline, until the earth broke apart over their heads. Above—Brann scrambled up and out—over his head, miles and miles of empty sky—opened out—to pour down light so bright it hurt, and nothing had ever hurt so wonderfully in his whole life.

Kevin was standing in the same dazed fashion. His clothes were covered with dirt, his face was streaked with it, his hair matted down with it. The two boys stared at each other for a minute, then they both broke into a run, to stumble laughing back up out of the trees, to run at full speed across the field. Brann waited for Kevin to catch up at the road, and they made the rest of the journey back at a more sedate pace.

When they turned the corner onto Kevin's Street, Kevin stopped Brann. “Don't tell,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I'd get in real trouble. Promise?”

“Sure, I promise.”

“Never? Promise you'll never tell no matter what?”

Brann thought it was pretty silly, a little kid promise. But it was the least he could do for Kevin who had gotten him out. “I promise not to tell. Not anyone.”

Kevin nodded. They started to walk down the sidewalk. “Let me go in and check on my grandparents, then we can get washed up before anybody knows.”

“That'll feel good,” Brann agreed. Dirt and sweat, heat sweat and fear sweat, both, felt scummy all over his body. He could do with a shower. He sat down on the back steps to wait for Kevin to give him the OK and to think. He wanted to think back
over the things he'd been thinking in the cave, when he was scared he'd never get out—and about Kevin. He wanted to let the ideas soak in clearly, so he wouldn't forget them. Then—he admitted it to himself—he wanted to go home.

“Hey, Brann!” Suzanne ran up to stand beside him. “I saw you two. You had a fight, hunh? I bet you beat him good.”

Brann looked up at her, puzzled.

“He doesn't usually fight. Usually he runs away. What made him fight? Was it you against him or the two of you against somebody else?”

Brann tried to think about what to say.

She didn't care what he had to say. “Are you going to come with me?”

“Where?”

“I told you, swimming. Mrs. Grynowski doesn't keep much of an eye on us, she's in ironing and listening to the radio. Do you dare? Or not.”

“What about Kevin?”

“He's a sissy. He won't come.”

“Are you sure it's all right?” Brann asked. A swim would feel even better than a shower.

She looked scornful. “Of course, it's not all right.
But we can get away with it. Or are you a sissy too?”

Brann didn't even answer that. She was stupid to think he couldn't' see through that kind of a trick. “I'm waiting for Kevin.”

“Then you'll do it.”

“I haven't said I'll do anything,” Brann snapped at her. But why not? he asked himself. Kevin stepped out and Brann said quickly, “She knows about the fight, but I'm not planning to give her any details. Are you?”

Slowly, Kevin shook his head. His eyes moved to Suzanne's face, then back to Brann's.

“We're going swimming,” Suzanne told her brother. “Without you.”

“Hold on,” Brann pitched in. “I didn't say that. Do you want to come, Kevin?”

Kevin didn't want to, Brann could see that. “I'm going,” Brann said. Suzanne grinned at Kevin.

“Then I'll come with you,” Kevin said. “It's hot enough. If you're lying though, Suzanne, if they haven't gone away, if we get caught—”

“What'll you do?” She sneered.

They walked through the small town, down its one main street. Everything was quiet. It was as if
the heat hung so low it could squash even the buildings down. The stores had their doors open, and huge ceiling fans moved the sticky air around from outside to inside.

After they had passed through the town they began going up a long, steep hill. They walked on the shoulder of the winding road. No cars passed them, not going up away from the river valley, not going down toward the town. Woods grew to the very edges of the road, and leafy branches hung over it. Bushy undergrowth crowded up at the trunks of the trees.

The three children walked on uphill. When they had gone more than a mile, Brann finally asked how much farther it was. Suzanne had been waiting for this question. “Only another mile,” she said. “Why? You tired?”

Brann denied it. His whole body was getting a layer of sweat over the previous layers. His T-shirt was soaked with it. He could feel the cuts on his right heel. But it felt good to be hot and tired, with the sharp pain of the cut reminding him that he was alive. It would feel good to jump into the water of a swimming pool.

At the crest of the hill you could look down along three roads. Each road wound off and away, but not before revealing a glimpse of mansions between tree trunks.

Brann knew a mansion when he saw one. A mansion was big and spread out, so that you knew there were bedrooms for a dozen people. A mansion was built out of fancy materials, gray stone or long white clapboards or yellow brick. A mansion sat on its site proudly, and its lawn stretched away from it like the cloth beneath a Christmas tree. A mansion looked rich. These were mansions.

Suzanne led them into a patch of woods growing wild. At the end of it, in a small dell at the bottom of a sloping lawn, a long blue rectangle of water waited.

Brann stood at the edge of the lawn and looked up the slope to where the house stood. The house had one large central section and two long wings. Each wing was about four times as big as Brann's own house. Two broad stone staircases, one at either side of the lawn, curved down from the house to the pool. The same stone had been used to make a patio area around the pool.

“It's like a movie set,” Brann said.

“So what?” Suzanne asked.

Brann ignored her and turned to Kevin. The boy nodded, his gray eyes roaming along the lines of the house. “Because of the proportions, can you see it?” Brann could see; his father had taught him about proportion. He wondered who had taught Kevin. Kevin talked on: “If it was one story higher, or lower, it would be all wrong, unsymmetrical. Even if it matched perfectly. And it doesn't look heavy, does it? Those big windows all along the ground floor, they keep it from looking heavy.”

“How'd you like to live in a house like that?” Brann asked. He could almost taste the pleasure it would give him.

Kevin shrugged. “I don't know. But I'd like to build one. We could make one with the—”

“Are we going to swim or stand around?” Suzanne interrupted. She stripped down to her underpants.

The place looked deserted enough. They left their clothes in the woods and ran barefoot across the grass. The water, blue and cooler than sky, was glassy-still. They hesitated at the deep end.

“I don't think—” Kevin began, in a whisper.

Brann fell into the water. He let himself sink and sink into its wetness and coolness, absorbing it into every pore of his whole body. He expelled the air from his lungs to keep himself going down, floating down, alone in the watery world. When he felt the bottom under his hands and knees, he opened his eyes and swam underwater until the need for air forced him up. Then he pushed hard with his feet against the bottom and shot up, spattering fat drops of water around him. He shook his hair out of his eyes and dived down underwater again.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the air bubbles of the two other swimmers. He ignored them. The water washed at his skin, cleaning it. In the pools near Brann's house, or the motel pools he'd swum in, he'd gotten a lot of practice swimming underwater, because you could go your own way no matter how crowded the pool was. The bottom of this pool was painted bright blue and made of rough cement, not the usual plastic liner. The temperature was cooler than Brann was used to because, he guessed, the pool wasn't heated. There was no chlorine to burn at his eyes. But the liquidity all around him, and the silence pressing on his ears, and the
blurred outlines of everything, those he recognized.

Brann surfaced again and looked around. Suzanne was on the diving board, bouncing. Kevin did a dog paddle down at the shallow end. Brann rolled onto his back and floated.

He saw a deep blue sky onto which marched high-headed white clouds. This was ringed by the leafy tops of trees and the tall roof of the house. He heard insects chirping and buzzing and whirring, all around. He heard Suzanne dive into the water and the splashing sound as the waves she made hit the sides of the pool.

Brann knew the two Connell children were in the pool with him, but he felt alone. The deep, luxurious sense of privacy, of solitude, seeped inside of him, as gentle as water. He had never felt this way before. But then, he realized, he'd never been alone before in quite this way. Some of it was the cultivated beauty of the setting: the pool, the green and empty lawn, the well-made house, the trees grown tall over the many years, the deep sky. Some of it was the queer place in time he now occupied, not really himself, unable to be really anyone else. Some of it was reaction to the caves. And some of it, maybe the
most important part, was the way for the first time in his life he was in a place where there was more than enough room outside, so that he could stretch inside and see how much room there was in there, and how much of him there was in there to fill the outside spaces.