The Mask That Sang (9 page)

chapter twenty

The mall was busy with predinner shoppers—people who had just gotten off work, school kids hanging around, parents with strollers. Cass was overwhelmed by light and sound as she followed Degan along a broad, bright corridor, past the crowds.

“Do you know where you're going?”

He threw a deadpan glance over his shoulder at her, then kept walking till they reached an open area where several avenues met. There was a fountain in the middle with benches all around.

“I thought we could set up here.”

They organized themselves on one of the benches. Degan set out his sketch pad and pencils. He laid out some of the sketches he had made earlier, so that people walking by could see them. Then Cass stood up, holding the sign Degan had created during class that afternoon.

HAVE YOUR PORTRAIT SKETCHED

Results Guaranteed

$5

She walked around, feeling slightly foolish. For the most part, people passed by, read the sign, and kept walking. A couple laughed.

“Nice shirt,” a girl said once.

Cass blushed furiously. Why was she putting herself in front of people who were just going to laugh at her? Had she learned nothing from being bullied for so long?

But then she glanced at Degan, whose hand was scraping across the sketch pad in front of him at rapid speed. His face was tight and intent, and Cass could tell he was capturing the movement, the craziness, the living energy of everything around him.

And he was doing it all for her, just so she could buy back the mask.

A woman with a stroller came by just then. Her face was crimson with all kinds of feelings, Cass thought—tiredness, stress, wanting to get home. Nonetheless, the lady slowed to read the sign and to look at the pictures Degan had placed on the bench.

She stood for a long time staring at them before she spoke. “These are very good! Did you do them all by yourself?”

“Yes, I did.” Degan glanced up at her. He kept his face calm, but Cass could feel his pleasure at the lady's words.

“Are you raising money for something?”

“It's”—he glanced at Cass—“it's for a friend. To get something she needs.”

Cass flushed again. She wanted to tell Degan to stop. It felt awkward to tell anyone that she needed something. It felt strange and unpleasant to have Degan say out loud that he was helping her.

Then she thought again of Mom. Mom had been so guarded with Mr. Gregor the first few times he came over. She could barely look him in the eye, even though he had offered help in lots of different ways.

Mom didn't want to take aid from anyone. But she had told Cass that morning that she was going to go and ask for Mr. Gregor's help.

If Mom could do it, maybe Cass could.

The mask's voices stirred inside her, spurring her on.

“It's for me.”

The lady smiled at her. “What do you need to buy with the money?”

Cass gulped, but the voices helped her to stay steady. “My mom pawned something of mine. A mask. We want to try to buy it back.”

The lady looked from Degan's face to Cass's, and back again.

“What kind of a mask?”

“An Iroquois false face,” Degan said.

The lady nodded. She drew the blanket more closely around the baby in the stroller. “Are you Iroquois?” she asked Degan.

He nodded. “Cayuga Nation.”

“What about you?” she asked Cass.

“No,” Cass said. “I'm nothing, really.”

It was true. Mom didn't know anything about her background, and so Cass didn't either. And it had never struck her until that moment that it was a bit like a hole inside her, not knowing. Like part of Cass wasn't there.

“I wouldn't say you were nothing,” said the lady kindly.

Just then, two tall men approached. They wore name tags that said
Mall Security
.

“Hello, kids,” said one of them. “How we all doing this afternoon?”

“Fine.” Degan's face took on the closed look it had at the pawnshop, when the man asked him if he had any money.

“What are you doing here today? Selling some pictures?”

Degan nodded.

“You've got a permit for that, I'm assuming?”

Degan looked blankly at Cass, who looked helplessly back at him.

“I didn't know we needed one,” Degan said.

“Oh yeah, to sell stuff on mall property, you need a permit.”

The other man said, “If you don't have a permit, we're going to have to ask you to leave, son.”

“How—how do we get a permit?” Cass asked desperately. “We could go get one right now.”

“Got to apply to city hall, bunch of paperwork,” said the first man. “Doesn't happen just like that. I'm sorry, kids, but we're going to have to ask you to leave.”

Degan slowly began to gather his materials, his face still expressionless. The men waited until Degan stood up with everything in his arms. Cass couldn't bear to feel Degan's disappointment. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“It's okay. We'll try somewhere else. It doesn't matter.”

The men walked them to the door of the mall and held the door open for them to go through. The lady with the stroller came out behind them.

“Thank you,” she said to the security men as they held the door for her.

“No problem, ma'am. Have a nice evening.” He closed the door again. Then the security men stood inside and stared at Degan and Cass.

It was starting to rain, on top of everything else. Degan's sketch pad would be ruined. He and Cass stood under the mall's awning, looking out at the falling drops, trying to decide what to do.

The woman with the stroller leaned over beside them, tucking a plastic cover around the stroller. Her voice was so muffled Cass could hardly hear it. “So how much do you need?”

“Pardon?”

The lady straightened. “For the mask. How much is it? Do you know?”

Degan and Cass looked at each other.

“It's thirty dollars,” Cass said softly.

The lady smiled. “For thirty dollars, I bet you could do a beautiful portrait of Rose.” She stroked her baby's head under the plastic hood.

“Portraits are five dollars,” Degan said, his voice steady and tight.

“Make it thirty-five,” said the lady. “These guys in pawnshops can raise the price at a moment's notice.”

“We don't have anywhere to do it.”

The lady gestured along the street. “Look at all the places. Why don't we go into the nearest doughnut shop, and I'll treat you to something while you do Rose's portrait.”

Cass whispered, “Why would you do this for us?”

The lady shrugged and smiled. “I think you should have your mask. I'm sorry your mom had to pawn it. I'd like to help you get it back. It sounds like it means a lot to you.”

Degan looked at Cass. Then he looked at the lady. “It does.”

“Well, then, come on. I'm Eleanor, by the way.”

“I'm Cass. He's Degan,” Cass said shyly.

chapter twenty-one

The doughnut shop was warm and bright after the gray rain. Eleanor wheeled her stroller up to the counter. She ordered hot chocolate for Cass and Degan, and a tea for herself. She bought everyone a doughnut. Then they all moved to a table in the corner.

A few minutes later, after sipping some hot chocolate, Degan asked, “Can I?”

He gestured to the stroller. Inside, nestled next to baby Rose, was the sketchbook. Eleanor had insisted on putting it in there to keep it dry.

He reached in and gently removed it. Eleanor smoothed the blanket around Rose and ran a finger along her cheek. Rose smiled and gurgled. But then she began to wriggle as her Mom took her hand away. After a minute the little face scrunched together, and she opened her tiny mouth to emit a loud, scratchy squawk.

“Shhh, shhh,” said Eleanor. “She's hungry.”

She rummaged in a large bag, through diapers and toys. She pulled out a bottle, placed it on the table. Then she lifted out Rose and expertly cradled her in one arm while inserting the bottle into the baby's mouth with the other hand. She rocked her back and forth, and Rose settled into it.

“Want me to draw her like that? You holding her, the bottle.”

Degan looked intent, confident. Like everything was in harmony in that moment. Cass suddenly thought of the sketch he had made of the man at the top of the cliff. In this minute, if Degan was that man, he might just stay there—neither jump nor fall. Just be part of everything, completely himself. It was as if that life force, the Orenda, was flowing through him.

If only Mom could feel that way. Or me.

“That sounds nice,” said Eleanor.

So Cass watched as the mother fed her baby, and Degan's hand meandered around the page in front of him, his eyes flicking up and down.

Eleanor smiled and tried to hold still. Rose snuggled close. They were in harmony too.

Then, growing out of that ordinary doughnut shop, out of the cement and wood and even plastic around her, she could feel the song of the mask rising. It was like in her dream, when everything felt alive. They knew Cass, knew Degan, Eleanor, and Rose. They were surrounding them with warmth and light and wisdom, even in the midst of a rainy afternoon with people coming and going in muddy boots. Was that the Orenda too?

Was it everywhere? Did you just have to know how to look—and listen?

Eleanor was smiling at Degan, smiling at Rose.
She is happy,
Cass thought. And her happiness had spread like ripples to Degan, because he was happy too, as he sketched. Could harmony inside a person flow to other people around you?

How did you get that harmony? Were you born with it? Could you learn it? Was it easier if your life wasn't made up of bills and the food bank and trying to find work when you hadn't finished high school?

The music inside Cass altered slightly—as if it was a river that had hit a narrow channel, where rocks caused it to gnarl and churn as it went. It was the same river, only it took the shape and character of what was around and under it. It was tortured and wild because the rough river bed had forced it to be that way. Kind of like Mom.

Mom, who worked hard. Mom, who hated help. Mom, who loved Cass beyond anything. Just like this lady loved her baby.

Mom had the same Orenda inside her as Eleanor did. It just looked different. It wasn't flowing calmly because it hadn't had a chance yet. But it was a life force all the same. And maybe Mom could learn to channel it for good things, just as Cass was going to learn to do.

™

When Degan had finished, Eleanor drew in her breath sharply. “You captured us. It is perfect.”

“Thanks,” Degan said shyly.

Eleanor placed Rose, who was now asleep, back into the stroller and tucked the blanket around her. Then she pulled out her wallet and removed some bills. “Thirty-five dollars, just as we agreed.”

She slid a card toward Degan. “I teach art history at the university. You are a very talented young man. I can probably help you, if you're interested.”

Degan's eyes widened.

“Think about it,” said Eleanor. To Cass she added, “And at the very least, I would love an opportunity to see that mask of yours sometime, once you get it back. If it's authentic, it is very significant and special.”

Cass nodded shyly. “Thank you.”

Then, minutes later, they were dashing through the rain, Degan's sketchbook zipped up inside his coat. And it was as if Eleanor had almost been a strange dream—the right person coming along, just when she was most needed. She was a weird coincidence.

Though Cass was starting to wonder if the ordinary world was pretend, and if the real world, the real way things were, was full of coincidences like Eleanor.

™

The man was turning the
OPEN
sign to
CLOSED
when they arrived at the pawnshop.

“Please,” Cass said, out of breath. “Can't we please come in? We have money!” She pulled the crumpled bills from her pocket. “And we know just what we want to buy!”

The man sighed and looked at his watch. “One minute.”

“Thank you!”

They raced inside, and along to the farthest aisle by the wall.

Then stopped dead.

Where the mask had hung, there was now an empty space.

“Where is it?” Cass said loudly, to nobody in particular. She looked around helplessly, as if the mask might possibly have chosen to move to another place.

The man came, drawn by her voice.

“What are you looking for?”

“The…the mask. It was hanging here, just yesterday. It was thirty dollars. Don't you remember?” Her voice was rising, and her hands were shaking.

“Relax,” said the man. “I'm sorry, but it got sold. Pretty popular mask, I've gotta say.”

“Sold?” Cass said blankly.

Degan had been standing quietly by, but now he asked: “Do you know who bought it?”

The man shrugged. “A kid. Kind of tall, reddish hair. Big kid. About your age.”

chapter twenty-two

The rain was really pouring down now, like the sky could feel what was happening to Cass and Degan.

“He sat there!” Cass shouted. “He sat there today in class and he knew! He knew!”

She was bent over, hands on knees, genuinely dizzy with fury.

“He must have followed us yesterday.” Degan stood completely still in the rain, as if he was made of rock.

“And then he bought it! How could he?”

Even with all of her experiences with bullies, Cass had never imagined Ellis might go and buy the mask for himself. But now that the truth was exploding all around her like the rain, it all started to become clear. He had certainly laid the groundwork carefully, stalking them, finding out what they were looking for, learning how much it cost, then buying it before them, either yesterday or today.

The dishonesty, the cruelty of it was more than she could handle. Rain and tears soaked her cheeks.

“Okay. We're going over there.” Degan stood straighter and shook his sopping hair out of his eyes.

“Where?”

“Where do you think?” Degan's eyes were flashing. “His house, of course. We're going to go and get it back.”

Cass's heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe. “He won't give it to us,” she said, bent over still, trying to get air into her lungs.

“Oh, he'll give it to us.” Degan's voice was eerily calm. Almost scary.

Cass looked up. She thought suddenly of Degan's aunt saying that if you weren't careful, you could channel the Orenda for bad things—the Otkon.

“What are you going to do? You can't hurt him.”

However much Ellis deserves it,
she thought.

“I won't hurt him,” Degan said smoothly. “We're going to have a talk. We're going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

Degan had already started walking. “He's on your street.”

™

By the time they had reached Cass's street, the sky was darkening even more and evening was approaching. Lights blinked on in the big houses as families gathered together, safe and warm inside.
Rich families,
Cass thought bitterly. Ellis was rich.

Degan turned up a driveway that was running with rainwater. They trudged up against the rivulets. They climbed the rounded staircase to the front porch, where two elegant wicker chairs were set out. The chairs looked like they had never been sat in.

Cass and Degan stared at each other, half-panicked and half-determined.

Degan knocked loudly.

It took a long time for someone's footsteps to approach inside. The outside light switched on, and a man's face appeared in the decorative glass window of the front door. The man frowned, then unlatched the door.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

He was looking them up and down with profound distrust. Cass realized how unkempt and disheveled they must look, how sodden with rain.

“Is Ellis here?”

“He might be.” The man gazed at Degan's long hair and the features of his face. “What do you need him for?”

“He has something,” Degan said, “that belongs to us. We want to talk to him about that.”

The man frowned. “What is it?”

“A mask,” Cass said, finding her voice.

“What, a Halloween mask?”

“An Iroquois mask. A false face.” She stood her ground against the condescension in his eyes.

The man began to inch the door closed. “Listen, this isn't a good time, and whatever you want, we're not interested. We're having dinner.”

Behind him, Ellis began to walk slowly down the curving staircase. The man followed the direction of Cass's eyes, and turned around to see him.

Ellis was moving cautiously, like a cat. Like he expected to have to run suddenly. In his hand he carried the mask, its hair flowing over his arms.

His father said sharply, “What's that thing? What's it doing in our house?”

Ellis froze, eyes on his father's face.

“You're not putting that piece of garbage in your room,” his father exploded. “You've got enough in there already. All those stupid doodads you keep making.”

Ellis stuck his jaw out, but he stayed quiet.

Cass was suddenly embarrassed to be standing there listening to this. Ellis's face was watchful, as if he expected to be struck.

She knew how that felt.

The last thing she expected was to feel sorry for him. But she did.

“That thing belongs to these kids?” Ellis's father boomed.

Ellis said dully but stubbornly: “I bought it.”

“But you knew it was mine,” Cass blurted.

“Where did you buy it?” asked the man, ignoring her.

“Pawnshop.”

Ellis's father shook his head, disgust on his face. “What were you doing in a pawnshop?”

Ellis shrugged.

Degan stepped forward. “Cass's mother had to pawn it. We were trying to buy it back. Then Ellis went and bought it himself.”

“Ohhh,” said the man. He put his hands in his pockets and nodded. Then he blinked, a kind of mock confusion on his face. He leaned close to Degan's face. “Pardon me, but are you telling me you've come to our house at this time of night because my son bought something, and you don't like it? Seriously? When do you people get to decide who buys your tribal stuff or whatever?”

He turned to Ellis. “How much was it?”

Face drawn, Ellis muttered, “Thirty bucks.”

The man shook his head some more. “Thirty bucks for that piece of garbage?”

Ellis said nothing.

“We want to buy it from him,” Degan muttered.

Ellis's father said, “Have you got any money?”

“We have thirty-five dollars.”

Ellis's father opened the door slightly. “Come here,” he said to Ellis.

Ellis moved forward watchfully, holding the mask tightly as if someone was going to grab it.

His father gazed down at the mask as if it was some dead and rotting thing. He looked at Degan and Cass, dripping with rain.

“Forty,” he said.

“We don't have forty!” Cass cried, fury bubbling up.

Ellis's father shrugged. He began to close the door again, this time for good. He turned to Ellis, now out of sight, and said, “Get that thing away from me. Throw it out. It's not staying here.”

“If you're throwing it out, why can't we have it for thirty-five dollars?” Degan asked desperately.

Ellis's father looked at him impassively. “If your people spent a little more time developing some business skills and less time drinking and carving this kind of stuff”—he gestured to the mask—“they might be a bit higher on everyone's radar. I don't mean to be unkind. It's just a fact. If you want this mask, you'll do some honest work for it.”

He was forcing them back, toward the rain and the night. The last thing Cass saw, as the door slowly closed, was Ellis's stricken face on the stairs.

As if he'd wanted to say something quite different but hadn't had a chance.