by Gene Wolfe
He led the way, his crutch thumping the floor at every stride. A door in the little hall between the dining room and the kitchen admitted us to a longer hall, and that to the master bedroom. It is capacious and at present more than a little bare; but the high, black four-poster from which I had taken the mattress stands at its center. I walked around it, pretending to examine the bed while I actually looked at the mattress. It seemed intact; as I scrutinized it, it occurred to me that the old man would certainly have decamped if he had found the money.
"A formidable piece of furniture." I smiled.
"Indeed, sir."
"I've gone through here to shave and bathe, but I've never paid much attention to the room. It's rather nice."
"May you spend many a restful night here, sir."
"The house is unheated, I believe."
"Not wholly, sir. There is a furnace, sir, though its, ah, salubrious breath does not attain to every room."
"In the basement, I suppose."
"Indeed, sir."
"Is there gas for it? Has the company restored our service?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir. It is a coal furnace in any event."
"I see. Have we coal?"
He shook his head. "No, sir."
"Then perhaps we should return this mattress to the living room. The nights are still quite chilly."
"That will scarcely be necessary, sir. There are fireplaces in this bedroom, sir. I doubt that you will require both, though of course you may have both if you choose."
I looked around without seeing either.
"Behind this, sir." With obvious pride, the old man rolled aside an antique washstand on casters, revealing a small fireplace in which a fire had already been laid. "Ieuan assisted me, sir, helping carry your furniture and your carpets. He also supplied this wood. A most obliging young man, sir."
"Ieuan?"
"Yes, sir. Young Ieuan Black. He lives nearby, I believe."
"So do I. Do you happen to know his brother Emlyn?"
"Ah." The old man sighed. "He's a bad one, sir. By repute at least. I--um--have not had the pleasure, sir. And don't want it."
"I see. I have so many questions to ask you that I don't know where to begin."
"Perhaps I may assist you, sir. The, ah, object we discussed prior to your departure yesterday has been cast upon the flood, sir, in the manner proposed."
"No doubt that's for the best. You say you've washed sheets? Several sheets?"
He nodded. "Six, sir."
"And at least one blanket."
"Quite correct, sir, though there are others awaiting my attention. Three more, sir, and a quilt."
"You cannot have washed any by hand, I think. That would've left you no time to fetch them, and to fetch down all this furniture. Did you take them to the Laundromat?"
"No, sir. I, ah . . ."
"Yes?"
"I, um, pledged your credit, sir. No interest, sir, and the first payment will not be due until July, sir. We have a washer and a dryer, sir. Now."
"I understand. No doubt they are in the basement?"
"Quite correct, sir. In the laundry room. Both are electrically powered."
"You intend to use them to wash your own clothing as well, I hope."
"Indeed, sir. Quite correct. My first wish, however, was to render you more comfortable, sir. I had hoped to have your bed in order before you returned."
"Surely you expected me last night."
"Not, um, really, sir." He colored. "The lady was young and attractive. I glimpsed her through our window, sir. You are, if I may say it, sir, a young man of--"
"Let's leave it at that. You said there were two fireplaces. Where is the other?"
"Across the room, sir. In the corner behind that screen."
It is of painted silk, George, and might well be in a museum. When the old man had folded back its mist-wrapped mountains and sinuous dragon, a second fireplace was indeed revealed--as well as a hearth on which two animals sat as primly as porcelain figurines upon a mantelpiece: one was Winkle, the other the small dog with which the old man had been playing when I first saw him.
I glanced at him to see whether he had been expecting them, but he appeared at least as surprised as I felt. I said, "That is your pet, I believe?"
"It--ah--he is, sir. My, um, little Toby."
"He is housebroken, I hope."
"Yes, sir. You do not object to him, sir?"
"I'll answer that in a moment," I said. "I have a question of my own first. Clearly you saw the fox."
(Winkle rose to rub herself against my leg.)
"Oh, I did, sir. I do indeed."
"Here is my question. Do you object to her?"
"From her behavior, and yours, sir, I take it that she is yours? If that is so, it is scarcely my place to make objection, sir. Rather, I shall care for her as though she were my own."
I was too occupied with my thoughts to speak.
"Better, sir, I hope. My, um, straitened means have compelled me to neglect poor Toby more than I should wish to confess."
"Then I will say this. I do not object to Toby at present."
The old man smiled, revealing teeth I feel quite sure are false. "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much!"
"If you--and Toby--want to continue living in this house, it cannot be as a guest. Do you seek employment with me?"
"Precisely so, sir. I have endeavored to prove my worth. As your servant, I shall redouble my efforts."
"Commendable. What terms of employment will you accept?"
It cannot be easy for someone who needs a crutch to bow, but the old man managed it. "First, sir, that Toby and I be permitted to continue here. We have no other home, sir."
"Certainly," I said.
"Other than that, our food, sir. We must eat or starve."
"Will you undertake to prepare mine?"
"Gladly, sir, though I am no chef. Simple food will present no difficulties, however. Welsh rabbit, omelets, hamam bil zaytun, and the like are within my range, sir, though it does not extend far beyond them."
"Can you make coffee?"
"Indeed, sir. Would you care for some?"
"Good coffee?"
"Yes, sir. I can, sir. But excellent coffee . . ." He sighed. "I cannot, sir. Not with the materials at hand."
"I understand. Please make me some good coffee, and we will continue our discussion."
He left, with Toby at his heels. Too late I added, "Close the door, please."
Winkle giggled as I shut it myself.
I said, "You can talk, Winkle. I know it and you know I know it."
"Yeth."
"Dogs and foxes are mortal enemies--or so I've been given to understand. When the old man moved that screen, you and Toby were certainly not at each others throats."
"He ith a familiar."
"The old man's familiar? Are you saying he's a witch? Or a sorcerer?"
"I am yourth."
"My familiar?"
Winkle giggled again. "I go outthide?"
"You need to go out?"
She nodded vigorously. "Pleath open the window, Bakth."
I did, and she bounded through it.
As you may imagine, I was very busy indeed with a painstaking examination of the mattress until the old man returned. It was just as I had left it. I seated myself upon it when his soft knock told he had returned, and he hobbled in, pushing a small serving cart.
"Coffee, sir. Cream, sir. Sugar, sir. Since you purchased the latter commodities, I assume that you will employ both."
I nodded, and he filled my cup from a silver pot. The coffee smelled wonderful, and tasted even better.
"It is nothing out of the ordinary, sir. Clean equipment and good water. I was forced to employ a percolator, sir. It is all we have at present."
I said, "As long as your coffee remains as good as this, I will not complain of it. What salary will you accept?"
"If you will supply my small needs as they arise, sir, that will be entirely suffi
cient."
"I would greatly prefer to pay you a weekly stipend," I told him. "Please propose a figure."
I was prepared to bargain, but the compensation he asked was so modest that I agreed at once. After that I told him that I intended to take a nap, adding that I had gotten little sleep the previous night.
"I quite understand, sir. I am too old for such things now, but in my younger days . . ."
"Of course. Could you fetch my luggage? My pajamas will be in my bag."
"I have attended to that already, sir." He opened the door of what proved to be a very large closet. My bag and my clothing were in there, as was the oil lamp I had almost forgotten.
There were bolts on both doors. I shot them as soon as he had left; then, with trembling heart, ripped out the stitches I had sewn earlier in the mattress.
The money was still there, and for the first time I counted the entire sum. I will not give you the total, George, but it was quite large.
Reassured, I sewed the mattress up again, put on my pajamas, and lay down. Doris had exhausted me, but the coffee I had drunk kept me awake for a few minutes at least. I recall thinking about buying her something, and about getting the old man a new crutch. (The one he has is little more than a forked stick, with rags knotted around the fork to pad it.)
I woke after an hour or so, and found I had company. The almond-eyed young woman for whom I had bought the robe had rejoined me, lying quite naked beside me. Still half asleep, I mumbled, "What are you doing here?"
"Cuddling."
"As I see." I sat up. "It's good of you. I find that I'm quite chilled."
"No fur." As she spoke, she spread her hair with both hands. It is jet black and very long indeed; I imagine she could sit on it.
"No fur to speak of, but I have a flannel shirt in here." I got it out of the closet. "And something for you. I hope you'll like it."
I gave her the silk robe. She opened the box as eagerly as any child, slipped into the robe very quickly indeed, and dashed around the room with wide-spread arms to show off the wide sleeves, an exercise she completed with a dozen kisses.
"I'm very glad you like it," I told her. "I wanted to get you something more, but I didn't know what you might like. Shoes seemed the obvious choice, but I didn't know your size." Her feet are tiny.
"Not really needed."
"We'll make a tracing of your foot. I can take that to the store." I opened my bag and got out my stationery and this pen; but when I turned around, she was gone.
I went to the window and looked out. That window, I know, had shown nothing more surprising than a stretch of lawn, a wilderness of weeds and brush, my neighbor's neatly clipped hedge, another expanse of lawn, and his house. It opened upon a forest now.
A real forest of immense and ancient trees, shadowy, silent, and brooding.
The young woman to whom I had given a silk gown was gone, and the gown as well. I wanted to call out to her, but I did not know her name. It occurred to me that she might be in the bathroom; its door stood open, and there was no one inside.
The house felt so silent that I felt certain that the old man and his dog had gone.
You know me, George; you may well know me better than I know myself. Can you guess what I did next? I know that I could not, if I were in your shoes.
I resumed the clothing I had worn from Doris's, found the staff I had cut in a corner of the closet, and climbed out that window.
Try as I will, I cannot explain it. No, not even to myself. There is a streak in my makeup that seems to have no connection with my conscious mind. You will regard what I did as no more than one more instance of self-destructive behavior, I know. I only wish I knew how to regard it.
Before I had taken a hundred steps, I realized that there would be every chance of my becoming lost if I went far. The course of wisdom seemed to be to return to the house; when I had found it again, I might circle it, locate the front and rear doors and so on, and so gain some idea of the position of the forest.
I turned around, retracing my path to the best of my ability. After a hundred steps (yes, George, one hundred; I counted them), the house was nowhere in sight. A hundred more, counted as carefully as the first . . .
Nothing. Only trees, huge and silent, sleeping giants robed in moss. And then--
"Mr. Dunn! Where are you? Mr. Dunn!"
Someone was calling me. I could hardly believe it. "Here!" I shouted. "Over here."
I saw her before she saw me, a stout, middle-aged woman in a long, loose dress. There was a shawl around her shoulders. I called and waved, but it soon became apparent that though she could hear me, she could not see me. She was groping; I decided that she must be blind, or nearly so.
When I was quite near her, she said, "You're here. I know you're here. I sense it."
"Right here," I said, and took her arm.
She blinked, and focused on my face. "I see you! I see you, Mr. Dunn. But you're Millicent's husband. Where is your brother?"
"I'm Baxter Dunn. George and I are identical twins. Didn't she tell you?"
The woman shook her head.
"Well, we are. May I ask what you're doing in this forest?"
"You dream, Mr. Dunn. This is your dream, and I have entered it in search of you. I myself am in a trance--"
My cell phone chimed. I pushed the button and said hello.
"Mr. Dunn? This is Jim Hardaway. I hope you remember me?"
"Yes, of course."
"Could you speak up? You're very faint."
I raised my voice. "Is this better?"
"A little bit. You must be quite a ways from the tower."
Looking around at the forest, I agreed.
"Can you meet with the lawyer tonight? About the will, you know. He's busy, but he's going to keep his office open for us. His name's Trelawny."
"It is in the laps of the gods, but I'll try."
Mr. Hardaway laughed. "God willin' and the creek don't rise."
"Precisely."
"It's two seventy-one Wilson, third floor. You won't have any trouble. That's very near the corner of Wilson Street and Railway Road. Six o'clock sharp."
Recalling a radio station I had heard far more than I ever wanted to, I said, "Be there or be square."
"Oh, I will, Mr. Dunn. I'll see you at six tonight."
He hung up and I turned back to the woman. "You are in a trance, you say?"
"Even so. My corporeal body is in my own parlor. The thing that you see, the thing you grasped, is my spiritual body."
I ventured that it had felt quite solid. She was, to be offensively frank, of substantial girth; I doubted that I could have lifted her, unaware that I would soon have to try.
"We are spirits, you and I. Do you recall my letter? I am in a trance, as I said. You sleep."
It was rather annoying, since I knew that I did not. "I'm in a forest," I told her, "and it seems to me a most sinister place. But I'm not asleep. I've wandered into this forest--which was foolhardy of me--and I'm trying to get back to my house, quite a large house."
She said nothing.
"It's painted white but in need of fresh paint. Have you seen it?"
"I have come to see it. I am Madame Orizia."
About then I heard a fox bark. I looked around for Winkle and saw the girl who had joined me in bed. I saw her, George, but what a transformation! She wore the silk gown I had given her; but her glossy black hair, which had been loose, was elaborately coiffured and held by two long, ivory-colored needles. Her face had been powdered, and liberally; it was far whiter than my house. She smiled and advanced trippingly, on high platform shoes. "I'm back, Bax. All dressed. Do you like me?"
I embraced her. "I will always like you, dressed or undressed, with makeup or without."
"I love you!"
"I love you, too. And you're Japanese!" One more hug. "I think I must have known, deep down."
"Oh, yes!"
Madame Orizia said, "Won't you introduce me to your pet? I love animals."
<
br /> I had begun to say something about having heard Winkle nearby when the girl I had been hugging bowed. "This lowly person is called Winker Inari."
"I am Madame." Madame Orizia offered her hand; the girl who called herself Winker Inari sniffed it, smiled, and backed away.
"She is shy," Madame Orizia explained. "That is only to be expected in a wild pet, and is no bad thing in any pet. I would have to prove my peaceful intentions, which I should be glad to do if only I had the time. It might take weeks, however, while I will scarcely have an hour."
I protested. "You're talking as though she were an animal."
"She is a fox, Mr. Dunn."
"I know the expression, but still--"
Madame Orizia raised a hand. "You are about to say she is a person. Of course she is. Many animals are."
Winker kissed my cheek. When I turned to look at her, she smiled. Then she barked. "I'm sorry, Bax. Oh! Very sorry! I love you."
"I love you, too." It was the second time I had said it. I touched her hair, and we kissed. I have never been kissed, George, as I was there in that brooding forest. I never expect to be kissed so again.
Here I wish I could recount our search. I will not, because I have neither paper enough nor time. Strolling for miles through a noble forest spread across whispering hills, we discovered hidden springs and beautiful glades, arching ferns higher than many a noble tree, and caverns we dared not enter. We saw white deer (and once a bear with a leering human face) as well as many other creatures that I will not describe because you would not believe me.
At last, guided by Winker's nose, we found the house and the very window through which I had come. I offered to help her in, but she dived through with one amazing bound.
Madame Orizia was another matter.
I heaved, my shoulder against her hips; she clawed at the window frame, and Winker lent her small strength from within the room. It was comic, I suppose, though not for us.
And in the end--no pun intended--we failed. I told Winker to remain where she was, and said that we would walk around the house until we found a door.
"It is a terribly strange house," I explained as we walked. "For one thing, it seems to grow bigger all the time."
Madame Orizia nodded. "Strange, but not unique, Mr. Dunn."
"Also, the rooms seem to move around. Or perhaps it is only that--"
I had heard a mechanical noise I did not at first identify as an automobile horn. "What's that?"