Harvest of Changelings

by Warren Rochelle

  When Russell’s stepmother put supper on the table it was still raining—a heavy rain, splattering, splashing on the windows, running off the roof, making waterfalls from the gutters to the ground. The weatherman said on the evening news the rain was probably going to last all night, bringing welcome relief from the August heat. The farmers sure needed it. I don’t care about the farmers—now, Jeff won’t come. He won’t come. Why would he want to come to my house any - way —

  “Eat, Russell. Stop playing with your food,” his father snapped.

  Maybe the rain is making him grumpy, too, Russell thought, as he carefully scooped up some mashed potatoes. Or it is because he and Jeanie have to go over to her folks’ house to pick up some baby clothes and meet Jeanie’s sister’s fiance. Daddy doesn’t like Jeanie’s folks any more than I do.

  Being grounded did have some advantages. Russell always felt like a caged animal at Jeanie’s folks’ house, a very small and very neat, too neat, place. Her mother had a cabinet of little china figurines that she was always dusting. Little lace doilies covered the couch and the chairs and were beneath every lamp. Russell had broken a china shepherdess once and the old lady had scowled at him ever since, even though he had apologized a hundred times over. He had even tried to glue the shepherdess back together. Spilling the glue hadn’t helped. Maybe that was why she had let Russell in only as far as the porch all summer.

  When his father and Jeanie had finally left, Russell started washing the supper dishes, alternating with each plate or cup: he’s gonna come, he’s not gonna come. He jammed the last one in the drainer, not gonna come. Okay, I’ll fix that, he thought and held the plate high over his head. It made a satisfying crash when it hit the floor. Russell thought about dropping a few more but decided sweeping all the pieces wasn’t worth the trouble. Or having Jeanie wonder just what was happening to her dishes.

  He sat down with The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe in the kitchen. That was the door Russell had told Jeff to use. Maybe Narnia wouldn’t be so spooky now, even though it was still raining and a wind was rising.

  “Chapter Fifteen. Deeper Magic From Before The Dawn of Time. While the two girls crouched in the bushes with their heads covering their faces, they heard the voice of the Witch calling out ... I hope no one who reads this book has been quite as miserable as Susan and Lucy were that night; but if you have been—”

  There was a knock and before Russell could jump up, Jeff came in, carrying the crutches and a flashlight and covered from head to toe in a dripping, black poncho. He grinned at Russell, laid the crutches on the floor and pulled the poncho over his head.

  “You came; you’re here,” Russell said, getting sprayed as Jeff shook out the poncho, surprised at just how happy he was to see the other boy.

  “Of course I’m here; I told you I was coming. It was kind of scary coming down here; I hope the Clarks don’t check the lump in my bed. Can I hang this up somewhere?” Jeff said.

  “Yeah, you did tell—yeah, in my room, upstairs. C‘mon, let’s go. And I don’t need the crutches anymore, see? Let me put ’em back in the upstairs closet. C’mon. I thought you were going to blink your flashlight three times,” Russell said over his shoulder.

  “I forgot. Hurry up, I’m dripping everywhere.”

  Russell hesitated at the door to his bedroom before opening it. What would Jeff think of his narrow, little iron cot, his banged-up dresser, and the yard sale lamp and table? And his old wardrobe with the cracked mirror on the inside door, the big, brown rug Russell had found in a dumpster? There was plenty of time for Jeff to turn around and go home.

  “Is the door stuck, Russ?” Jeff asked and reached around him to shove the door open. “Where am I going to sleep? Two of us can’t fit in your bed; it’s too small. Where’d you get this manger scene? You can sit in your window, cool. You have an alarm clock? Great, I have to get back before the Clarks wake up.”

  Russell ran and got extra blankets, a pillow, and a sleeping bag. When he got back to his room he dumped everything on the rug and they made a bed there.

  “Are you sleepy? What time is it?” Jeff asked as he sat down to pull off his wet shoes and socks. “Should we go ahead and go to sleep? I’m not sleepy, are you? Are there any spells in your books we’re supposed to say? I heard a door slam downstairs—your folks back?”

  “It’s ‘bout 9:30. I’ll set the alarm for 6:30—there. I’m not sleepy, either. Yeah, that’s them. They went over to Jeanie’s—she’s my stepmother—mama’s house. We’ll hafta whisper.”

  “Are they going to check on you? I could hide in that big closet of yours—is that the wardrobe you were telling me about?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Nah, they won’t come up. I wish we had gotten some food from downstairs, though.”

  “Hey, I brought some stuff. I got a box of cinnamon graham crackers and a bag of popcorn in my knapsack here,” Jeff said and pulled the food out. “And half-a-liter of Pepsi.”

  “All right; let’s eat.”

  As they ate and drank, passing the bottle back and forth to take swigs out of it, Russell read aloud from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. He didn’t look at Jeff as he read, afraid again of Jeff laughing. Jeff said nothing. Instead he rolled over on his back to listen, and dropped popcorn in his mouth, one kernel at a time.

  “Wanna read some?” Russell asked, his mouth full of graham crackers.

  “Russell, I wasn’t kidding when I told you I had a hard time reading. You read fine. I bet if Miss Findlay or Mrs. Collins heard you they’d be amazed and you’d never have to go to Resource again. I don’t read aloud, remember? I’m the dummy.”

  Russell nodded. He had forgotten what had happened just last week when Miss Findlay asked Jeff to read. The silence had gone on forever and Jeff had turned to stone.

  “I’m not a really good reader, either, though, like Hazel or that Malachi in my class. Yer not a dummy—remember Miss Findlay said being in Resource wasn’t being dumb? Anybody who knows as much about dinosaurs as you do isn’t dumb.”

  “Maybe. You’re the first kid I ever told about my dinosaurs. I kept them a secret. Want some more popcorn? Keep reading.”

  Russell grabbed another handful and read on, slowly turning the pages, his voice filling up the room, a softer counterpoint to the steady, metallic beat of the rain on the tin roof. Finally his words became slow and heavy and he found himself squinting and yawning at the same time.

  “Ready to go to sleep?” Russell asked, looking down at Jeff through half-closed eyes. “Gotta go to the bathroom? Next door—but be real quiet.”

  After they both had sneaked in and out of the bathroom, they got into bed, Jeff snuggling deep into the sleeping bag, Russell into his cot. He had to get back out and check the door and cut off the light, but finally he could roll over to talk to Jeff, until finally their voices became disembodied in the dark, loose and drifting. One voice told the other good night and the other answered and the room was quiet except for the steady rain and the soft, soft sounds of rhythmic breathing.

  At first Jeff could see nothing. Feel nothing. He knew Russell was near, just beyond the tips of his fingers, but he could not reach him. He had nothing with which to reach. Then, as if his arms, his legs, his entire body, had all been asleep, Jeff felt a tingling all over and stumbled into cool air and wet grass. There was Russell, less than an arm length away. They were standing in tall grass at the edge of some woods. Jeff could see, not far away, where the land dropped away, and beyond was his sea, painted with silver and gold and white and the light of the two moons. A salty wind blew away the thickness in his head. He inhaled and exhaled and shook himself. Behind them was the yellow road Russell had dreamed and his glowing white trees.

  “Hey, Russ, are you all right?” Jeff shouted over the wind.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. We’re here; we made it,” Russell shouted back. “It’s true: magic is real. We have on the same clothes we wore to bed. I’ve got my NC State tank top and yer wearing underwear
.”

  “Well, I can’t go back and get my clothes.” Jeff thought he would be embarrassed to be caught in his underwear, but he wasn’t.

  “Nope, no going home now. At least for a while. We’re here, Jeff. In Narnia—or some place just like it. Fairyland,” Russell said and punched Jeff on the arm. “I haven’t been right here before, but this is your sea, isn’t? I smelled it back in the meadow, where we met the centaurs and the dragon. I think I saw it when I rode the flying horse—look! Jeff, look down there! Do you see?” Russell had stepped a few feet away and stood at the edge of the cliff. “Come look. You hafta look Jeff; it’s really something to see down there.”

  The cliff didn’t drop straight down into the ocean. A few feet from where Russell and Jeff were standing rough steps had been cut into the stone. The steps broadened and became stairs that hugged the cliff wall as they zigzagged down to the beach. The stairs ended in a dark pool, which was separated from the sea by a jumble of rocks. Waves slapped and broke on the rocks, spewing foam into the air. Beyond the rocks, in the open sea, people looked up at the two boys. Jeff could see the round, shiny heads of dolphins and the crested heads of the swimmers. Farther out a lone dolphin jumped in a long graceful arc, its body shimmering in the moonlight.

  “There are the swimmers I told you about, Russ. C’mon, they are waiting for us; they want us to swim with them,” Jeff said, not knowing how he knew, but even so sure he was right.

  There was a swimmer waiting for them by the tidal pool when Jeff and Russell reached the bottom. He was a boy, a little older than Russell, Jeff thought, but then who knew how to tell the ages of anyone here? The swimmer was only a little taller than Russell and his hands and feet were like a frog’s, long and webbed. A crest divided the swimmer-boy’s skull and ran down his spine. He shook his head as he stood there, shaking water out of his long, black-green hair. Soft, feathery growths on the boy’s neck fluttered as he stood there, as if there were tiny birds in his throat. The swimmer-boy looked as if he were wearing a dolphin’s skin: sleek, smooth, and black and blue and green and grey, like the sea. The colors seemed to move as he did, as he came down from the rocks and waded through the pools to where Russell and Jeff waited at the foot of the cliff stairs.

  “Did I swim with you before?” Jeff asked. “This is Russell. We came together this time, to swim—can we?”

  “That’s why I’m here, to take you both swimming,” the swimmer-boy said, his words sounding wet, as if waves linked the syllables together.

  “Out there?” Russell said. They could hear, mixed with the sounds of the waves and the wind, voices calling and dolphins squeaking.

  “Where else but there?” the boy said, laughing. Then the boy took Jeff’s right hand and Russell’s left hand and led them up and over the rocks and down to the beach. Russell gasped when they came down to the sand. Jeff laughed, remembering how the sea and the beach looked to him the first time he had dreamed. It was as if the sand were a huge, white carpet unrolled at their feet, curving out and out and around and then disappearing far away into the night. Foam made a white line separating the sea from the earth. The water glittered and shone. It had been bright from the cliff but from the beach it was as if there was light beneath the water, a submarine moon shining up to meet its sky sisters. Dolphins and swimmers were everywhere and way, way out, was that a whale’s spout shooting out water?

  “The water is warm. You don’t need clothes,” the swimmer-boy said and ran out in the water. When it was up to his waist, he jumped out in a long, low dive. A minute later, the boy surfaced and called for Russell and Jeff to come on, come and go swimming. Jeff looked at Russell, shrugged and peeled off his undershirt and stepped out of his underwear. He ran into the water and turned back to wait for Russell.

  Russell didn’t move. Would the swimmer and Jeff be able to see his body in the moonlight? Could he trust his body not to react the way it had in his wet dreams, the way he found himself some mornings? But he couldn’t stay here, on shore. Russell gulped and pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it and his shorts on top of Jeffs clothes. He looked down his legs: they were crisscrossed with faint red and white lines. There were more scars on his back and scabbed lines, fresh from earlier in the week. Long, angry streaks striped his buttocks. Once his daddy had been so mad he had started beating Russell in the shower. Russell wished for a cloud to cover at least one of the moons.

  “Hey, Russ, what are you waiting for? C’mon. The water is really warm; it’s like a bathtub.”

  Jeff had waded out until the water was up to his chest, the waves parting around his body. The water will hide my scars, Russell thought, and he walked into the sea.

  “Catch me, Russell!” Jeff yelled and dived backward into a wave and was gone. Russell ran, then, yelling and splashing, and a wave slapped him in the face and flipped him over, up, and down. He stood up, spitting out water, his feet barely touching the ground. The cuts on his back smarted and the salt burned the insides of his mouth and stung his eyes. Where was Jeff? There, with the swimmer-boy, diving into another wave, and a dolphin, no, two, three, four. Another swimmer. Russell looked back and saw the cliff rising sharply above the beach, a dark silver wall. The forest crowned it in black shadows. As far as Russell could see, the cliff divided the land from the beach and the sea. He turned and started swimming, calling for Jeff to wait up, he was coming, hey, waaiiitt uuuppp.

  Something bumped Russell gently on his side, then it nipped on his legs with tiny, sharp teeth. Russell rolled over and found himself face to face with a dolphin. It was squeaking excitedly. What are you saying? I can almost understand—you want me—The dolphin nudged Russell again and turned so he could grab its back fin. When Russell had both hands tightly on the fin, the dolphin leaped straight up into the air. It curved and twisted and dove down and Russell fell off. When he came up again, sputtering and spitting, shaking his head to get the water out of his ears, the dolphin was waiting for him to jump again.

  “Russell! Russell! Look!”

  Russell, one hand on his dolphin, turned to face Jeff on the back of another dolphin arching above the water. The dolphin flipped and Jeff went flying, legs and arms everywhere. He came up a few feet away from Russell. Between them, apparently content for the moment to float, was another darker dolphin. Russell’s dolphin squeaked and nuzzled the darker one. Russell strained to listen—if he could just listen a little harder, a little longer—he would know what they were saying.

  “They’re saying it’s time to ride and jump again, to go farther out, where Tasos—the swimmer-boy—is waiting with other swimmers. See, out there, Russ,” Jeff said, gasping and laughing at the same time and pointed to the open sea, shimmering between light and dark before them.

  “Jeff, you know what they’re saying? You know what their squeaks mean?”

  “Don’t you? It’s like—” But the dolphins wouldn’t let Jeff finish. In the next minute Russell and Jeff were airborne again, and then, down, down, into the water, and up again. Down again, past the warm into the dark coolness. Russell could just see Jeff’s body, milky white against the grey-black dolphin. Bright-colored fish, some glowing as if they had fires inside, swam around and between and over and under them. The dolphins, too, seemed to glow suddenly, as if a fire flamed inside, then, just as suddenly, the flames went out. The swimmer-boy—was it Tasos? Another? Russell couldn’t tell, as there were three, no, five, no two, no—four? swimmers with them and the fish and the dolphins. Again and again they went up into the air and its quick coolness and down through the warm into the cold dark.

  Finally, after how long neither could later guess, Russell and Jeff were floating on their backs, looking at the night sky. They were alone: all the dolphins and swimmers had disappeared. The sea was calm. Russell felt he was beginning to know this night sky—he was sure he recognized the huge, bright star to the left of the bigger moon from his last dream. Below the big star were five yellow stars in a circle. The two moons had faces, just like the moo
n back home. Back home? If he walked far enough, Russell thought, would he eventually be able to reach his house? But he had only read of places like this in books, in fairy tales: the swimmers, the dragon, the flying horse, the centaurs. He was in Faerie. Russell wished he could learn the magic rather than dreaming it. Then he could be here whenever he wanted. Here was safe. He could hear faintly the waves breaking on the beach. How far away was that and how deep was the water where they were?

  “Where’d everybody go?” Russell asked sleepily. If he fell asleep here, would he dream of home, but he was in a dream now, wasn’t he? If somebody came upstairs and shook him awake, where would he be?

  “I don’t know, but Tasos is coming, took—and two dolphins. I heard them in the water—here they are,” Jeff said. With a splash, the swimmer-boy came to the surface. The two dolphins started bumping Russell and Jeff with their heads, like great sea cats. Bright pictures flashed in Russell’s head: dolphins leaping, diving, racing through the water, far, far from any land. The swimmers were with them and all around was only the sea and the sky and laughing, laughing, everyone was laughing, laughing, laughing.

  “They have all gone home,” Tasos said. The bright pictures vanished. “It’s time for you both to go home and you have to be on land for your dream to finish. Russell, you ride Akeakamai; Jeff, you ride Puka. Straddle them like a horse. That’s right. They won’t jump; I made them promise.”