Division 02 Within This Garden Weeping

by Lee Thompson

  “Why don’t you fold him up and tuck him in your coin pouch?”

  “Who can put the wind in a pouch?”

  “I don’t know. No one, I guess.”

  “No,” Ash said. “Someone. Someone very special who had a gift because he was born between worlds, someone who has been bitten by my daughter, and like a chemical reaction…boom…he exploded with fire and dazzling light. A mystery to himself, but not to everyone. Especially not me.”

  “You’re much weaker than I think you are, aren’t you? Like Mr. Blue was.”

  Ash drummed his fingers against his lips, looking hurt, almost human. At last, he said, “My brother and I have fought for truth for as long as man has existed. And we’ve won many battles. But yes, there are scars, water worries the stone and all that. I carry a million memories and ten times as many heartaches. They make us strong but also make us weak. Perhaps even impatient. Reckless.”

  “And my mother was one of those scars.”

  “Your mother was a quasar, the most beautiful moment in my existence.”

  Red didn’t know what to say, but the words made his heart beat faster, and he thought of Amy, wishing he could tell her he loved her like that, despite what he’d done to her father, despite the lie he’d set off between them like a bomb. He said, “My mom thinks you’re selfish.”

  “I am, to a degree. But who isn’t? Man and god alike must wrestle himself. But don’t be so quick to judge me, because I’ve seen you in the darkest moment of your young life and it was a very selfish time you had.”

  “I didn’t know what would happen.”

  “But you did it anyways. You dropped the weight of all his petty cruelties on his head.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you looked in the mirror, Red?”

  “No.” He looked past Ash and studied the valley floor below them for movement, feeling as if something or someone were watching them. He looked back to the stick figure, the man a dark blot through his tears. “What now?”

  “Now you choose.”

  “The only way to get Mr. Blue back is to get the giant first, right? But then what? How do we fight the wind? What about Leonora and all those she’s given life?”

  “We must decimate all who stand in our way.”

  “Then what? We leave behind a scorched other-Earth and you have no one in your kingdom?”

  Ash shrugged. Then he smiled, and said, “Better to have no one around than a thousand souls you cannot trust.”

  Red’s body numbed, yet it felt alive with the vibrations in this shifting reality. It worked its way around the tips of his fingers, squirmed up through the soles of his shoes. He thought, I can do this, I can get Mr. Blue back and get the hell out of here for good.

  But he was no stranger to doubt either, even in the midst of a more lucid moment, and he imagined the Dragonfly Man ripping the raven’s wings from its body. He thought about a scorched other-Earth, so much of this place already like that and he wondered if Ash walked mile upon mile trapped in a maddening rage, decimating the forest because he couldn’t destroy the Wind with a Thousand Eyes on his own. Red blinked and said, “You could burn the Dragonfly Man. Fry him.”

  Ash nodded, the point of his chin like a razor, eyes sharp as well, joy playing across his lips. “You have to prove your bravery to both of us. This is one of those moments.”

  “And if it kills me?”

  “It probably won’t.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “Just stay away from their wings,” Ash said.

  “Why?” But he knew, because he could picture that too, how their wings were like tiny knives, able to cleave the muscle from his bones, leave him lying there in the dirt, and unable to extinguish here in this place until his body, his true body in his world, died. He swallowed, thinking, I have to be vicious…but the idea of that path frightened him too, remembering the pleasure he’d felt as Amy’s father looked into the mirror and saw the horrible darkness inside. He didn’t want to enjoy destroying anything, even if he thought it was justified.

  Ash turned to the valley and waved Red forward, saying, “Let’s get to it, shall we?”

  Eight

  She stood outside Red’s window late that night.

  He got up because he was restless and couldn’t sleep. Amy shifted beneath the stand of birch trees, her dress as white as her skin, her face a pale smudge in the gloom. He stood in the window, heart hammering, skin clammy because he didn’t know what she was doing there so late at night, and he couldn’t get a feel for her emotions—if she came to tell him she hated him, or she merely needed to talk about the evil things her dad had done.

  Red waved to her and she waved back, and he thought, That’s a good sign, right?

  He pulled his clothes on as quickly as he could manage in the dark. Night air seeped in as he pushed the window up and jumped outside. Red trotted to the woods bordering the side of the trailer, his palms clammy, a lump in his throat. He stopped in front of her, uncertain if this was real or dream, or somewhere in-between. He listened to the crickets chirp, the wind stirring branches above them as they stared at each other, Amy’s lips dark until she smiled a little and revealed a splash of white.

  Red let out a long breath and said, “Are you okay?”

  Amy shook her head, looked at the ground, and for a moment Red thought something was wrong, different, because the ground was no longer there and they hovered over a dark chasm. His breath caught in his throat and he grabbed her hand, but the void stirred with leaves around their feet and the raven hiccupped on his shoulder, Amy’s fingertips like the brush of butterfly wings. He squeezed her hand tighter, pulled her to him, and said, “I’m sorry for what I did.”

  She shook her head again, eyes glistening, and whispered, “Let’s go for a walk.”

  Red wished he had the strength to do that, to hear her out, but it terrified him—imagining what she might say. Because she could say anything at all, and it could hurt them worse. He felt bad for it, this selfishness, wanting to protect his feelings, desperate for things to be like they once were, before he’d shown her father the depth of his shortcomings.

  Amy jerked him into the woods and the air chilled. She let his hand free even though he tried to cling to her, and she said, “Part of me wants to hate you for killing him.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. But you lied to me, Red. I know why you did, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

  “I wish I could take it back, all of it.” His heart seemed stuck in his throat and he swallowed, trying to get it back down, searching for the right words to say, the right questions to ask, but all he could come up with was, “You don’t trust me anymore, do you? Not that I blame you. I did wrong. But at the time it felt right, it felt good to show him what he’d done to you and your mom and seeing him afraid of himself. I didn’t think it’d kill him. I thought he’d change.” He shook his head. “I thought he’d leave you guys because the guilt he’d failed to feel all this time was right there, biting his neck, pulling back and looking him straight in the eyes, but none of it went down like I thought it would. I was scared to tell you that I’d done it, but you knew anyway.”

  “It was all over your face,” she said. “It still is.”

  “That I’m a murderer.”

  “No, Red. You’re not. You’re missing the point, and now my dad is gone and he wasn’t all bad. He did good things too, but you couldn’t see them. You were only seeing the darkness, you let it block out the light. You can’t do that.” She sobbed, eyes glistening. “Please, don’t do that.”

  And he thought she meant with her, so he tried to take her hand again, feeling that if they just touched, they could connect beyond the mere brush of flesh, and she could see that he didn’t care what she’d done for her dad because it wasn’t her fault. Mr. Lafond had trained her into thinking it was normal, that it was okay to sell drugs to kids at school, and…

  “Listen to me
,” she said. “Okay? This is important.”

  * * *

  No! Red thought. She was going to tell me something important! Hoping that it was that she loved him, hoping that it was that she truly understood, that all he wanted was to see her happy, but the air shimmered and he sucked in a hot breath and shifted his stance as what sounded like a hundred helicopter blades cut across the darkening sky, shaking the uppermost branches of the twisted trees in this Other-world. Next to him, Ash smiled and whispered, though it sounded as if he were yelling, “They know we’re here.”

  Nodding, Red looked around, unsure which direction to face because branches clacked together all around them and the dragonflies swarmed the trees. Their numbers surprised him—there were thousands, enough to make a hundred Dragonfly Men. He choked on his words, his body trembling. “I can’t fight all of them.”

  Ash said, “You’re right. There are many more than what there once was.” He pulled his cloak free and draped it over Red’s shoulders. The fabric heated his skin but made it itch as well, like the wool hunting coat his uncle Jack had made him wear once when he’d called him and his dad out to the property to hunt down a deer. He wriggled beneath it, but watched as Ash opened his mouth and raised his hands to the sky, his words swirling out and up, crackling across the low-hanging clouds, fusing them with something like heat lightning. Thunder rumbled. The dragonflies stilled and watched them, a ring around them, and the trees seemed as if they’d moved closer when he blinked. Ash tensed; then he laughed a mad laugh that sent shivers climbing Red’s back, and from the strange man’s mouth flowed a red inferno, widening as it coursed around the trees, fire consuming branches, dragonflies popping like burned hornets as the heat beat against their skin and something crashed behind them, all of them trying to form a giant creature like a dragon but screaming as the fire hollowed them out in droves.

  Ash fell to the ground as if he’d fainted and Red tried to pull him up because the bugs behind them burst from the trees and took to the sky and blocked the sun as day emerged. Red tasted salt on the wind, thinking that an ocean must be nearby, stirred by the other raging elementals, and he coughed against the thickness swelling in his chest. The fire flickered out and the remaining dragonflies landed, taking the form of a bulbous atrocity that reminded Red of cancer, its face a swarming mass of moving body parts.

  He swallowed, tugging on Ash’s elbow, trying to get him to stand. The mass turned to the carcasses burned black against the smoldering trees. It opened a thousand tiny mouths in its form and whined. He saw it ache for its dead brothers, thought about all the wars he remembered—the glory and the tragedy. And it seemed that there were soldiers moving all around them, fallen, dead, decomposing in their faded uniforms, marching for a place between the worlds where they could at last find rest.

  The mass whipped around and howled. Red thought, All right, palming the air, feeling it ripple beneath his palms. The sun burned crimson and Red’s neck ached as they faced off like dueling gunmen. Red almost laughed, but Ash was struggling to his feet, saying, “Kill them.”

  The mass exploded, and for a moment, Red was confused because he hadn’t done anything yet. And then he thought that maybe the giant was behind the creature and slapped its big hands around its neck and rent it in half, but he blinked and the wind threw half of them to the left and half to the right and there were eyes in all the trees opening, staring, and the butterfly beat its wings around his head, tickling his flesh, and the forest moaned as the dragonflies regrouped and their wings ripped the air and they hit Red in the chest and knocked him back ten feet. He hit the ground and bounced until he hit the ground again, hard, and air burst from between his lips. Ash knelt next to him, and Red wondered if he had died here, looking up into the face of this fallen god who still walked in his kingdom but didn’t have any power on his own to reclaim a damn thing because life was cruel, it took from you and it kept taking and sometimes you liked getting sucked dry and other times you hated it, but it was all—love and hate, joy and sadness, pleasure and pain, it let you know that it was there. And then Ash stood and threw fire and light from his hands and his eyes, raging mad, destroying tree after tree, closing each eye that had formed only moments before as the dragonflies buzzed and two massive feet stomped the ground next to Red’s head.

  Red rolled over, trying to catch his breath, but a giant hand grabbed him by the waist and jerked him from the ground. Dragonflies buzzed against his rib cage they crunched against each other and squeezed. Tears filled Red’s eyes, but he blinked them away, flailing, but more tears gathered as the Dragonfly Man opened its mouth and roared, its breath smelling of death and earth, a catacomb where every road and crossroad in Red’s life led to this single moment.

  The butterfly lit upon the hand as Red struggled to free himself.

  The beast stilled, its bulbous head turning toward the bright blue speck crawling up its arm. Red screamed, “Amy! No!” But the butterfly couldn’t listen or speak as it headed toward the Dragonfly Man’s gaping mouth, tiny legs carrying it over the squirming insects as they shifted and the creature dropped him. Red hit the ground in a pile, but stood quickly because he wouldn’t let his thing hurt her.

  The butterfly stopped on that giant shoulder and stared into the creature’s face.

  Red stepped forward, drawing one hand back to take a swing at the Dragonfly Man. The creature buzzed louder and slapped its palm down on its shoulder and blue light exploded everywhere, filling Red’s eyes with tears, his rage boiling over until he grabbed hold of the air around him and slammed his hands together, wanting to crush the creature’s head, hear it scream and weep, and he did hear crying, but was unsure if it was his own, or Amy’s or Ash next to him, rending his garments with his right hand while his left tugged at the cloak draped over Red’s shoulders. His palms stung and the blinding light faded.

  The dragonflies squirmed upon the forest floor, among broken branches and fallen leaves and the last dying light of day. Red wiped his tears away and rubbed his aching ribs, his heart heavy with sorrow until he heard a girl singing and everything looked smaller; he felt as if he’d grown five feet, the sum of his mass tripled. The dragonflies fluttered their wings and Red got on his hands and knees and smashed them beneath his fist, throwing their carcasses aside until his fingers brushed something soft, something that filled him with peace. The butterfly climbed onto the back of his hand, seemingly unharmed even though Red knew that couldn’t be true. Unless it wasn’t Amy. Unless her spirit could not be destroyed. He held it up close to his face and kissed its wings, laughing softly as they tickled his lips. Red said, “Did you distract it? Did it hate you because you’re everything it cannot be?”

  Ash touched his back. Red turned and stared into his pale face, seeing the scars he carried, and the anger. The Stick Man still looked frail, but he also looked determined. He said, “You see the power you hold. Good. We’ll need that for what comes next.”

  But Red felt happy despite exhaustion so deep that all he wanted to do was sleep. He set the butterfly on his shoulder and turned toward the mountain in the distance, thinking of the giant he had grown inside of himself, as if birthed of courage and faith, and said, “We headed to your castle?”

  “Yes,” Ash said.

  “The giant told me that I have to fly out through the sun but he can’t go with me.”

  “Hogwash. He is you. But I suppose even the giant inside you fears being left behind.”

  “And the butterfly?”

  “You should take it back to your mother. I’ve held on to it for far too long. But I couldn’t help myself. I am a monster at times. A selfish beast who has received the love of someone wonderful, but I had to take her away when The Wind with a Thousand Eyes came thundering. If she stayed here, she might have been hurt. I couldn’t have that. And casting her out to protect her destroyed part of her, I think, even as it did me. I still love your mother, but what she’s given me I must give back.” Ash stroked the butterfly’s wings, and tears
filled his eyes. His voice grew thicker. “All I ever wanted was to make her happy. To give her everything I could, to offer my whole world that she might smile and take pleasure in it. But she hates me, and sadly,” he shook his head, “when someone hates me, part of me hates them back.”

  “You took her away because the other god came here to fight you?”

  Ash nodded.

  “She doesn’t hate you. She thought you didn’t love her and were sending her away so you could go back to your family.” Red wanted to say more, but he thought about his father. He didn’t know what Ash would do if he thought he could have Red’s mom again; even a glimmer of hope might make Ash do something regrettable. “But she does love my father,” Red added. “They have a good marriage.”

  “Well, good for them,” Ash said. He turned away and began weaving between trees. Red felt big yet confused, and weak, but he followed anyway, holding the butterfly in his hand, wishing he could protect it forever, thinking of Amy because she was out there somewhere, hurting.

  Nine

  The rain-ridden cemetery looked barren and lonely. Red sloshed through puddles in his rubber boots, his parents quiet, holding umbrellas on either side of him. Amy and her mother stood near the foot of the casket, a shiny black box that seemed to be sweating as if it was as worried about going into the earth as much as the corpse inside it. A half dozen people were gathered around them, everyone dressed in black, their faces solemn, like angels and demons crowding the birth of a new child, or seeing a warrior they both loved finally put to rest.

  During the service the minister spoke half-truths, his brow weighted by them. He said that Jim Lafond was a good man. Lightning flashed and people huddled closer, a knot that seemed it could fall apart at any moment. Red’s mother placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, until the funeral home attendant lowered the casket, the cables wet and whining above intermittent gusts of wind. Everyone took a flower and threw it in the hole, the head of each accompanied by a thunder clap, and Red wondered if it represented God’s applause, if what he’d done had truly been so horrible. His mother’s breath touched his ear and she whispered, “I know it’s not right, but I feel some relief for them. Even if it’s only temporary. Even if her mom only finds another man like him because it’s all she knows.” She cried for a moment, but Red didn’t think it was for the deceased. She said, “There is hope for them now. A little at least.”