Him Standing (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

T
here were fifteen hundred bucks in the roll. In hundreds and fifties. It was more money than I had ever seen in one place at one time. I held it in my hands and fanned it wide. I could feel an excitement I had never felt before start to glow in my belly. Amy watched me with a small smile on her face.

“You're like a little kid on Christmas,” she said.

“Feels like it. I mean, ten times this will be more money than I've earned in my life,” I said.

“Yes. But you have to earn it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you have to quit sniffing the advance and get to work, bucko.”

We laughed. It felt good holding a wad of money and knowing there was more coming. All I had to do was get to work. But that bothered me. I still didn't know exactly what Gareth Knight wanted. I handed his card to Amy. She looked at it and rubbed her thumb across its slick surface.

“So this guy dressed all in black challenges you to carve a face. Then he hands you fifteen hundred bucks in a roll and offers
you ten times that to do what your grandfather did?” she asked.

“Yeah, with a weird reference to a circle of like-minded associates.”

“He sounds freaky,” she said. “We should call him.”

“Right now?”

“Why wait?” she asked. “I would never go on a shoot for someone I didn't know. Not unless I got full particulars.”

“I suppose. Sure. Why not? Get the ball rolling here.” I picked up the card and punched the numbers into the phone and held it to my ear.

Then a funny thing happened. We both heard the ring of the phone at the other end of the line. It rang just outside my door. At the same moment, there was a knock. I looked at Amy. She was as shocked as I was. I put the phone down and went to the door. I opened it to find Gareth Knight leaning on the jamb, waving his phone idly in his hand.

“You rang?” he asked and smiled.

“How did you know where I lived?” I asked.

He laughed. Then he straightened, adjusting his attire. He was still in black, but now he was dressed in jeans, boots, a T-shirt and a tuxedo jacket. A porkpie hat sat on his head at a rakish angle.

“I like to know where my money is going. I have associates who undertook to find that out for me. Nice accommodations, by the way. Very grungy in a struggling-artist sort of way. Nice aroma of cabbage, socks and grease.
”

He looked at Amy and bowed slightly.

“I'm a bit surprised to find you here, my dear.”

“Well, I come with the territory,” she said. “And besides, Mr. Knight, Lucas lives here
because he wants to, not because he has to.”

“I see. To soak up the atmosphere. Feed
the muse, I suppose.”

“Something like that,” I said. The guy was starting to irritate me. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Same thing you were doing with the tele
phone, Lucas. Getting the ball rolling here.”

Amy and I looked at each other in surprise. He had used the same words as me. He watched us with an amused expression.

“Now, may I come in to discuss details, or are you and
Ms.
One Sky
going to keep me outside in this lovely hallway all day?”

“How do you know my name?” Amy asked. She sounded angry.

Knight touched the brim of his hat and nodded.

“Come now, Ms. One Sky. One needn't look far to find your face. And one needn't look far beyond that to find out who the face belongs to. A wonderful face, I might add. You should carve her, Lucas.”

I stepped back to let him in. He strode by and inspected the room. It had never been much. Just a bed and a dresser, a small closet, an armchair and a table that held my carving tools and a few pieces of wood. He nodded, almost as if he liked it. Then he turned and regarded us with a raised eyebrow.

“Shall we discuss our arrangement?”

Amy and I sat on the bed, and Knight lowered himself slowly into the armchair. He looked at me calmly. I stared back at him for a long moment. Finally I cleared my throat.

“You're willing to pay me fifteen thousand for a spirit mask, even though you understand that I've never done a spirit mask. That's what it is, unless I missed something.”

“Wonderfully summarized, Mr. Smoke.”

“So what is it that you want exactly?”

“I want a legend brought to life.”

“Excuse me?” I asked abruptly.

Knight grinned.

“I mean, I want the essence of a legend brought to life. As you do with all your work, Lucas. I want you to bring the spirit of a story forward.”

“Which story is that?” I asked.

“That's where the work comes in, I'm afraid.”

“Meaning?” Amy asked.

He looked at her and gave her a huge and dazzling smile. She blushed, and he smiled even harder.

“You have to dream,” he said. “You have to allow yourself to inhabit the dream world. There you will find the legend and the story I want brought to life in wood. Your grandfather understood this way. It was the key to his work.”

“He never shared that with me,” I said.

“A pity. You'll have to learn it on your own then.”

“How do I do that?”

“Sleep,” he said, “perchance to dream.”

“I've never dreamed very clearly,” I said.

“You will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He leaned back in the chair and crossed one of his legs over the other. He made a steeple with his fingers and braced it under his chin.

“Because your grandfather left you his gift. It's rare, Lucas. Rare.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“I can think of fifteen thousand reasons,” he said and laughed.

CHAPTER FOUR

N
either Amy nor I were comfortable once Knight had left. He was a mystery. We knew nothing about him, except that he could throw around a lot of money. While that was okay with me,
I didn't like feeling that I was on the outside of things. Dream? What was that supposed to mean? My whole gig was built on carving what I could see. If something was right in front of me, I had no trouble making it appear in wood. But this? This was just weird.

We spent the rest of the day trying to distract ourselves. Amy led me to our favorite secondhand shops, the thrift stores and flea markets where I bought all my clothes and stuff. Paying full price for things wasn't something I liked to do. Besides, things always felt better to me when I knew they had a life before I got them. I guess that's why I got so good at carving—I could feel history in things.

We ate at Amy's apartment. She's a good cook. She cut a steak into thin strips and stir-fried it with broccoli, snow peas, peppers, onions, mushrooms, tomatoes and spices that made it all tangy and hot. I loved it. Then we curled up on her couch and listened to music in the dark. That's one of the things we like the most. We turn off everything but the stereo and let the music flow over us in the darkness. It's really cool. You get right inside the music that way, and you hear things in it that you don't normally hear. We don't talk. We just listen. We spend hours that way.

After that I walked home.

Gareth Knight was still on my mind. I wanted to do the job. But there was something about it that bugged me. Knight never said anything straight. He just kind of laid something out there and expected you to run with it or let it hang. And talking about my grandfather—that bugged me a lot. The memory of my grandfather was so special that I never spoke of him. Even to Amy. All of us have things so precious we keep them to ourselves. Things we don't want to lose. Things we don't want changed from the way we remember them. I guess I didn't want anything to change about the way I remembered my grandfather. So I never spoke of him.

When I got home, I read for a while. I was actually afraid to sleep. I didn't think I bought the mumbo jumbo Knight had talked about. But it kept me awake. Legends brought to life? Legends were stories. Teaching stories. But they were just stories. There weren't real people in them. They were all dream people.

I tossed and turned once I shut the light off. I thought about getting up and working on something. Instead, I just lay there. Finally,
after an hour or so, I drifted off.

I found myself on a riverbank in the moonlight. It was made of stones. There was a tall cliff behind me and a narrow path twisting its way upward. Across the river was another cliff, but this one was less steep. There was a thick carpet of trees on its face. The moon hung right over the middle of the water. The river had eased out of a long, sweeping turn, and the current was slow. It was summer, and the night was cool but not uncomfortable.

There was a canoe on the beach a few yards away from me. I suddenly wanted to paddle. I walked over and pushed the canoe into the water. I waded in knee-deep and stepped over the gunwale and into the canoe. I began to paddle. I could see the reflection of the moon on the calm water. A light breeze barely disturbed the peaceful night air.

But suddenly the wind rose. It came blustering out of the upstream sweep of the river and quickly turned the water to chop. The canoe begin to buck in the waves. The current grew stronger. The canoe was pushed downstream. Nothing I could do would change its course. The river churned and the canoe dipped crazily. I heard laughter. I looked around, but there was no one there. The laughter boomed out across the water.

Then I heard the thunder of a waterfall. I could see the spume rising in clouds a half mile ahead of me. The roar of it grew louder. There was nothing I could do to stop the canoe. The laughter rumbled
off the cliffs all around me.

I flailed at the water with the paddle. The canoe hurtled forward. I felt my insides turn to water. Just as it reached the edge of the waterfall, I looked up. There was the face of a man in the moon. He was laughing. That's all I saw before the bow dropped and the canoe plummeted. I hit the pool at the foot of the falls and was pushed down deeper and deeper, as if by a giant hand. The
frigid water produced a burning sensation.

I spun in the crazy current. I had no idea which way was up. Then I heard a voice say, “Open your eyes.” That's all. It was a deep bass voice. Commanding. I opened my eyes. All I could see was eerie, dark blue. Then I
saw the moon. I kicked hard toward it. As I got closer to the surface, the image became clearer. Then I saw the face. A shaman's face, painted black with three wavy red lines running down its right cheek. Looking down at me from the face of the moon.

“Do you see me?” the voice asked.

I clawed frantically for the surface. “Yes,” I said.

“Bring me to life,” it said.

“I can't,” I said.

“Then die.”

I felt icy hands push me deeper into the pool. My lungs wanted to explode. The moon had vanished. There was only the terrible dark of the water.

I woke up bathed in a cold sweat.

CHAPTER FIVE

A
t first, it was only dreams. They seemed to come even before I was fully asleep. All I had to do was close my eyes, and I was deep in the shimmer of light and color. Each of them was a story. Each of them had something to do with the shaman. I was in them as an observer. But I could see everything. I knew the man had power. I knew that he was a wizard, a sorcerer. I knew that he had lived a long time ago, before white people came to North America. I knew that he was cold. Heartless. I knew that he was mean.

But they were such grand dreams. I saw parts of the life my people had led many years ago. I saw trappers and hunters. I saw canoe makers, drum builders, toolmakers, hide tanners and men who were born to fight. Everywhere I looked in those dreams, I felt as though I was there. It was like they were shining a light on my own history, and I found myself eager to go to them, to find
myself in them, to be among those people.

Those people included the man with the painted face. He carried a powerful magic. He lived alone, apart from the people, and when the smoke rose from his wigwam, the people seemed to creep around their camp. Songs and drumming and strange incantations came from that lodge then. Sometimes it would shake as though there was a violent struggle going on inside. The people averted their eyes. No one spoke. Everyone was afraid. But I couldn't take my eyes off that small wigwam in the trees.

Amy began to notice a change in me.

“You're so quiet lately,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

“It's fine,” I said. I was scraping a bevel-edged chisel along a line of wood and didn't look at her.

“It doesn't feel fine, Lucas. You feel far away from me.”

“I'm busy,” I said.

“You're always busy lately. But I never see anything get done. You stare off into space and rub the edge of a tool on wood, but you don't create anything.”

I stood up suddenly. I could feel the raw, dark edge of anger in my gut.

“Are you going to start telling me how to work?” I asked. It didn't feel like my voice.

She sat back farther in her chair. She looked at me wide-eyed.

“You never raised your voice at me before,” she said quietly.

I felt guilty. The anger had risen in me before I knew it was even there.

“I'm sorry,” I said in my own voice. “This whole project has got me anxious, and I was never anxious about a piece before.”

“It's the money, isn't it?”

“Yeah. That and Knight and the damn dreams.”

“What dreams?”

I looked out the window at the skyline of the city. I spoke without looking at her. I told her about the vision of the camp and how it almost felt like I'd been transported back in time. How real the people and their lives seemed. I told her about the man with the painted face. I left out the part about the
wigwam shaking and the feeling of blackness that fell over everything when that happened. I told her everything except the hold these dreams were starting to have on me. Like I needed them. Like I couldn't wait to get back to them.

“Knight told you to dream,” she said. “He said you would.”

“I haven't seen the legend though,” I said.

“Maybe the legend is in the lives of the people.”

“Too ordinary,” I said. “Knight's after something heavy.”

“Heavy as in what?” she asked.

I spun in my seat so fast, it shocked both of us. I stood up. Suddenly I felt heavier, bulkier, taut with muscle. My face felt like a chunk of stone. It was a heady feeling. I felt incredibly powerful. The voice that came out of me was harsh and sharp like a hiss.

“There are powers and secrets best not spoken, girl child.”

Amy stood up and backed away from me. Her hand was at her throat, and her eyes were huge and scared-looking. I took a step toward her. She held the other hand out to keep me at arm's length.

“Don't,” she said.

“Amy, I…I…” I stuttered.

“Just don't, Lucas. Don't do or say anything.”

I felt smaller then, back to my usual size. My body sagged. There was a feeling in my head like the moment after an accident happens and you wonder where you are. I still had the chisel in my hand. I looked at it dumbly and laid it on the table. She was watching me closely. When I slumped into my chair, I saw her slowly start to relax.

“You called me girl child, Lucas. You never speak like that.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“And your face? Your face was wild. Your eyes were almost red. I thought you
were going to attack me with the chisel.”

“I wouldn't,” I said.

“
You
wouldn't, no.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, I've never seen you react like that. It's like you were someone else. Someone I don't want to know.”

I stared at the floor. I felt as though a chunk of time had been ripped from my life. It was as though I'd been pushed to the sidelines and forced to watch as things went on. As though I had no power to step off those sidelines and say or do anything different. But I couldn't tell her that. It made no sense to me. If it made no sense to me, it was sure not going to make any sense to her. I felt sure of that.

“I'm just stressed,” I said. “I'll get some better sleep tonight and I'll be fine.”

“This work isn't good for you. It scares me. You scare me.”

All I could do was look at her and nod.