Winterfolk

by Janel Kolby

  The bus goes up and down. And that tomato does not like me.

  King knocks three times on the hard cover of my stomach. Too close to my pouch.

  I open my eyes. I should tell him what I did. But if I do, King will go after him. I know he will.

  “It’s me he wants,” he says. “I jacked him up.”

  My guilt weighs in with the tomato. “Where are we going?”

  The bus turns, screeches, and I cover my mouth.

  “Remember that first night you both slept in my tent?” he asks.

  He’s trying to distract me like he always does when I feel sick.

  “Your dad—one night, he said. Kept his arms around you. Talked to himself. But I’m glad. I’m glad it was two nights, then three. Time goes fast, he said, can’t keep track of time no more. I think he’s right. Time’s gone fast.” He leans his head against the window. “You know I have a sister? Near old as you, now, I guess. She liked to sing.”

  I sit forward. He’s never talked about a sister.

  King looks out the window and squints his eyes in the sun. “People sure noticed her.”

  The bus jerks to a stop, and I put my hand to my mouth.

  A man and woman pass us by and get off. The doors sound a gush of air as they close back up.

  This time it’s my turn to distract him. I swallow the bile.

  “I’m sorry I made you do the flying somersault. To get you noticed.”

  He shrugs me off. “You know I don’t do nothing I don’t want. Just a few more stops for us.”

  I look out. The squatty buildings are bigger now, so much bigger than the trees I know. I’ve read about rain forests—the trees so big you can’t see their tops. I can’t see the tops of these buildings, not from the bus at least. In the pictures I saw, there’d always been light shining through the leaves. These buildings have more windows than I’ve ever seen, but there isn’t any sort of light coming down on me.

  “Is this where people work?” I ask.

  “Work and live. Live and work.”

  Each window looks the same to me. “Looks like a lot of jobs. You think there’s one for blowing glass?”

  King stares out the window. The sun sparkles yellow through it.

  “We had the prettiest Christmas ornaments. Said Mom was the heart and he was the breath. I always liked that. He doesn’t feel right without her.”

  “Naturally,” he says.

  “He used to make glass beads, too. Now they’re from the store. Says he can’t be the breath without the heart, but if he . . . I don’t know. I’m not wishing. I wouldn’t do that.”

  His eyes lock on mine. “You should wish.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  The bus stops hard at a red light and pushes me forward against the seat.

  People of all kinds rush across the street, walk fast or run—girls painted pretty as tropical birds—all with somewhere to go. No one telling them where to go or what to do. The bus starts up again, along with my stomach.

  I pick at the bottom of Dad’s sweatshirt where there’s a small tear. “Did he ask for wine? Don’t get it.” I stick a fingernail through the tear. “We need thread, though, before the tent falls apart. It will soon. We can’t forget the thread. And water.”

  “We’ll get lots.” He nudges my elbow. “Here we are. Our stop is coming.”

  I ready my legs and hold my book to me. I start to get up when the bus stops, and hang on to the seat to keep myself from falling. King taps my back to get me going, and I run down the path to the door before it opens. Then I’m out on solid ground again. King behind me.

  Up around—not a rain forest at all. The buildings on either side reach up. They try to cut orderly lines in the sky, but those buildings do have tops. I see them. And they can’t reach far enough to cut.

  “Will we have time to walk back? I don’t want to take the bus. I don’t like how it moves under me.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Where we going?”

  “Need to make a stop up here a couple blocks.”

  “What we stopping for?” I ask.

  “Money.”

  “Good. I need money.”

  “What you need money for? I already said I’d get supplies. Plus, this ain’t that kind of store. You can’t go in.”

  “What kind of store is it?”

  “Up here.” He points to a store with blackened windows. Has a sign above with a pair of sheer stocking legs spread out in an upside-down V. Between them is a big blue sign with a right-side-up V. The red-ribboned ankles balance on top of the V like they’re doing the splits—feet pointed gracefully like a lady to the tips of netted toes.

  My toes strangle in my stockinged leggings. “King?”

  He sets my boots on the ground. “You stay out here and don’t say anything. I mean it.”

  I crouch against the building next to my boots while he walks through an arched entry that leads to the front door. I pull at the tips of my stockings to give my toes more air, then lean my head around the corner to the entry.

  “King. What brings you here?” a bald man says at a ticket window. He reminds me of a ferret how he moves his head here and there.

  “Hey, Bob. Is Denise around? I need to ask a favor.”

  He bobs his head. “I heard you traded in your needles. Is that true?”

  “Naturally. She back there?”

  “Because I don’t want any needles in my house. Remember?” He bobs his head again and fixes his eyes.

  “I know. She here?”

  “She’s here.”

  King reaches to open the door.

  “Hey, King,” the man says.

  “Yeah?”

  “Good seeing you.”

  King nods and opens. I lean farther—just in time to see through the open door—a big blue V onstage with a pole stuck in the middle. The door closes, but not all the way. A finger’s worth would pry it back open again. Bob’s head turns toward me, but I escape and tuck my chin down in my neck.

  I pull my sweatshirt over my knees to create a tent for my legs, tucking the bottom under my feet, and everything held tight in my pocket. I breathe hot air down in the tent. Warm over my caving chest.

  What’s King doing?

  A movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention. A mound of blanket on the pavement not too far from me against the building. Another movement beneath. Has no cardboard sign. Must be trying to sleep. Don’t know how anyone can with all these legs walking by to do their business. When I was small, all I saw of people were their legs. Had to look far up to see their faces. Mom wore long, red skirts that wrapped around her legs.

  Her face gets farther and farther from me.

  I peek around the corner again. Head Bob is gone, and that door’s still ajar.

  My hands and knees move forward, and I let them take me. I grip the part of the door that sticks out and wedge in my fingers until it gives without a sound. I pull it open until the stage appears again with the pole and the V. The lights above the stage are red, and drum music plays in deep, slow beats.

  I know what live drums sound like, and these ones are fake—like King’s radio that plays music from somewhere far away.

  A woman walks onto the stage, and I almost lose the door. I hold on tight again. Brown hair and silky robe. One hand on her hip; the other at her mouth with a cigarette. She’s not dancing.

  The drum beats louder and she turns around slow in a circle. One. Two. Three.

  Puffs of smoke come up from the middle of the stage like a simmering volcano that’s been told no all its life.

  I want to go in.

  A rustle comes from the ticket window above.

  And I become a ghost.

  My fingers ease from the door, and soon that door’s how King left it. As I back up, the door opens, and my book falls from my sweatshirt. I grab it and scoot around the corner, then stand straight up against the building.

  Did the book make a noise? I’m pretty sure it m
ade a noise. I pat my pouch. Please, let me not’ve dropped anything else.

  My breathing is heavy enough that King would notice.

  I try to simmer it.

  The ribboned feet of the V point above me. I point my foot. Imagine it in ribbons. I trace a V, a tree split in half.

  “What are you doing?”

  King’s eyebrows poke down. Must’ve seen me.

  My toes are still pointed. What am I doing? “Practicing.”

  His brow wrinkles. “Practicing what?”

  I lift my head to the sign. “Dancing. What you think?”

  He blinks. “I think you’re crazy. Let’s go. Where are your boots?”

  I lean back against the wall with relief. He didn’t see me looking through the door.

  “Hello?” he says. “Where are your boots?”

  I look around. They’re not here.

  “Someone took them?” He whips his head around.

  A movement at my side tells me something, and I turn to the blanket mound I noticed earlier. I nod my head to it.

  Part of the blanket is lifted at the corner, and I point to a toe of black leather. Mine.

  King takes a giant step over. He stands tall and uses his foot to lift the corner of the blanket. That corner could use a lot of thread.

  One of my boots slides out from the blanket—dirty fingernails around the heel. Then the other boot. The fingernails linger—small and girl-like. I feel bad for her, but I need those boots. They’re mine.

  The plastic in my pocket crinkles, and I switch my boots with Dad’s half of banana moon. Everything else still in my pocket. The pie retreats and the blanket folds back down to the dark.

  I’m glad I didn’t have to fight. I’m not sure I would’ve, but I’d never tell King. I settle the boots on my shoulder, put my book back in place, and follow King.

  “Did you get the money?” I ask.

  “Naturally.”

  “You have to do anything to get it?”

  “Not today I don’t.” Then he turns around with a smile so big I want to capture it. “Next week.”

  My back tingles from my waist to my neck. “Does that mean we’re not leaving? We’re staying with the Winterfolk?”

  “No. Just means we gotta stick around awhile. We’ll find somewhere to stay.”

  I let go of his smile. “What are they making you do for money?”

  “You know, rob a bank. Okay . . . two. We’ll be set for life.”

  I smirk at him.

  He leans into me. “Dance.”

  The word slaps me. “I thought you don’t do that.”

  “Denise promised it’s real dance. Hip-hop. My kind of dance. Not with signs, and not in there. Not like last time. She knows I won’t do that. She’s singing backup at another club next week, and they need dancers.” He points to himself and bumps his hips.

  “Can I go?”

  “No.” He turns back around and walks.

  “I could be your backup. Or a backup to the backup. No one would see me.”

  “No.”

  “I could clean after the show. Wouldn’t it need cleaning? I’d do it for free. If I do a good job, maybe they’d ask me back, and pay.”

  King keeps walking.

  “What am I supposed to do if you’re gone and someone comes looking?”

  King stops but doesn’t turn. I knew that’d get him, and I feel guilty for just a second.

  “He won’t,” he says.

  “That’s what you said before, so what if he does?”

  “Your dad has a metal pipe.”

  “But he’d never—”

  “What about you?” he asks.

  I imagine the pipe in my hands, and I open them wide to let it drop. “I’d . . .”

  “Use it. You’d use it. Say it. Promise.”

  I look at my hands—not sure they’re real enough to do something like that, but that’s not the answer he wants. “If I had no choice . . . if no one else could.”

  “Good.” He walks fast again.

  The boot against my back kicks me to keep up with him. “But what if it’s not enough?”

  Now’s the time to tell him what I did. I should tell him.

  “Then we’ll be prepared. I’ve learned how to be prepared. You know we’re standing on top of a city?” he asks.

  “You mean in a city.”

  “No. On top. We’re on top of the Underground. There’s a whole city made of wood under us. Wood. Remember the three pigs? Their wolf was fire. Destroyed everything it could burn. What’s beneath is what’s left. They rebuilt up here with bricks and concrete so it wouldn’t happen again. We’re standing on top a ghost town.”

  “Why’d they have to leave?” I ask. “Why couldn’t they fix what they had?”

  “They lost so much they became visionary. Like me. Taking precautions. Leaving the ghosts behind. See, they understood wolves come in different forms—just because one is bad doesn’t mean the opposite is better. Water can put out fire, but that doesn’t make you its friend. Danger can come from anywhere, and they prepared. They built up high to protect them from that other wolf—the friend guaranteed to be foe one day—a flood.”

  My teeth grit. “How do you know all this?”

  “It’s where I stayed when I first came here. Snuck in after a tour and stayed. People left, but I didn’t. They show people the good places, but they don’t know all of them. Places you can hide for nearly forever.”

  He points to the Underground Tour sign above a doorway. “You’d think that’s the only way in, but it’s not. There are many ways in. Not many ways out, though. It’s dark down there. Sometimes when the light’d shine in, I used to look around me and think—when those buildings burned, they learned something. They used it to make them stronger.”

  I step onto a metal grid in the sidewalk. “How dark?”

  “Like the night. You’re standing on top a skylight right now. See these grids all down the walk? Beneath, during the tours, the guides turn on bright lights one section at a time. When they’re done with that section, they turn it off. Soon, the only bit a light comes from the stars shining through the glass and the grates. Rectangles of checkered light.”

  I look down through the grate. “Would I be able to see anyone from up here?”

  “No, but they can see you. Someone could be watchin’ you now.”

  I jump off the grate. “How many are down there?”

  “Enough, but like I said, there are ways to keep protected.”

  His words crawl up through the help numbers marked on my arm. That dark part of King he’s kept from me. “I want to see it.”

  “I ain’t never going back down, and neither are you. Smoke and dust. Trapped in a basement. Like a collection of ash and skin on display. Might look like a toy town, but those walls want to keep on burning. You can feel it. Got to turn into a rat to live. Saw plenty of them in corners.” He shakes his head. “That’s why we stay up high in the trees. Snatch every bit of light. That’s the way to be visionary. Gotta keep on finding the light. That’s what we’ll do.” His fingers dance in the air and grab at the invisible.

  So many people on the street, but we don’t walk around none of them. King walks straight, and the crowd parts for him. He’s talking now about dancing—about what he’s going to do when he gets up on that stage—and I’m not going to see it. He’ll be dancing while I’ll be zipped somewhere with my own dark thinking. Waiting.

  Unless I don’t go back with King. Find my own bits of light. I could go where I wanted. Stay where I wanted. He’s already off in his own world. Look at him.

  King steps off the curb—still talking—when a bus comes. Like the one that brought us here. King doesn’t see. And it’s going to smash him.

  The bus driver’s face is big in the window. Too late for him to do anything.

  I grab King’s arm and yank back hard. So hard we fall backward.

  King’s hair dances in the whoosh from the bus.

  And we fall
back—away from the street where the cars keep going and going, not even knowing what almost happened. What could’ve happened. If it hadn’t been for me.

  We’re sitting now. Just sitting. One of King’s legs crossed over both of mine like we don’t know which one of us saved who. His leg shakes, or is it mine, and he rubs his hands together, blows air in his hands. Proof the air’s still in him. My heart booms. Drum music.

  “You’re not hurt,” I say.

  He shakes his head. Blows more air in his hands.

  “My mom. She thought I had good reflexes,” I say. “Only I don’t remember her saying that. Dad told me. We were on the beach throwing a ball and she said, Rain, I haven’t ever seen anyone with reflexes like you. Didn’t know I still had them. Wonder what else my reflexes are good for.”

  King stands now, but I’m still in jitters.

  “I guess for metal pipes,” I say.

  King pulls me to my feet.

  “Want me to lead?” I adjust my book securely under my shirt while he looks off where the bus went.

  He’s shook up like I’ve never seen.

  “Remember that game?” I ask. “The one we played when we were kids, King Says? I’ll lead and you can tell me King says walk straight, or King says turn right, or you can trick me and say Turn. If I get it wrong, you take the lead again. What you think?”

  His pupils glow like animal eyeshine. Must’ve gotten it from under the ground.

  “King says the light is green,” he says. “Walk.”

  And just like that I’m the leader.

  8

  I’M FLESH AND BONE with muscles and reflexes. I saved King. Couldn’t save him if I’d been a ghost. Can’t do much of anything if you’re a ghost.

  “King says keep walking.”

  Woulda had to tell Denise he couldn’t dance for her. Her volcano would explode, and I’d have to take his place and dance on top a V cuz I wouldn’t know how to get back home.

  “King says stay straight.”

  Then I’d remember King saying I ain’t that kinda girl, and I’d find a secret door to the Underground, where I’d become a rat and look at the stars through a grate. Poor Dad would sink in the earth and wouldn’t be able to climb out again.

  “Right.”

  He’s trying to trick me, since he didn’t say King says, but I want to stay the lead. I keep straight even though the cement ends ahead and cars are on the street. Nothing’s in my way of seeing. I know he won’t let me walk into the street.