Light Boxes

by Shane Jones

Thaddeus came up the hill carrying a scythe over his shoulder. He swung it across the snow tops, causing the War Effort to cheer and Clemens to tilt his head back and shout insults at the sky.

  I’d like to add something, said Thaddeus, who moved into the center of the group and, in a gesture of respect to Clemens, took off his shirt.

  As the snow fell on his skin, Thaddeus thought it didn’t feel like snow. He prepared his mind to feel snow on skin. But that isn’t what he felt, because the snow was torn parchment with letters scribbled in lead. In a fury Thaddeus collected the pieces of parchment from his shoulders and arms and every scrap from the hairy back of Clemens. The War Effort helped, too. They crawled on their hands and knees and gathered the parchment into a small pile.

  Thaddeus and the Professor spent the next week deciphering the fallen parchment. They sat at a wooden table in Thaddeus’s kitchen where they could move the letters around. They took turns wearing the light box. War members brought them mint tea and tended to the fire.

  There were over two hundred pieces of torn parchment. The Professor smacked the side of the light box, and the light flickered inside as they shuffled the letters.

  What about this, said Thaddeus, and he moved the letters into a long row that stretched the length of the table.

  FIND FEBRUARY AT THE EDGE OF THE TOWN

  WEARING DARK CLOTHES FOLLOW ANIMAL

  HUMAN FOOTPRINTS CREATED BY FEBRUARY AT

  THE EDGE OF THE TOWN.

  But it could be wrong, said the Professor. Look.

  THE TOWN CREATED DARK FOOTPRINTS AT

  THE EDGE OF ANIMAL CLOTHES.

  HUMAN FOOTPRINTS WEARING DARK CLOTHES

  AT THE EDGE OF THE TOWN.

  See all the fruit, said Thaddeus.

  APPLES AND WATERMELONS

  AT THE EDGE OF THE TOWN.

  Fruit, asked the Professor.

  Yes, fruit, Thaddeus said, and spelled out more names of fruit grown during warm months.

  The Professor continued moving the letters around. AT THE EDGE OF THE TOWN appeared dozens of times.

  And then the Professor began moving the pieces again and came up with something entirely different. He handed the light box to Thaddeus. He rubbed his face. Thaddeus said that AT THE EDGE OF THE TOWN was where he should go. He told the Professor about the scroll of parchment left on the tree where three children once sat twisting the heads of owls. He told him about the tracks in the snow leading from the oak tree, the concentric circles, the animal prints, the human prints that might lead to February.

  Very well, then, said the Professor. At the edge of the town.

  If not, we’ll go back to moving the parchment, and we’ll find another answer, said Thaddeus.

  Very well indeed, said the Professor. He put the light box back on.

  List Found in February’s Cottage Detailing Possible Cures for February

  1. Valerian root and vitamin C tablets taken in the dark.

  2. Yoga and meditation.

  3. The melting of snow in children’s palms.

  4. Light boxes?

  5. Hot bath taken with mint extract.

  6. Touching the moon in places the moon doesn’t know exist.

  7. Consumption of St. John’s wort.

  8. Feeding the garden inside.

  9. Giving Bianca back.

  10. Twisting your fears into desires.

  11. Mood diary.

  12. Hydrating the body.

  13. Paying attention to the girl who smells of honey and smoke.

  Thaddeus tied a wool scarf around his neck, looked at the picture the old man had given him of Selah and left home. Tree branches bowed with snow, their tips tied to the ground by invisible ropes. Thaddeus imagined standing behind February, running his knife in a half moon from ear to ear. He saw the blood wash the ropes away and the snow shake from the tress and the sky click to blue.

  As Thaddeus walked through town, a few shopkeepers shook his hand. A butcher gave him a pork loin wrapped in twine. The old man appeared again, hobbled up to Thaddeus and handed him another folded parchment. Thaddeus unfolded it carefully. It showed himself standing behind a bearded man, running his knife around the man’s throat.

  Why would you draw this, asked Thaddeus.

  But the old man was gone. Thaddeus thought through the yellowing candle at the inn window he saw him drinking from a beer stein. He thought the beer stein was decorated with balloons.

  FEBRUARY WAS KIDNAPPING THE children and burying them at the edge of town. Anytime he looked into the town and felt sadness he sent a group of priests armed with shovels to dig a new hole. What February didn’t know was that not all the children were dead. Some were learning to survive underground, had built an elaborate series of underground tunnels. Someone was helping them. They snuck out at night and gathered firewood and stole lanterns. February couldn’t see what the children were planning underground. He couldn’t see their cold faces illuminated in the fire and lantern light, and he couldn’t hear them discussing the war against him. The children dreamed the same dream the War Effort in town dreamed. Flocks of birds tearing through a new blue sky. They dug tunnels that snaked beneath the town and placed notes inside homes informing the people of their own War Movement. Some children weren’t so lucky. February would watch their fingers break a crust of snow, twitch a little, and then seize in the wind as the wolves moved in. It pleased February when that happened. He went HAHAHAHAHA and felt guilty for doing so. On more than one occasion, February looked under a roof for a child to kidnap and would see people wrapped in wool blankets and scarves and sweaters standing in a tight circle.

  He would watch them undress after they unfolded parchment with words he couldn’t make out.

  FEBRUARY TRIED TO UNDERSTAND the town. The girl who smelled of honey and smoke told him he should drink more tea with mint leaves. She placed her hand around his bicep. Her thumb and pointer finger touched. February looked back on the town and saw the War Effort resume the water-trough attacks. He saw Thaddeus Lowe, and he saw the butcher’s knife hidden inside his coat pocket.

  It wasn’t my choice to do terrible things to this town, said February to the girl who smelled of honey and smoke. I didn’t want this to happen.

  I pray each night for it to stop, said the girl who smelled of honey and smoke. I’ve had dreams of a woman helping us. Thaddeus Lowe is coming with a knife, said February.

  Thaddeus Lowe is coming to kill me.

  Maybe I can help, said the girl who smelled of honey and smoke. It’s the dream I’ve had and what the woman has told me to do.

  I don’t want to die, said February.

  This is what is going to happen, said the girl who smelled of honey and smoke. She walked over to February and whispered something in his ear.

  I hope that works, said February. I really do.

  I’d do it for you. I’d change our entire story if I could, she said.

  Our story, said February, is all wrong.

  Back in town the blacksmiths and carpenters are building a steel ship large enough to carry the population of the town. Caldor asks why build a ship and a blacksmith laughs and slams two iron planks against a dimpled metal block.

  What do you think is going to happen when all this snow melts, the blacksmith says.

  The blacksmith turns to a group of workers who are above him, constructing what will become the bow.

  Is it too ridiculous to think we can sail away on the rivers that will flood our town. That we could end up in a New Town.

  The blacksmiths raise their glowing tips of metal and shout no. Caldor tells one of the blacksmiths that Thaddeus Lowe will save them. The blacksmith laughs.

  Thaddeus Lowe is an idiot, says the blacksmith. A fool.

  Come here, says Caldor.

  The blacksmith is about the same size as Caldor. Caldor spits in his face and simultaneously a bucket of frozen tree sap crashes into the side of the blacksmith’s skull.

  Caldor dangles the bucket over the body of the
blacksmith.

  Thaddeus Lowe is going to save this town, he says.

  Caldor walks to where he can see the beekeepers standing on the hill. From this distance, he thinks, the bees look like plumes of smoke around their hooded heads.

  Beekeeper

  One possibility is to attack with bees, I said. I could send thousands. The stings would force February to peel the clouds away. It’s an idea. It could work.

  I told this to Caldor Clemens while we sat in a balloon basket staring up at the sky, under where the two holes were rumored to be. The balloon itself rippled, was deflated around us on the snowy plains like a gown.

  Go ahead and send them, Clemens said. Thaddeus would try it.

  I tapped my head. A swarm of bees moved up my neck and formed a funnel extending skyward. The bees disappeared through the clouds, and there was a terrible buzzing sound. Then, seconds later, the funnel collapsed and thousands of my dead bees rained from the sky and filled the basket. Their little bodies were hard and cold. Clemens stood there staring at me while I shielded myself from the falling, dying bees.

  The sadness was overwhelming.

  What the shit, said Clemens, shifting his legs out of the dead-bee basket.

  I watched him walk back into town, swatting dead bees from the nape of his neck.

  That night Caldor Clemens had a dream in which Thaddeus stood in a field with three owls. February was on his knees. The owls nodded the way owls nod. Thaddeus had his knife drawn.

  I’m sorry for your daughter and your wife, but — you have the wrong guy, said February.

  I don’t care what you have to say. I only care about what you’ve done, said Thaddeus.

  I can’t help it. Really, I can’t, February said.

  I’m going to open your throat and fill you with tulips, Thaddeus said, grabbing February by the shoulder.

  Wait, said February, there is someone I want you to meet first.

  Running from the horizon and down the plains was a girl who smelled of honey and smoke.

  Let me introduce you to my wife, said February.

  List of Artists Who Created Fantasy Worlds to Try and Cure Bouts of Sadness

  1. Italo Calvino

  2. Gabriel García Márquez

  3. Jim Henson and Jorge Luis Borges — Labyrinths

  4. The creator of MySpace

  5. Richard Brautigan

  6. J. K. Rowling

  7. The inventor of the children’s toy Lite-Brite

  8. Ann Sexton

  9. David Foster Wallace

  10. Gauguin and the Caribbean

  11. Charles Schulz

  12. Liam Rector

  Like every other house in town, Caldor Clemens’s received a folded square of parchment from a group of children who came up from underneath his floor. There were dozens of them down there leaning against the sides of the tunnel. They raised their lanterns for the smallest to climb up over them and hand Clemens the parchment paper.

  Is Bianca Lowe down there, said Clemens.

  Who is Bianca Lowe, the smallest child said.

  Bianca Lowe, said Clemens. Are you stupid. Sorry. I didn’t mean that. She is a little girl with kites painted on her hands and arms. Her body was found on the riverbank. Sometimes her ghost walks around. I believe she may still be alive, since all of you seem to be. Clemens rocked from side to side. He tried to recognize a face.

  The smallest child carefully turned around and asked the other children if they had seen a Bianca Lowe. A child at the bottom of the tunnel checked a scroll of parchment and called back that no such child was listed.

  Here, said the smallest child, take this.

  The square of parchment fit in the center of Clemens’s palm like a pebble. It was tied with blue ribbon. On the blue ribbon in tiny gold letters it read, FINAL WAR PLAN AGAINST FEBRUARY.

  Thank you, said Clemens. When he looked back down the tunnel, all the children were sliding into the flickering darkness swallowed up by lantern light.

  FEBRUARY WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT Thaddeus he didn’t see the people in town open their squares of parchment and read the final War Plan against him. Some people danced. Others cried. The War Plan spread through the town and into the trees, where the birds flapped their wings and thought they could fly again. The priests huddled, shook their heads and waited for an order from their Creator.

  Caldor Clemens was one of the people who cried. Caldor told the members of the War Effort that he would leave early the next morning to find Thaddeus. After they began the first steps of the children’s War Plan, they would follow Caldor’s path of dead bees through the woods. Then they would all meet and head back into town, together.

  But when do we ready the balloon, said one of the members of the War Effort, this particular man an original member of the Solution, who wore a purple bird mask.

  I wasn’t aware of a balloon, said Clemens.

  So you don’t have a drawing of a balloon flying in the sky on your parchment paper.

  No, said Clemens. I don’t.

  Clemens studied all the parchment the War Effort had collected. Each was the same except for one that showed a balloon flying in the air. The parchment smelled of honey and smoke.

  I don’t know, said Clemens. Maybe that’s the future or some shit.

  Bianca

  People in town think I’m a ghost, but I’m not. Even when I scream out: I’M NOT A GHOST I’M A REAL LIFE LITTLE GIRL WHO ISN’T DEAD. And: I JUMPED FROM A HOLE IN THE SKY WHERE FEBRUARY LIVES, the townsfolk still ignore the real me. They eat apples and clear the snow from the wagon wheels with iron bars. Things like, The smell of mint water filled the air, are said about me when I come around. Things like, Bianca’s ghost began appearing in town, are written. Even my father thinks I’m a ghost. Do you think I’m a ghost. No, you don’t think I’m a ghost. You’re one of the good ones. You are kind and compassionate and filled with happiness. You walk through the season of February without a care in the world, maybe a shiver, only a passing complaint about the grayness of the sky that will soon give way to the flowers you planted around the mailbox.

  Thaddeus

  I came to a clearing where it was colder than anywhere else. There was a pile of chopped firewood and a small log cabin that had moss growth on the door and windows. I took out the knife the blacksmiths had given me. I slowly approached the front door. The wind blew at an incredible speed and the holes in my scarf made my neck blister. I reminded myself of all the terrible things February had done to me and the town. I calculated in my head that it was the 859th day of February, and enough is enough, and God save me I will slit the throat of February if it leads to warmer seasons.

  At the front door, I felt a wave of heat enter my body. I smelled honey and smoke. I thought of Bianca and her empty bedroom, the mound of snow with teeth. I heard a woman’s voice. I waited to hear the voice of February. I imagined the depth of his voice, the endless dark, lush layers.

  Thaddeus, come in from out there, it’s freezing, said the woman’s voice through the door. Don’t you know it’s the middle of February. I have a pot of tea on the stove and a fire going. It’s like June 17th in here.

  In the distance I heard wolves and saw priests running behind birch trees, and I think I heard the War Scream of Caldor Clemens. I lost control of myself. I took my shirt off and pulled my pants down. I let my entire body collapse against the front door, letting the warmth settle into my bones, the moss scratch at my eyes.

  Bianca

  Years ago when we experienced the season known as spring, my father woke me late in the night to show me the sun. He carried me to the top of the hill and told me to look toward the horizon where the pine trees stood. My father wiped the snow from my lashes, and there it was, a little marble of light behind the treetops.

  That’s the sun, my father said, and with any luck it will melt this snow so we can have summer.

  I imagined that the birds flew and carried a lantern and placed it there in the treetops, because that’s ex
actly what it looked like to me.

  It looks like a lantern, I said.

  My father smiled, then kissed me on the forehead. He promised it wouldn’t be far away like that forever but would grow massive in the sky and warm my face.

  Will it really do that.

  Yes, Bianca, really, he said.

  After seeing the sun, he carried me home and tucked me back in my bed and told me to sleep. But I couldn’t. I spent the rest of the night and morning staring out the window, trying to see the lantern in the treetops carried there by birds. What everyone else called the sun.

  War Effort Member Number One (Blue Bird Mask)

  Caldor Clemens was hanged by his neck inside a hollow oak tree. His flesh had been torn open, and birds had made nests inside his stomach, chest, and neck. Other animals — bears, deer, a fox — had also been hanged, draped from tree branches by neon-blue string coiled around their necks. The mouth of Clemens had been ripped open. His bottom lip was at his chin and his top lip where his hair started. His mouth was filled with snow. A few teeth poked through.

  We found the body of Caldor Clemens shortly after following him into the woods. We had completed the first steps of the children’s War Plan, which was to put piles of dry brush throughout the town, and then we followed the trail of dead bees, just as Caldor had instructed. The War Effort has survived floods and moss and endless snowfall culminating in endless sadness. But the death of Clemens twisted our hearts in a different direction.

  We found the spot where his body was, the tall, skinny trees bent in the middle and the ground rippled — the way I remembered waves looked breaking on the shore. War Effort Member Number Seventeen gripped my hand. The other members scanned the sky for two holes. When we came upon the death scene, two War Effort members sped off in opposite directions. Those who remained started to jog, smiling and complimenting each other.