He was about to return to the porch, when he noticed the basement entrance way. He crawled to it and looked down the cement stairway that led to the basement door. He looked up at the house and then down at the door, his mind putting images and relationships together in lightning fashion. This was a different kind of hole in the wall, he thought, and he began to descend.
At the door he struggled for understanding. Simply sticking his fingers between it and the wall did not provide the opening he needed, no matter how hard he pulled. Holding the door out from the jamb, he stood up and traced his fingers upward. This took him to the doorknob, which he seized roughly. Tugging on it did no better than tugging on the door itself. He was about to give up completely when he inadvertently turned the knob. Something clicked and the door opened so quickly toward him that he fell backward on the cement steps.
The door started to close again, but he rose fast to crawl through this giant hole that it made. It was pitch dark inside, as dark as his own place, he thought. For a few moments he simply sat there on the cement floor, listening and looking about. Sounds from above intrigued him. He had ears that were especially attuned to them. Looking at the dark ceiling above him, more with his ears than his eyes, he followed footsteps across the house from one room to the next. He knew that these footsteps were not the girl’s, because they were too heavy; but he sat there patiently, longing to hear her walk, to locate her in the black emptiness above.
He didn’t, and he was about to give up on the idea when he heard something breathing just a few feet to his right. He studied the darkness, his nocturnal eyes distinguishing shapes, until he saw it. It had been crouched quietly there, hiding behind a beam. He smiled to himself. It was another one, only this one was different, because he had seen how much joy it had brought to the little girl. He had to be more careful about it, more gentle. After all, it was something she liked; something that was hers.
When he moved toward the rabbit, it instinctively went behind the beam again, crouching down against it for protection. He wanted to do something to make it unafraid, but he didn’t know what to do. He thought about the things he did to make himself unafraid. It gave him an idea—he took the rabbit into his arms and held it against his naked body. The fur felt soft and warm, and he even enjoyed the little nervous movements against his chest and stomach. Then, this time taking great care not to crush it to death, he held it securely and began his soothing hum.
He could feel the rabbit’s quickened heartbeat, but, as he sat there rocking and stroking it, he was sure that the heartbeat slowed and the rabbit became more comfortable. This encouraged him. If the rabbit liked him, the little girl would like him. Then he thought that, as long as he had the rabbit, he had a chance of having the little girl with him. It was a good idea; something that made sense in an otherwise frustrating experience.
He started to take the rabbit with him, but found it had been tied to the beam. This annoyed him. He tugged on the leash, but it didn’t give. He put the rabbit down and pulled on the leash with both his hands, yet it didn’t come loose from the beam. He traced it back to the beam, but he had no understanding of knots. To him the leash was a permanent part of the beam now. He thought about pulling it away from the rabbit, but when he attempted that, the rabbit simply slid along the cement floor. There was only one thing to do.
He brought the leash to his mouth and bit down on it as hard as he could. His teeth barely dented it, but he bit down again and again, tugging and pulling while doing so. Finally, he felt the leash begin to part. He took a chunk of it into his mouth and chewed wildly. The taste wasn’t that unpleasant to him, so he kept it up until the small tear grew larger. When he broke through completely, he took the rabbit into his arms again.
Now that he had succeeded, he wondered what he should do. Should he just wait here with the rabbit until she came? He couldn’t go out with it and wait. She wouldn’t see him in the dark. So he remained there, holding the rabbit and listening to the sounds above. Twice, he thought he heard her footsteps and got excited. Once, he was positive he heard her voice, but it didn’t last long and when it was gone, he thought it might be forever. He grew tired of the waiting and understood that he would have to give up and come back another time.
But what about the rabbit? He couldn’t leave it here now, especially since he had broken its leash in half. It might run away and be gone into the bushes like other rabbits. Why couldn’t he take it with him and hide it somewhere? Tomorrow night, when he returned, he would bring the rabbit with him. The little girl would see it and she would come to him.
All these ideas were born in his mind quickly, flashing through in images that resembled previews of coming attractions in a movie theater. The imagery was so strong and so vivid that he thought it had to be right. Clutching the rabbit to himself tightly, but still taking great care not to crush it, he started for the basement door. Just as he reached it, there was the sound of the upstairs door opening.
The light from the house above threw him into a panic. He rushed for the nearest deep shadow and pressed himself against the wall. In his excitement, he relaxed his hold on the rabbit and it hopped out of his arms. It moved quickly toward the light, dragging the torn leash behind it. He started after it, but the voices drove him back.
“No, Gina,” Hilda Baum said, “it’s too late. You can’t go down now.”
“But I want to say goodnight, Grandma.”
“You said goodnight, Gina. Now it’s time for you to go to sleep. The rabbit’s asleep anyway,” she said. As though the rabbit wanted to appeal for their help, he moved further toward the stairway and the illuminated section of the basement.
“Come on, Honey,” Cy Baum called from behind them, “there’ll be plenty of time to play with the rabbit tomorrow. You don’t want your grandma to get mad at me for buying it, do you?”
“Don’t mention that,” Hilda said.
The door was closed and darkness quickly returned. He waited until he was certain and then he shot forward. The rabbit tried to get behind some furniture, but he thrust his hand out and scooped it up in midair. Then, without further hesitation, he rushed back to the basement door. Just as he had learned to close his own hole in the wall to keep from being discovered back at home, he closed this bigger hole. The door clicked shut behind him. He waited a moment and then scampered up the steps. He went around the back of the house again, following the same path he had taken to discover the basement entrance.
When he was in the bushes, he felt safe and lightened his grip on the rabbit. It tried to slide out from under his arms, but he worked his fingers in under its collar and it was unable to drop off. He was more than halfway home when it occurred to him that he still had to find a place for it. He couldn’t bring it into the basement with him, because the big creature was sure to find it and know he was getting outside. What would he do?
He quickly reviewed the kinds of hiding places he had seen during his travels—holes in the ground, small gullies between rocks, a pile of sticks—none seemed good enough. If he put the rabbit in any of those places, it would get away. Sitting there in the bushes, thinking about his problem, he looked out at The Oaks. One of the garbage cans at the side of the house had been turned over by skunks. They had satisfied their hunger and gone on, but the containers looked very promising to him. What a perfect place to hide the rabbit!
He rushed to them. Uprighting one of the cans, he dropped the rabbit into it and then placed the cover back on top. He waited a few moments to be sure that the rabbit was secure and then headed for his hole in the wall. The night’s adventure had not been what he had hoped it would be; but sitting inside his basement, he could think about her rabbit safely contained just outside his wall. In a way he had a part of her near him.
Tomorrow night, he would go out a little earlier, take the rabbit with him, and then, holding it by the remainder of the leash the way she had held it, he would show it to her and get her to come to him. He had no idea what he would do after
that, but somehow he felt that whatever followed would be the most delightful thing he had ever done. Now that the rabbit was in his possession, he had real hope. Whatever he wanted to happen would happen. It was almost as simple as chewing through a leash!
* * *
Faith heard the garbage cans turn over and imagined it was a skunk tugging on a garbage bag until the can toppled. She had seen skunks do that before. In the morning she would go out there and straighten things, but for now, her elbows on the windowsill, she leaned out to study the night sky, which seemed brighter and more filled with stars than ever. The moon was almost too brilliant to look at. She closed her eyes and inhaled the night air, as though a bed of roses were planted right beneath her window. Everything was richer and deeper. She had a difficult time containing herself and keeping herself calm enough that Mary wouldn’t detect anything different about her, even though there was. She had been rebellious; she had ridden in his truck; and she had had the audacity to tell him she would meet him.
Afterward, when she had entered the house, she had gone right to her room, claiming she had a “load of homework.” Mary didn’t question it, because Faith had done that before, especially when she wanted to avoid Mary’s inquisitions: her questions about the other kids, the things teachers might have said, and her relationships with boys. Up to now, there really hadn’t been any; but, nevertheless, Mary pursued, Mary inquired, as though she had been waiting for just this very thing—an opportunity to pounce on her and demonstrate that her theory was right: Faith was in continuous danger of inheriting her father’s evil strain.
“You’ve got to be wary; you’ve got to be on guard. It comes in a flash and dooms your soul for eternity.”
For as long as Faith could remember, Mary had recited these lines or similar ones. They practically formed a chant. And now … now it might very well be coming true. She could feel it; she was on the brink of something. The recklessness and the defiance were symptoms. She knew that, but for some reason she wasn’t as afraid as she thought she should be.
Earlier, when she had gone down to the kitchen to set the table, she was so involved in these thoughts, that she nearly forgot about reaching the baby through the floor. Then she realized that he wasn’t making the usual effort to reach her. Mary had gone upstairs, so Faith felt safe going to her knees and blowing through the crack. She waited, but he didn’t blow back or push his finger into the opening. She blew again and then put her ear to it to listen. The silence was puzzling, but the sound of Mary’s footsteps on the stairway ended her investigation.
She couldn’t help thinking about him, though. Right after Mary said grace, she took a chance.
“If you haven’t fed him yet, I’d be glad to go down.”
Mary held her spoonful of soup in the air. Her eyes widened and her lips tightened, causing a whiteness at the corners of her mouth. Faith looked down quickly, immediately regretting her offer. What was happening to her? Why was she suddenly so brazen? She felt as though she had uttered a blasphemy.
“Fed? Fed who?”
“I just thought …” She shrugged. “I just wanted to help you.”
“This is how you would help me? To remind me, to continually keep the image of that … that dwarf before me, to torment me with the reality of what’s down there, of what your father did to us?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. She tried to look as repentant as she could. It worked, because Mary’s face softened. She ate her soup and let the silence mend the wound.
“I’ve already fed him,” Mary said. Faith didn’t openly acknowledge it, but she felt relief. That meant he was all right. Too many nights she had dreamed of his dying down there in the darkness; of Mary discovering the body and carrying it out under the cover of night to bury the little thing in an unmarked grave, somewhere in the fields behind the house, keeping it a secret even from her. In fact, and this new thought made her flush with fear, that might have already happened. Maybe Mary was lying when she said she had already fed him. Maybe she brought food down to no one tonight. She made a mental note to increase her effort to contact him tomorrow and if she couldn’t… she would do something … maybe steal Mary’s key and sneak down.
Mary stopped eating again and stared at her. Faith tried to ignore it, but Mary’s gaze was too intense. She had to look up.
“Are you thinking about him more and more?”
“No,” Faith said quickly.
“You must tell me if you are. You must tell me if he’s on your mind, in your thoughts.”
“He’s not,” Faith said. “But what will we do when he gets too big and too old to stay down there?”
“God will tell us what to do,” Mary said, her voice quickly turning soft and pleasant. She smiled and reached across the table for the butter dish. “He always does, doesn’t He?”
“Yes. I was just wondering if He had said anything lately.” Mary’s smile froze into a cold glare and her face whitened. Faith thought that if Death were female, she would look something like this.
“You’re not humoring me, are you, Faith?”
“Oh no. I really want to know. That’s all. I mean, I want to help you do the right thing.”
“I hope so.” Mary buttered her bread. The rest of her statement was directed to an imaginary audience. “It’s not easy. None of this has been easy—bringing you up whole and pure, despite your background, protecting you, while I did what had to be done. If I’ve been successful, then you should want to help me.”
“I do.”
“Good. For now, we’re not going to do anything different. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Mary smiled and nodded at her and then they grew quiet again, mainly because Mary fell back into her thoughts. It was scary, because she looked as though she were hearing other voices; but in a way, Faith was also relieved. If Mary asked no more questions, she wouldn’t learn what Faith had done and what she planned to do.
Now, sitting by the window, she wondered whether she could really do it. Before she had come up to her room, she had sat with Mary in the living room and listened to some of the religious music. Mary was pleased about that, but Faith was doing it for another reason—she felt herself falling, succumbing to temptation, and hoped that the prayers and the hymns would save her. But when she closed her eyes to recite the words, she saw only Bobby O’Neil’s face—that smile, those eyes.
“I’m tired,” she told her. “I’m going to sleep early tonight.”
“I am, too,” Mary said. Faith did hear her follow, shortly after, not even waiting for the end of her programs. It seemed too perfect, as if events were conspiring against her. Was the Devil doing this? She didn’t know; she only knew she couldn’t pull away from the windowsill; she couldn’t close her eyes on such a night.
As if on cue, she heard his whistle. She closed her eyes, pretending she hadn’t heard it, pretending it was something she imagined. Her heart began to beat rapidly. He whistled again and she looked back through her room to see if Mary had heard it. She would if he kept it up. Faith thought she had to do something quickly. With that as her rationalization, she brought her leg to the window and stepped out as quietly as she could, moving like someone in a dream.
She had put on her nightgown over her blouse and jeans and gotten under the covers, just in case Mary stepped into her room when she came up from listening to her radio programs. Now, Faith slipped off the nightgown and tossed it back to the bed. It floated through the air with a dreamlike quality. Every action seemed slower, heavier than usual. Was this really happening?
When she stood up on the landing, she saw him below, the moonlight cutting him from the darkness and making his face radiate with what she thought to be a devilish glow. He waved up at her, beckoning in a slow-motion way, reminding her of ephemeral visions—images that dwelled in sleep and haunted day-dreams, like the memories of some previous life. She gestured to tell him he must be silent. He understood and remained where he was; not speaking; not whistling;
just waiting. She looked back through the window once more. Did she dare? Wasn’t it too late to change her mind? No, she could go back and close the window. Would he understand or would he start that whistling again?
She moved to the steps. Every creak of the metal roared in her ears. Mary surely heard it and would be out in a minute. Faith almost wished for that, because that would end it. She would face Mary’s anger and be saved. But she was nearly to the bottom of the ladder and Mary hadn’t appeared. Bobby stepped forward, as she dropped from the last rung and touched the ground. For her it had been like a descent into hell, but he seemed ecstatic.
“Hi,” he whispered. She couldn’t speak. “Any problems with your mother?” Faith shook her head. How she was trembling. He took her hand and she was sure he would feel it. If he did, he didn’t let on. “Come on.” He led her into the darkness and she followed like one drugged.
She looked back when they reached the path that would take them to Brown’s Pond. The house looked angry to her; every window reflecting the moonlight was an eye blazing with fury. She felt the building would stretch its shadows toward them to seize her and hold her back. When she hesitated, Bobby O’Neil looked back at the house too, seeing her concern.
“It’s OK,” he said. “Everything’s quiet. Don’t worry. It’ll be nice. It’s a great night,” he added. “Look at the stars and the moon.”
She nodded. He was right—it was a great night. When they entered the path, though, the darkness closed in around them so quickly, she thought a door had been shut behind her. She didn’t speak until they came upon the pond ablaze with moonlight, a sheet of silver spread before them.
“Oh, how beautiful,” she said. “I never came down here at night.”
“Didn’t I tell you? Hey,” he said laughing, “you’re squeezing my hand so tightly you’ll cut off the circulation.”
“Oh.”
“No, don’t let go. Just relax. We’re going to enjoy ourselves. There’s the boat. Come on,” he said and she quickened her pace, the excitement now replacing the fear. He helped her into it and she sat down at the bow. From here she could look back in the direction of The Oaks; but now, even with the bright moonlight, she couldn’t see it; the bushes and trees, their branches so thick with leaves, formed an impenetrable wall of dark green. Looking around, she felt as though they had been cut off from the rest of the world and entered some country of the mind where creatures of dreams and nightmares peered out at them. She could no longer distinguish the real from the unreal, and her house and her past were beyond reach.
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