Rich Shapero (18 page)

"Great balls of humus," he
roared, laughing. "I've got you now!" He was an orb, then a swept
wing crying, "oh-eee-oh-eee," then a corrugated sheet eeling through
the trees.

Robbie was losing steam.

"The Safe Tree," Fristeen
shouted.

Through his tears, Robbie saw it, and he
threw himself forward. Shivers whirled out in front of him, exploding in his
face, soggy jaws parting. The wind closed around him, mouthing him with
toothless gums and a wet tongue.

"Don't stop," Shivers garbled.
"I'm having too much fun."

They were here— Robbie fell to his knees
and scrambled beneath the skirt of the Safe Tree, Fristeen right behind.
Breathless, they drew against the trunk, huddling while Shivers convulsed
outside.

Were they really safe? Their eyes met.

Shivers circled a few feet away, huffing
and banging the poles of their tent.

He puled and raved, but he finally let up.
"You belong to Shivers. Don't forget." He gave them his word before
he left: "I'll chew slowly. No bolting. Any care life or the Dream Man has
shorted you—count on me. Time, I promise you." He whirled and tacked
through the Great trees with a lunatic whine. "Quality time."

***

They made it back to the Clearing without a
mishap, and counted themselves lucky. They should never have ventured out.
Grace kept her word—she went to the store. Fristeen was thankful for that. But
things remained unsettled for both of them during the days that followed. Rain
and fog, and Shivers in the forest. At Fristeen's house, Grace in a stupor more
often than not. And at Robbie's, the freezing space between Mom and Dad.

And the Dream Man? He just stayed away.
Robbie kept trying. He closed his eyes and spoke softly in the dark. He went
down on his knees, like Grandma when she prayed. But night followed night
without a reply. Fristeen had better luck with Dawn. She came when summoned,
but only at midnight, and her voice was faint. "Robbie will make sure you
don't get hurt," Dawn said.

Were their idols retreating? Had marriage
changed them? Were they just too busy? Maybe Shivers was right.

Finally, after a week of fitful nights, in
the gray hours Robbie heard the longed-for voice:

"What shade is to a tree, fear is to
the free. The sun still shines. Your soul is still growing. The waking world is
still your home."

No picture, no light. Just those cryptic
words, filtered through baffles of dark oblivion. Was Robbie asleep or awake?
He rose—or imagined he did—and went to his window. Through the smoky pane,
Dawn's first colors were tingeing the sky. As he watched, a dim shadow drifted
across it. The Dream Man—distant, so distant. But with Robbie in mind.

***

Two days later, the bad weather ended. Fristeen
was waiting for Robbie in the shrubs. The expectation, the excitement was the
same as always, but the desperation they shared was something new. They ran and
scrambled all the way to the

Two-Tree, never thinking to stop, shrieking
and howling to keep their agitation at bay. Today was the day. Their idols
would return, they hoped. No—they knew.

At the edge of Too Far, they threw off
their clothes. Robbie thought they should go straight to the Cabin. But the
black place still spooked Fristeen, and she wanted instead to call Dawn from
the low rise by the Pool. They circled the red water, climbed the mound, and
lay down.

Fristeen tried with all her heart, but Dawn
didn't hear.

Were they at the Cabin? Or anywhere near?
Maybe Too Far was alone with its black trees.

"It's no use," Fristeen said.

Robbie's eyes were still closed. It was at
that moment, he became conscious of another presence, directly above him.
First, he heard its breath. Then he felt it on his chest, like a warm night
wind full of prickling stars. Then he smelled its fur, smoky and leathery.
Robbie opened his eyes and saw Hands gazing down. His nose was quivering, his
antlers flared wide—just a head and neck regarding him with gentle brown eyes.

"Fristeen," Robbie whispered,
sitting up. "Hands is here."

When Fristeen saw Hands, she was overjoyed.
She ran to him, opened her arms and hugged his neck. Robbie stood close and
stroked Hands' nose. It was soft and round, and his breath pulsed powerfully
through tear-shaped nostrils. They could both see now how old Hands was. His
front was cut and scarred, and crumbly at the edges. And his beard was thick
and dusty. When his rubbery lips parted, he was missing a tooth.

"Is it lonely in the Cabin?"
Fristeen asked.

Hands tipped his head toward her. He couldn't
talk, but they could see his thoughts in his deep brown eyes. He wasn't
thinking of himself—he was thinking of them. He knew why they were there, and
how much they needed the Dream Man and Dawn. And he knew something
else—something he'd learned from so many seasons and so many leavings. And that
made him sigh.

Hands lowered his antlers.

"He's going to give us a ride,"
Robbie said.

Fristeen thought he meant to carry them to
the Cabin. But Hands' gentle gaze calmed her. That wasn't what he wanted at all.
They knew they could trust him, so they climbed over his tines and lay back on
his palms. The sooty bone was etched with lines. "Maps," Robbie said,
feeling the surface. Fristeen nodded. Then Hands rose and floated into the
trees.

He took a twisty way through the labyrinth
of spindles, and the farther they went, the hotter it got. A nimbus of gnats
joined them. They were dizzy and sweating, and their pale bodies glowed. Hands
moved with intent, and as the fever mounted, they both sensed something special
in store.

"Robbie— It's Dawn—I can feel
her!"

The very next moment, they emerged from a
thicket and Fristeen cried out. Dawn, giant and alive, burst from the skies.
Her great wings were pulsing, and through the gaps in her feathers and her
loving eyes, golden sun poured. She was dazzling, blinding, singing with all
her heart—on every side she brimmed the hillocks and flooded the ravines. It
was all Dawn's joy, her special gladness—like a peach your face was buried in,
and the juice everywhere, fragrant and sweet.

"Do you know what she's
thinking?" Fristeen said.

They were hovering above a tall hill, and
as Hands settled onto its top, Robbie saw Fristeen's face before him, bright as
the sun, with Dawn's great pinions combing the blue on either side.

"You should be married," Dawn
whispered, and the silence that followed crowded out every sound.

"We should," Robbie cried.

"Just like you," Fristeen agreed.
"Will you show us how?"

"That's why I've come," Dawn
replied.

And that's what they did.

Not the strange way Robbie and Fristeen had
witnessed at the Pool. There was another way that was better for kids.

"Lay here," the deep voice of the
Dream Man said.

It was like the blade of an axe splitting
dry wood. Robbie turned, scanning the surging sky for his idol.

"Inside you," the Dream Man said.

It was true. Robbie could feel the dark
brawn beneath his skin. And the whirling he felt? That was inside his head, now
unnaturally tall—like a giant pickle jar with a screw-top lid.

"Lay here," the Dream Man
repeated.

Beneath them was a pallet of cranberry
sprigs. At its border, the steep flank of the hill went down and down.

"Together," Fristeen spoke with
the authority of Dawn, as they slid from Hands' palms. The wind circled
strangely.

Silent, hands clasped, they knelt and lay
down.

"We thought you'd forgotten us,"
Robbie murmured.

The Dream Man seemed not to hear.

"Ready?" Dawn whispered.

"Yes," Fristeen replied.

"Hug," Dawn said.

They embraced, their sweating bodies
pressed close.

"Hold on tight," the Dream Man
warned. "Now roll yourselves over—"

They started to roll.

"Again, again—" the Dream Man
directed.

"Can you feel it?" Dawn said.
"The edge of the dropoff—"

"Roll! Keep rolling," the Dream
Man boomed. "Hands— give them a push. Hold on tight!"

Suddenly the earth fell beneath them—they
were rolling free, clutching each other, turning and turning, hanging on for
dear life. Robbie felt his chest against hers, tummies thumping like drums,
knocking knees and shoulders. They were tumbling and tumbling, rolling down and
down, Dawn's gold pouring over them, while the Dream Man's thoughts went wild
in his head.
Your joy is melting into Fristeen's, your heart is a stream meeting a river,
your deepest feelings are finally free. All this is Dawn's doing. Now here is
my part. This swarm of trapped thoughts? This great galaxy whirling? I'm going
to open the jar. I'm going to take off your lid.

Every thought Robbie had from his first day
of life—every spark of idea, each star born in a dream—rising toward the rim now,
seeking their freedom at the very same time! Then, then, in a single moment—
The vessel opens and the thoughts explode! Released, they're weaving a new
universe around the tumbling glow. One heart, one mind, boundless, heedless,
tumbling out of control.

"This is the way," Dawn said
softly, "life should be."

A great splash! They landed in a sea of
gold—the one Dawn had poured out for them. Two children, dissolved in each
other, now dissolved in her.

Robbie felt himself sinking. He couldn't
breathe.

Then Hands' fingers scooped beneath him,
and Fristeen was beside him, naked and glowing. Hands carried them back to the
top of the hill and set them down on the pallet, where they fell asleep.

With oblivion came peace. Robbie felt
Fristeen close. Now and then, her breath reached his ear, and there were caring
voices that came and went. Finally, as the day reached its end and the air grew
chill, one surfaced, louder than the rest.

"The waking world," the Dream Man
said. "What is it really? Would you like to know? An island of doom in a
tempest of fire. The war is raging on every side. Here, right now— Open your
eyes."

With the Dream Man's words echoing in his
ear, Robbie parted his lids, raised himself and looked around.

The declining sun had ignited a purple holocaust—an
enormous shrine with flashing peaks and sheer palisades.

Hundreds of smaller pyres flanked it on the
circling horizon, blazing copper and beet, in distant lands. They were
everywhere, surrounding the enclave of man, each with a charred Cabin at its
heart, raising souls to the Dream Man and Dawn.

Fristeen heard him stirring and knelt
beside him. Her body was still glowing, but with softer hues, amber and rose.

"We belong with them," Fristeen
said. "I don't want to go back."

But what choice did they have?

They started the return to the Pool. Hardly
a word was spoken.

They were climbing the slope to the
Two-Tree, when a cold mist drifted past.

"A wicked lie," a wheezy voice
chided. "It's all an illusion— just ash and dust."

"Fristeen—" Robbie looked in her
eyes and together they turned.

At the base of the purple shrine, a myriad
windows had opened, and through each the long rays of Dawn reached out. One
seemed meant for them, but it didn't touch their overlook. It fell short,
stopping at the fold in Too Far directly below them—the Hollow where the Cabin
rested in its bowl of embers.

Shivers was wrong, Robbie thought. It
wasn't the realm of the Dream Man that was wicked and false. It was the other,
to which they were returning. Only unfortunates abided in that forlorn place.

10

T
he next morning, Dad looked up as
Robbie sat down for breakfast.

"What happened to
you?"
Dad wondered.

Robbie touched the scrape that crossed his
cheek, and shrugged.

"His body's covered with
bruises," Mom said.

Dad turned back to the mail in his lap.
Robbie laughed to himself. He had married Fristeen, and that was that.
Invitations weren't sent.

"How about a hike?" Dad set the
mail aside.

Mom eyed him uncertainly.

"Robbie can show us his patch,"
Dad raised his head in the direction of the Hill. "Maybe we'll get a look
at the bear you wrestled."

Robbie grinned.

"That's not funny."

"Come on, Felicia." Dad gave Mom
a deferential look.

Robbie saw the tenderness in Dad's eyes. He
was reaching out to her. Dad felt bad about what was happening.

"Yeah, come on, Mom."

Mom laughed.

It was strange having Mom and Dad invading
secret ground. But they didn't go far. They ambled up the Hill and looked at
the view from on top, and then Robbie showed them the Bendies and the Fallen
Down Trees without revealing their real names.