The Marus Manuscripts (21 page)

A scraping sound echoed distantly in the heat duct near the door. The sound penetrated his deep sleep. He knew instantly what it was: His mother was in the basement, trying to throw some life into their old coal furnace. From the sounds of it, she wasn’t having much success.

Wade swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed his feet into his slippers. The cool air of the room made him realize his pajamas were slightly damp. His fever had broken, he knew. He stood up, expecting to feel light-headed. To his surprise, he felt normal—good, in fact. His eye didn’t hurt as much, either. A glance in the mirror showed him that the swelling was nearly gone and the color wasn’t as bad as it had been. He grabbed his robe from the back of the door and suddenly had an idea: Now would be the time to burn the papers about the atomic bomb. He slipped them out from under the mattress, tucked them inside his pajama top, then wrapped his robe snug around him.

“Mom,” Wade said when he rounded the furnace in the basement.

Wade’s mother looked at him. Her face was smudged with coal. Black streaks also covered her hands, the sleeves of her blouse, and her apron. His mother had never learned the knack of working the furnace, and she got tearfully upset with it. More than once, she’d said that she could endure nearly everything about the war except that furnace. “When your father gets home, we’re going to tear it out and get a new one,” she’d say. “Do you hear?”

Wade always nodded and agreed.

“What are you doing out of bed?” she asked now, her face flushed.

“I came down to help you.”

Mrs. Mullens jabbed a shovel at the inside of the furnace. “I don’t need your help,” she said. “You should be in bed.”

“I’m feeling much better,” he replied. He reached up and put his hand on her arm to take the shovel. She frowned, then surrendered the shovel to him. Wade smiled.

“You’re the expert, aren’t you?” she said as she stroked his blond hair—hair just like hers. “Planes, bombs, and furnaces. Your father is going to be very proud to see how you’ve grown up.”

Wade poked at the fire. “We need more coal.”

“He’ll be home soon, you know,” she said.

Wade turned to her with an expression of understanding. “I know.”

But the truth was, he
didn’t
know. Neither of them did. The chaos of the war against the Japanese in the Pacific—the many soldiers who had fought on the tiny islands around the Philippines—caused a lot of confusion about who was where. No one was sure what had become of Henry Mullens as the war came to a close. He may simply have been one of many soldiers who’d been separated from his unit. Or he might have been captured, wounded, or killed.

“I would like some tea, please,” he said to his mother as he went to the coal cellar in the back corner of the basement. “I’ll fix the furnace and then come right up.”

She pondered him, then turned to go upstairs. “I hate this furnace,” she said as she walked away. “When your father comes home, we’re going to—”

“Tear it out and get a new one,” Wade called out.

“Brat!” she said with a smile in her voice. He heard her footsteps going up the basement stairs.

Wade wrenched open the door to the coal cellar. Black soot swirled up and around him. He flipped the switch for the single light that hung by a bare wire from the ceiling. It didn’t turn on. “Bulb’s out,” he said.

Enough light shone in from the furnace room for him to get a bucket of coal, however, so he stepped inside to do just that. Retrieving the empty bucket from where it hung by a peg on the wall, he went to the edge of the pile of coal and started shoveling. Now that his mother was gone, he would throw the papers about the atomic bomb into the furnace with this coal.

He was glad he felt well again. He hated being sick; he missed his talks at lunch, during recess, and after school with Bobby Adams. For the two of them, fascination with the war had taken the place of their fascination with sports. They spoke of the various armed services the way other boys spoke about baseball teams.

He even missed being in his classes, annoying his teachers with his obsession about the war and his extensive knowledge of the weapons and machines that had brought the war to a conclusion. He wondered what they would think if they knew he had top secret drawings of the atomic bomb.

The doorbell rang upstairs, and Wade heard his mother’s footsteps go across the floor.
I wonder who’s here?
he thought, and then
he suddenly realized,
It may be government agents! They’ve come to arrest me for having these papers!

Wade spun around to rush back to the furnace. He could burn them quickly, and no one would ever know. But just then the cellar door blew closed.

“Oh, brother,” he said in the sudden deep darkness. He made his way carefully to the door and pushed at it. Nothing happened. He pushed again, but it wouldn’t budge. He fiddled with the latch, which lifted easily enough, but still the door wouldn’t open. He pounded on it and called out, “Mom? Mom!”

He listened, but she didn’t reply.

“Mom!” he called out as loudly as he could. Then he pounded some more with the back of the shovel. “Mom!”

He heard heavy footsteps outside the door and relaxed. He was sure that between the two of them, they could get the door unstuck.

The effort wasn’t necessary, however. The door suddenly swung open without any problems.

“Thank you,” Wade said.

“You’re welcome,” an old man he’d never seen before replied.

T
he old man carried a lantern and held it high for a closer look at Wade. His eyes narrowed beneath thick gray eyebrows. “Heaven help me!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“What am
I
doing here? What are
you
doing here?” Wade asked indignantly.

The old man’s eyes widened. Wade noticed that they were two different colors, one blue and the other green. “Why, I’m about to feed Bethel,” he said.

“Feed Bethel? In my basement?” Wade challenged the stranger. His father had always said that the best way to put off an intruder was by being forceful. Never show fear, he’d said. Wade raised the shovel like a weapon. “Where’s my mother?” he demanded to know.

“Your—? I have no idea. Come out of there before you’re bitten.”

“Bitten?”

“Bethel doesn’t take kindly to strangers.” The old man gestured to the corner behind Wade. A horse stood there, gazing at Wade with disdain.

Wade stepped back, mouth agape. The coal was gone. Straw and hay covered the floor. Where the bucket had been sitting a moment ago, now sat a trough. The cement wall that had enclosed the coal cellar was also changed; it was now made of wooden slats. “What happened?” Wade stammered.

“Come out now,” the old man said patiently. “You’ve been caught. You may as well confess.”

“Confess?”

“You’re one of those vandals from town, aren’t you? Come to do me mischief.”

“No! This is my house!”

“This place may be a lot of different things, but it’s certainly not your house.” The old man beckoned to Wade. “Come out and explain yourself.”

Wade, still staring at what used to be his coal cellar, slowly walked out. His basement was gone, too—no furnace, no workbench, no boxes of keepsakes or the furniture his father had intended to donate to charity. Instead, Wade now looked at what seemed to be a large barn—a
very
large barn, the biggest he’d ever seen. It must have been as long as a football field, maybe even as wide. Along the sides were compartments of stalls, pens, and cages. Pipes stretched the length of the ceiling, some of them feeding down into the various compartments. Lanterns dotted the walls, casting a bright, ethereal yellow over the expanse. Wade blinked, sure that he was dreaming.
I
must
be dreaming,
he thought.
Why else would I be hearing a lion roar, a pig snort, and a monkey chatter?

The old man closed the door to Bethel’s stall. “Stay put,” he said to the horse. “I’ll be back.”

Wade turned to the old man. He was tall and thin, with a slender, clean-shaved face and a mop of white hair. He wore a long tunic that was belted in the middle. “Something’s wrong,” Wade said.

“Obviously.” The old man reached out and tugged at Wade’s sleeve. “What do you call this outfit? The latest city fashion?”

Wade looked down and realized he was still in his robe, pajamas, and slippers. “I’m dreaming,” he said.

“Maybe so. Or maybe
I’m
the one who’s dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time.” He quickly caught hold of Wade’s hair.

“Ouch!” Wade cried out. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see if it’s real.” Satisfied, the old man let go.

“It’s real. What did you think, I was wearing a wig?”

The old man smiled. “I don’t know where you’d ever find a wig that color. Now tell me what you’re doing in Bethel’s stall.”

“I wasn’t in Bethel’s stall. I mean, I wasn’t before. I was getting coal for our furnace, and the door closed behind me and I couldn’t get out.” Wade spoke as much to himself as to the old man, trying to retrace what had happened.

“I heard you pounding on the door,” the old man said, as if confirming that part of Wade’s story was true. “But there’s no coal or furnace. Just Bethel.”

“I must be hallucinating. My fever. That’s it. I’m in a feverish delirium.” Wade felt his forehead. “But I feel fine. I feel great. This is very strange.”

“Listen to the way you talk. ‘Delirium.’ What kind of boy uses such a word?”

“My teachers say I’m precocious,” Wade replied simply.

“Where are you from?”

“America.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

Wade felt a cold rush go through his body.
Never heard of America?
He had to think. Either the man was crazy or he was. “Then . . . where do
you
think I am?” he asked.

The old man chuckled. “It’s not where I
think
you are. It’s where you
are.
You’re standing in my shelter.”

“Shelter.”

“Yes, my shelter. How you got in here is a mystery to me, I have to say. We’ve only got two doors, one that’s always locked, except when we’re bringing the animals or supplies in. We have to keep a close eye on things, what with the vandals and troublemakers.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, but that’s the way of things. Let’s start with the basics. My name is Arin.”

“I’m Wade Mullens.”

“Glad to meet you, Wade Mullens, providing you aren’t some kind of spy,” Arin said, half-bowing to the boy. The word
spy
stopped Wade for a second. He wondered if this strange situation was because of the papers tucked under his pajama top.

“
I’m
not a spy,” Wade insisted.

“And this had better not be some sort of trick,” Arin warned.

“If it’s a trick, it’s being played on me.”

The old man put a firm hand on Wade’s shoulder and directed him onward. “Well, there’s no point in standing here asking a lot of confusing questions. We’ll get to the truth when you say what you’ve got to say. Let’s go up to the house.”

They crossed the floor to a large steel door that opened to a wide ramp leading upward. At the top, Arin turned a knob on the lantern, and the light faded. Only then did Wade realize that the lantern didn’t generate light from a flame, as he had assumed, but from a thin tube. Arin hung the lantern on a hook, then opened another steel door. Wade had to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight outside.

“This way,” Arin said, his hand still on Wade’s shoulder.

When Wade could see clearly, what struck him first was that he was in a beautiful forest, thick with foliage and rich with growth. He could
feel
the life, if such a thing were possible. And the colors! The greens of the grass and leaves on the trees seemed much greener, the sky above much bluer, the shafts of dancing light through the trees much more golden than he’d ever seen before. It reminded him of the Technicolor films he and his mother sometimes saw at the movies. It was all so much
realer
than real.

He also noticed the sweet perfume of the flowers lining the
path ahead. He had no idea what they were, only that they filled the air with fragrances that made him think of vast gardens and fresh-cut lawns. He took several deep breaths as if he couldn’t get enough of the scents.

His eye caught Arin watching him. “I’m sorry,” Wade said. “It’s so . . . beautiful.”

“Yes,” Arin said. “This was the first garden. The one from the beginning.”

“The beginning?”

“This is where the Unseen One started, when our world was first created.”

“I don’t know what the Unseen One is.”

Arin
tsked
loudly. “And they wonder why our world is so evil! Little surprise that you’re a vandal.”

“I’m not a vandal!” Wade complained. “Please don’t say that. I . . . I’m either dreaming or I’m lost. I don’t know which.”

They reached a tall stone wall and veered around on the path to the right. Directly ahead was a cottage, also made of stone. At the door, Arin paused to touch his forehead and heart lightly with his forefinger before going in. “Muiraq!” he called out.

Inside, the cottage was plain but comfortable in a homey way. The front door opened to a sitting room with a few wingback chairs, a sofa, a coffee table, and a hutch in front of a fireplace. Everything was constructed of dark wood with ornate, carved swirls and curves. Wade instantly suspected it had been handmade.

Up three steps was a dining area and a larger staircase leading to another floor. A woman emerged from a room off the dining area. She wiped her hands on an apron as she entered, giving Wade the impression she was working in the kitchen. Round-bodied and round-faced, she reminded Wade of Grandma Milly, his father’s mother. The thought put him at ease.

“Yes, Arin?” she said. She saw Wade and put a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Composing herself, she simply said, “Oh, hello.”

“This is Wade Mullens. My wife, Muiraq.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She half-curtsied.

“I found him in the shelter. In Bethel’s stall, to be precise.”

“Honestly? And she didn’t bite him?”

“No. I’m surprised, too. But no more surprised than to find him there at all. He has an unusual explanation.”

“Does he? Then he should sit down. Is he hungry? I was just preparing lunch.”

“Are you hungry?” Arin asked Wade.

Wade wasn’t sure, and in the second it took him to think of an answer, Muiraq had already disappeared into the other room. “Of course he is,” she said from the kitchen. “What boy isn’t?”

“You’re going to feed me?” Wade asked as he followed Arin to the dining table.

“The Unseen One would have us treat even our enemies with kindness. And if you’re not our enemy, we should be hospitable anyway.”

Wade sat down. He wasn’t sure he followed the logic of Arin’s statement, but he accepted it anyway.

Muiraq returned with a plate of sandwiches, fruit, and cheese. “Help yourself,” she said and sat down. Arin poured a sweet fruit juice into wooden cups from a large jug in the middle of the table.

Wade had already put a slice of apple in his mouth when Arin and Muiraq bowed their heads to pray. Embarrassed, Wade stayed still until the blessing was said, then resumed eating. He was hungrier than he had thought.

“Tell us your story,” Arin prompted. “You said you’re from a place called America and that your furnace needed coal.” He bit into a sandwich.

Wade started again, telling them how he’d been in bed with a flu and—

“Flu?” Arin asked. “What’s a flu?”

“An illness, when you have chills and a fever and runny nose and—” He paused. “You’ve never heard of the flu?”

“Not the kind you describe. Carry on with your story.”

“Anyway, I felt better and went down in the basement to help my mother with the furnace.”

“Furnace?”

Wade nodded. “A coal furnace.”

“Coal?” Arin’s face lit up with surprise. “You use a
coal
furnace?”

“Yes, sir. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a coal furnace either?”

“Oh, we’ve heard of them. We just never met anyone who’s used them,” Arin said.

“Where is your father?” Muiraq asked.

Wade noticed that her eyes kept going from his face up to his hair and back again. “He hasn’t come back from the war yet,” he answered.

“War?”

“Not just my hometown, but the whole country. The United States of America. It was at war with Germany and Japan and their allies.”

“I’ve never heard of any of those countries,” said Arin.

“It was a big war. Nearly everybody was fighting in it.”

“Was? The war is over?” Arin speared a piece of cheese with his knife and tossed it onto Wade’s plate.

“Thank you,” Wade said and ate the cheese. It was sweet, unlike any cheese he’d known. He continued with his answer, “We beat Germany, and then we dropped a couple of atomic bombs on Japan, and they surrendered just a few days ago.”

Arin and Muiraq exchanged glances.

Wade thought they didn’t believe him. “It’s true!” he insisted.

“We don’t doubt you, lad,” Muiraq said soothingly.

“You don’t?”

“No,” said Arin.

Muiraq turned to her husband. “Do you think—?” she said. “Look at him. Is it possible that he’s the sign?”

Arin looked at his wife, choosing his words carefully. “Yes, Muiraq, I believe he is,” he replied. “It all fits, doesn’t it? The final sign.”

“I’m a what? A sign?” Wade asked.

Suddenly, a man with curly hair and beard burst into the room. He said breathlessly, “Come quick, Father. They’re—” He caught sight of Wade and stopped midsentence in astonishment. Recovering himself, he continued, “They’re back.”

Arin was immediately on his feet and raced out the door on his son’s heels.

Muiraq sighed deeply. “Why won’t they leave us alone?” she asked as she stood up and followed Arin. Unsure of what to do, Wade went along.

The tall stone wall that served as a fence around Arin’s estate had a large gold gate in it. As Wade approached, he could hear what sounded like a battering ram hitting the gate again and again. Arin and the bearded man were there, along with two younger men and three younger women. They spread out around the gate as if they weren’t certain whether it would withstand the blows. Rocks and garbage were hurled at them over the wall, causing them all to duck and dodge. Shouts of abuse were also thrown at them.

“What’s wrong? Why are they doing this?” Wade asked Muiraq.

“A drunken mob with nothing better to do with their time, I think,” she replied. “It’s happening more and more these days.”

“What should we do, Father?” the bearded one asked.