Rich Shapero (17 page)

Just then, a chill wind strafed the meadow.

"Shivers wants him," Robbie said.

Fristeen nodded.

"What should we do?"

She made a helpless face.

Robbie glanced around, then stooped to
retrieve a fan of withered willow leaves. He rested the dead bird on the fan,
and set the fan on the water beside Big Sponge. When he gave it a push, the
tiny barge drifted through the reeds.

"That's what they did when King Arthur
died," he said.

For a few moments, the willow fan bore the
bird up, then it began to sink. They watched in silence as the water circled the
little creature's beak. Then it was beneath the green surface, fading from
view.

"He can't give himself to the Dream
Man now," Robbie muttered. "It's too late."

Fristeen stared at the water. "That
won't happen to us."

At the border of Too Far, they drew their
clothes back on.

They paused at Used-to-Be, so Fristeen
could twine co-mandra in her hair. As they descended to the Great Place, she
stopped and turned.

"Where are they now?" she mused,
gazing back.

"In the sky."

They lifted their faces and scanned the
heavens together.

"And Hands?"

"He's in the Cabin. That's where he
sleeps at night."

The dinner blow-up was behind them, and as
if encouraged by that, the good weather persisted for five days. Then the sun disappeared,
and by the end of the week, it was as if it had never existed. Rain came and
went, but the mist was constant. It seemed to like Robbie's home. A thick
ground fog stole around the small dwelling and entrenched itself like a white
moat.

Robbie spent lots of time at Fristeen's
house. He brought food that didn't need to be cooked—crackers, fruit, bread,
carrots—things like that. One morning, he'd loaded a grocery bag and was making
for the back door when Dad saw him.

"What's in the sack?"

"Lunch," Robbie said.

Dad stared at him. It was a lot of stuff.
Just then, they both heard Mom coming down the hall. Dad nodded toward the back
door, and turned to meet her. Robbie slipped out before she saw.

Mom and Dad weren't fighting, but the
tension between them didn't go away. There was courtesy and forbearing, but no
warmth or love. Mom was discouraged. It was like the cut on her hand. She
thought it was getting better, but when she picked the scab off, the cut was
still there, bleeding as bad as ever.

She decided to redo the kitchen cupboards,
and Dad sawed shelves for her. One night they didn't go to sleep. Robbie found
them in the garage the next morning, still working. What did that mean? Robbie
guessed for a few days, and then he stopped trying.

When Sunday came, the house was quiet. Mom
was writing in her journal, Dad was reading a book. Robbie was on the floor of
his room, playing with his marbles. One of them had yellow swirls like the
Dream Man's eye.

There was a knock on the door.

"Can I come in?" Dad asked.

"Sure."

Dad stepped through the door and closed it.
He went to Robbie's window and looked out. "Rotten weather."

"Yep."

"What d'you think?" Dad said,
still gazing through the window. "Should we go for a ride?"

Robbie stood. "Where?"

"I don't know." Dad turned to
regard him. "We could drive along the Chena or up to the Dome."

Robbie shrugged. Dad was watching him,
waiting.

"I wish your mom and I were happier
together."

He saw the understanding in Dad's eyes.
Robbie tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Then tears heaved up
and he hugged Dad's middle. Dad stroked his temple while he cried.

"Things will change," Dad said.

He was speaking of their family. Did Robbie
believe it? It was Dad's shirt his tears fell on, but the eye of the Dream Man
was in his hand, and he was holding tight.

***

On Monday, the mist was still swirling, but
there were breaks of clear sky and the rain had stopped. Robbie rose, looked
out, and dressed quickly, determined to escape. Dad was already gone. Mom was
still in her robe, drained and distracted. It was easy to slip out.

When he knocked on the door, Fristeen
opened it. She was overjoyed to see him, but she stood in the gap, barring the
way.

"Wait here," she whispered.

Then the door swung wide, and Grace
appeared behind her with a glass of water in her hand.

"What's the secret?" Grace said.
"Invite Robbie in."

Fristeen gave him a warning look.

As he entered, Grace knelt before him.
"Let me see you."

The living room was hazy with smoke.

"She's high," Fristeen said.

"It's true," Grace said to
Robbie. "High and wide— Open to everything— That's good, isn't it?"
she asked him. "Better than being afraid and alone?" She glanced at
Fristeen. "Love is easy for you. When you're older, you have to get high
to remember—" She paused. "That purity, that freedom, that infallible
trust—"

She faced Robbie, threw her arm around him
and swept him up. "If I had one wish— I'd be six again, and have a friend
like you." She hugged him tightly, spilling water down his back.

"Grace," Fristeen yelled.

"Don't worry," Grace assured her.
"Robbie understands. Don't you?" She kissed his cheek and lowered him
down. Then she set the glass of water on a small table.

Robbie felt dizzy. The sweet-smelling smoke
made it hard to breathe.

"Let's go—" Fristeen eyed him
narrowly.

"It's cold."

She nodded and ran for a jacket.

Grace motioned to him. "Robbie,"
she murmured. She sank to her knees again, sad eyes glistening, inviting him
in. He went, gazing deeply, feeling a little sick all the same. She still
seemed beautiful to him, like a pretty flower that had a bad smell.

"I mean well," Grace said.

Fristeen's scorn pained her. In the weeks
past, it had gotten much worse. When Grace was home, Robbie was never sure how
to act or what to say.

"My problem is—" Grace raised her
hand.

Robbie felt her fingers on his cheek.

"I need some of your luck—" Tears
brimmed in her eyes.

Robbie took a breath. He had something he
wanted to say. "There's no—" He stopped himself, then plunged ahead.
"There's no food here. Fristeen's hungry. You have to go to the
store." There was anger and frustration in his voice.

Grace froze. She seemed puzzled, and then
Robbie saw a wounded look in her eyes. She had been so defenseless with him.
"That's easy for you to—" Abruptly, her consternation ceased. Her jaw
gaped, and a gagging sound rose in her throat. Then she bowed her head, and her
words fought through a sob. "You're right, you're right. Oh Robbie— I'm such
a dolt— I should—" She nodded to herself, wiping her cheeks.

"Great." Robbie tried to keep the
tremor out of his voice. Grace was lifting her head, and he forced himself to
look in her eyes. "Can you do it today?"

"Yes, I promise."

"I'm ready," Fristeen said,
emerging from her room.

"Take care of her," Grace told
him. "I'll be back."

Fristeen eyed her mother dubiously.
"Where are you going?"

"To get groceries." Grace smiled
at Robbie. "And after that—" She sighed and stood. "I'm taking a
vacation—" Her gaze found the window, and she eyed the dense woodland as
if it was an impossible puzzle. "From all of this." She turned toward
the glass of water on the table.

Robbie realized she had something in her
hand.

"A long walk on a quiet beach,"
Grace said softly. She opened her hand over the table, and a red capsule rolled
beside the glass.

Robbie saw the contempt in Fristeen's face.

"Go on," Grace shooed her
daughter. Then she looked at Robbie. "Oh, I see what you see," she
said half to herself, half to Fristeen. "He's—" She was on the verge
of tears again. "—a real man."

"Stop it!" Fristeen grabbed
Robbie's arm to escort him to the door.

But Grace held Robbie back. "Thank
your mother for the handouts." Her eyes were suddenly piercing, like a
lynx Robbie had seen in a cage. "I know what she thinks."

"Mom didn't—"

But Grace wasn't listening. "She's
wrong," she said. Her eyes swam with emotion, again locking Robbie with a
desperate appeal. Finally, she relaxed her hold.

They hurried out the door.

Grace called after them, "Don't get
wet."

***

Was Shivers waiting? It was his kind of
day. There was sun on the Hill when they started up it, but at the top, a chill
came into the air. At the Bendies, the wind gripped the trunks and shook them,
and when they rose from beneath the Fallen Down Trees, a thick mist gathered
round them and everything was consumed. They waited, and just when they were
about to turn back, the fog thinned and the sun reappeared.

He Knows was noncommittal.
"Maybe" and "Take care" was all they could get. There was
calm till the Jigglies. Then the wind rose and cut them to the bone. By the
time they reached Trickle, they were both shaking.

"Robbie?"

The slope ahead was ponded with mist.

"Doesn't look good," he said, weighing
their chances. The sun was still visible. If it vanished, they could turn and
race back. He started up the slope. Halfway to the Great Place, Shivers rolled
in like the tide.

The mist rose to their chests. They could
barely see their shoes. The broth was freezing, the woods grew muffled and
still. They stood shivering, watching the whorls turning purposefully around
them, seeing the currents divide and flow, before and behind, and to either
side.

"Go away," Fristeen shouted.

They could hear Shivers sniffing through
the bushes, scuttling over the leaves.

"Let's go back," Fristeen
whispered.

Robbie shook his head. "The Safe
Tree—"

"Oh speak up, will you," Shivers
sighed. "It's your old friend."

A freezing wind blasted down the slope,
leaving everything trembling in its wake. Robbie turned his face, and Fristeen
ducked behind him.

"We're not your friends,"
Fristeen cried out. "We hate you."

The wind struck again, wedging between
them. Robbie lunged for Fristeen's arm, caught hold of it and struggled up the
slope. The mist rumpled like a blanket sliding toward them, sculpted from
beneath by hillocks and scrub. Drooping cheeks appeared, the feathered brow,
the sagging nose. The place where Shivers' voice emerged was snagged by
branches, and the wind sucked and blew through the stretching hole.

"Love, hate—" Shivers was
indifferent. "It's time. You're mine."

His spectral face lifted from the slope
like a mask.

"We belong to the Dream Man,"
Robbie told him.

The cloudy lips twisted. "Oh, I'm happy
to share you." Shivers laughed. "What parts would he like?"

Robbie edged past, one hand gripping
Fristeen.

"Maybe he'll offer something in
trade?" Shivers turned to follow them, milky eyes bulging. "Dreams,
perhaps? Pity. I don't need any of
those."

"Our thoughts," Robbie muttered,
"belong to him."

Shivers' eyes puckered in. "Your mind
has no life of its own, you fool. When Shivers is done dining, there's nothing
left."

"Can you see anything?"
Fristeen's teeth began to chatter.

"Help us," Robbie pleaded, trying
to conjure the Dream Man.

"He's out in the marsh, bagging dream
ducks with Hands." Shivers cackled.

"You don't know—" Robbie groped
forward. "You don't know, you don't know—"

"That bonghead— That self-righteous
ass!" Shivers spat. "I know him too well. He doesn't care about
you," he said acidly. "
Dreams
come
first."

Suddenly, Fristeen's chattering was
magnified a hundredfold. A fierce chomping sounded behind them, ascending the
slope.

"Robbie," she cried.

Before he could reply, the onslaught reached
them, and they yelped and howled as a thick shower of hail pounded down.

"There—" Robbie caught sight of
the Great Place.

They broke into a run, arms raised to
protect their faces, slipping and stumbling on the rattling ice. Shivers
whistled after them. "You're desperate little mites," he jeered.
"Don't you have folks?"

The first of the Great trees towered before
them, crowns thicker than ever, impossibly high. The pelting ceased, but
Shivers had other tricks up his sleeve. Through a hole in the canopy, a thick
fog descended, and as fast as they ran, Shivers kept alongside.