Little Doors (4 page)

“Now I shall have a baby! You lied to me, Crow! You lied!”

But the Crow just laughed and flew away.

Crawleigh felt sick. He threw the book across the room, hoping it would hit the wall and fall to pieces. But it landed safely atop a pile of shirts.

Audrey came back around midnight. She crawled naked into bed beside the sleeping Crawleigh and woke him up by straddling him and rocking against him until he was erect. Then she made love to him as if possessed.

* * *

The semester was over. Normally Crawleigh would have felt an immense relief and excitement at the prospect of a summer’s worth of free time stretching ahead of him. But at the close of this semester he felt nothing but trepidation and unease. Nothing was going right, in either his personal or his professional life.

Regarding the former, Audrey had refused to see him since they got back from San Francisco and their aborted vacation. He missed her more than he had ever imagined he would.

And for his current project—he was impossibly stumped by that damnable
Little Doors
.

He had finished reading the book. But he still didn’t know what to make of it. That it was important—perhaps pivotal—to his thesis was no longer in doubt. He simultaneously blessed and cursed the day he had learned of it. But exactly what it meant was not clear.

The central nugget of mystery was contained in a single speech, at the very end of the book, by the one constant character in both Crawleigh’s and Mitchell’s versions of the story.

Professor Mouse.

With late May breezes blowing into his office, Crawleigh took the irritating book down from its shelf. It was long overdue, but he ignored the notices mailed to him. He couldn’t give it up till he understood it.

Opening to a well-thumbed page, Crawleigh studied the central passage for the hundredth time.

“You claim,” said Princess Ordinary, rubbing her swollen belly, “that I can leave this world only through a little door. Well, I would be glad to follow your advice—for this world has not treated me well of late, and I am anxious to reach another—but I am at a loss as to what a little door is. Do you mean something like the tiny door by which I entered your burrow? Am I in another world already?”

Professor Mouse curried his snout with his paws before answering. “No, my dear. I am afraid you have misunderstood me. A little door is not a physical thing, although it may very well manifest itself as one to your senses. A little door is more a twist in the universe that results from a state of mind occasioned by certain special everyday things which most people have come to take for granted, but which are really quite special.”

“Such as what?” asked the Princess.

“Oh my, there are so many I could hardly name them all. But I’ll tell you a few. February 29th is a little door, of course, just like New Year’s Eve and the First of May. So are the four hinges of the day: midnight, six a.m., noon, and six p.m. Certain books are little doors. Special smells and tastes that reach back to your childhood are little doors. Shifting dapples of sun and shade in the forest are little doors. Mountains are little doors, although to be sure they are quite big. Your birthday is a little door, and I daresay a full moon is one too. Cats with double-paws are little doors. So is the call of a hunter’s horn. A trunk full of memories in an attic could be a little door. And it is indisputable that love is a little door, as is memory. My goodness, I could go on and on.”

Princess Ordinary tried to understand and did indeed feel herself trembling on the verge of some new knowledge. But still she had a question.

“You say all these common but uncommon things are little doors to somewhere else. Why then, I could have encountered any number of little doors back home, without ever having to undertake this dreadful, tiresome journey. Why have I never been able to, say, step through my mirror, as I have often wished?”

“Ah, you lacked the key to a little door,” the big mouse said patiently. “You see, little doors do not always open when you wish. You must approach them with the proper state of mind. Your emotions and attitude are the key, and they must be strong. Serenity or desperation, desire for or aversion toward—these are some of the states during which a little door may open. I say ‘may’ since nothing is certain in this world, and many have wished for little doors to open and never been so lucky. And of course there are those rare instances when the last thing a person thought he wanted was to enter a little door, but it opened up and swallowed him anyway.”

“So on this journey,” said the Princess slowly and thoughtfully, “what I did was refine my desires until they were pure and intense enough to open a little door.”

“Exactly,” agreed Mouse.

A light broke upon the Princess then, making her look quite beautiful. “Then the quest was its own goal, wasn’t it? And now I can leave your burrow and find my little door.”

“Of course,” said Professor Mouse.

And so she did.

Crawleigh looked up.

Audrey had walked in silently, and now stood looking at him.

Crawleigh felt two polar emotions. He had told her never to come here. But he was glad she had. Finally he adopted a cautious neutrality.

“Well, Audrey—what can I do for you?”

For a long second she studied his face, at last saying. “You’ve knocked me up. I forgot to take my pills with me to California, and now I’ve missed a period.”

Crawleigh felt the world billow around him like a sail in the wind. He grew nauseous, then unnaturally calm. What a stupid little slut, he thought. But I’ll take care of her, out of the goodness of my heart.

“I’ll pay for the abortion of course,” Crawleigh said. “We’ll have it done out of state, if you want, so no one will ever know. And I’ll even come with you.”

Audrey was silent. Crawleigh thought she hadn’t expected him to take it so calmly.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Yes. What else could we do? Certainly not—”

“Damn you!” Audrey shrieked.

She ran out the door.

For a moment, Crawleigh sat shocked.

Then he followed.

Out on the quad, Crawleigh spotted her, still running. She was headed toward the arch.

Heedless of onlookers, Crawleigh took off after her.

“Audrey! Wait!”

She kept running.

Crawleigh gained slowly.

When Audrey got to within a few feet of the arch, the world inverted.

Crawleigh saw the huge arch shrink into insignificance.

At the same time, the painted door and the painted stairs at the base of the arch assumed solidity and reality as they swelled larger than lifesize. The stairs projected out into the quad, a luminous flight of veined marble. At the top, the hammered-silver door with its golden knob and iron hinges beckoned like a distillation of every forbidden door in every fairy tale ever written or narrated.

From far, far away, Crawleigh heard the campus bells chime noon. A car horn sounded long and loud, dopplering away as in some dream.

Audrey had stopped. Crawleigh did too. They seemed the only people in the world. Crawleigh felt ageless.

Confronting Crawleigh, Audrey said, in a voice hushed with reverence, “It’s happening, Jerry, it’s really happening, isn’t it? The big, good thing I always wished for. I guess I finally wished hard enough, or was scared enough, or something …”

Stupefied and fearful, Crawleigh could not bring himself to share Audrey’s delighted childlike awe.

“Don’t be a fool, Audrey, it’s only some hallucination or delusion. I can’t explain what’s happening, but I know it’s not real. There’s no escape from this world. Stop running, and let’s confront this problem like adults.”

Crawleigh felt insane and deceitful, arguing so prosaically in front of this magnificent apparition. But he didn’t know what else to do.

His imagination had failed him.

Ignoring her former lover’s advice, Audrey moved to the first step. She placed one foot delicately on the surface, testing its solidity. When it held her, she brought the other foot up too.

She looked beseechingly back at Crawleigh, who averted his eyes.

Slowly at first, then with more and more confidence, Audrey climbed all the stairs until she stood at the top.

She gripped the golden knob.

Crawleigh heard the click of her painted nails on its metal. He raised his eyes to watch whatever would come next.

Audrey opened the little door.

A world too marvelous to be trapped in words revealed itself beyond. Its sky seemed to be gloriously on fire, and the radiance that spilled out the door made Audrey lambent. Crawleigh winced, and flung up his hands as if blinded.

Audrey turned to face Crawleigh. The sight had transfigured her plain features into something otherworldly.

She spoke softly. “It’s so wonderful. Just what I always dreamed. Come with me, Jerry. Everything will be okay there.”

Crawleigh shook his head, mute.

Audrey stepped through—

—and pulled the door shut. Crawleigh fainted then.

And when he awoke, with the campus medics bending over him, he said: “Audrey—”

But no one could tell him where she was.

BILLY

Billy’s father was in the delivery room when Billy was born. Billy’s father stood by his wife’s white-gowned left shoulder, holding her hand, as the Doctor and nurses worked to deliver the baby boy everyone expected. To Billy’s father, the operating room lights seemed those of another world, and the air smelled like the inside of a medicine cabinet. His wife’s face was covered with sweat. She seemed to be having a difficult time.

The first moment Billy’s father suspected that something was wrong was when one of the nurses blanched and averted her face. Then the Doctor paled, and seemed to fumble between Billy’s mother’s legs. Recovering, the Doctor continued the delivery.

Billy’s father wanted to ask what the matter was. But at the same time, he didn’t want to alarm his wife. So he kept quiet and only continued to squeeze his wife’s hand.

In the next thirty seconds, his wife screamed, a young nurse retched and rushed off, clutching her stomach, the baby emerged, its cord was cut, and, inexplicably, before Billy’s father could get a good look at the infant, it was rushed from the room.

Billy’s father leaned down to his wife’s ear and whispered, “You did wonderful, dear. I’ll be right with you. I’ve got to see the Doctor now though.”

Billy’s father walked over in his green antistatic slippers to the Doctor.

The Doctor said, “Please step outside with me for a moment.”

In the corridor, his mask now dangling around his neck, the Doctor said, “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Your son exhibits a grave congenital deficiency.”

Billy’s father nodded, not knowing what to say. The Doctor seemed to be having a difficult time finding words also.

“He’s—anencephalic,” the Doctor finally managed to say.

“I don’t understand,” said Billy’s father.

“Your son’s skull never fully developed. It’s open. In fact, it ends approximately above his eyes. Consequently, his brain never developed either. Such specimens—ah, children—usually possess only a small portion of gray matter above the spinal cord.”

Billy’s father thought a moment. “I take it this is a critical problem.”

“It’s normally fatal. Children with this trauma usually don’t live beyond an hour or so.”

“This is bad news,” said Billy’s father.

“Yes, it is,” agreed the Doctor. “Do you want me to tell your wife?”

“No. I will.”

Billy’s father went to his wife’s room, where she was resting. She looked angelic and fulfilled. He told her what the Doctor had said.

When Billy’s mother was done weeping, her husband left her to inquire what forms he had to fill out in connection with their son’s death, or stillbirth.

He found their Doctor surrounded by a group of his fellows, all conferring with animation and wonder.

“I can’t understand it—”

“Not in the literature—”

“Autonomic functions are being supported somehow—”

“Do we dare attempt a bone graft?”

“I doubt it would take.”

“He surely can’t live his life without one.”

“The possible infections alone—”

“Not to mention the cosmetic appearance—”

Billy’s father interrupted politely. “Doctor, please. What kind of paperwork is there to be done before my son can be buried?”