by Coleman Luck
“I know. Indeed, yes, everything, all about it.” There was a sadness in the creaky voice that made Amanda glance up at her.
“Yes, I know the Lancasters, each and all of them. Five. Then four. Before that six. Eight. Seven. Back and back and back, and so forth, etcetera, etcetera, many, many years.”
“What?”
“Families, families. Lancaster families. The number of people in them. And you. I’ve seen both of you, all three of you, many times. Times over times. A lot of times.”
The mist around the woman’s eyes became glistening drops. “Your name is Amanda…Manda-Manda of the many questions. Amanda who hides on top of the garage to cry.”
Amanda sucked in her breath. The look on the woman’s face was disturbing. The sightless eyes focused with full attention. Not at all the way adults usually “listened” to teenagers. And yet it was so odd and loving. If the love hadn’t been there, she would have been terrified. Nobody knew about the roof. Not a single soul. The high place under the tree. It was her secret. Yet, somehow, a complete stranger knew all about it.
Then the mysterious face turned toward her sister. “And you. You are Tori…Tori-Tori who buries dolls under bushes. The lilac purple kind. Tori who dreams and dreams, so many dreams. And in the dreams she cries for her father. The doll’s name? My brain doesn’t remember. Tell me, tell me.”
“I…I’ve forgotten.” Tori hadn’t forgotten at all.
“In a bag you buried it. The girl who loves to bury things. But love can bring them back again. See? See here?”
From under her shawl she removed a dirt-covered plastic bag and handed it to Tori. Inside was the doll that she had buried so long ago. A princess doll with golden hair and a flowing gown. The one her father had given her when he went away.
“Something Wendy. Wendy-Wendy. Golden Wendy. That’s it. That’s the name.”
At that moment Amanda understood a great deal about her sister that she hadn’t known before. On the outside Tori had seemed strangely unhurt by their father’s leaving. For a few weeks she had cried at night, and Amanda had gone in to comfort her. But after that she seemed okay. Once in awhile she had whimpered in her sleep, but not often. Everybody has bad dreams. All bubbles and light…that was Tori. Always trying to make their mother happy.
Except for a few times, when she destroyed things. Smashed them. Ripped them up. Always her own things. Never anybody else’s. Things that had been precious to her like the Golden Wendy. She’d said she had lost it. Buried under the lilac bush. How had the old woman known?
Neither girl could speak.
“Wondering, wondering…the young ones are wondering. Don’t wonder how. Hows and whys and whens and wheres—who cares? Oh yes, I know Amanda and Tori and Alex-Alex their brother. I know them very well.”
Rummaging in her shawl once more, the mysterious lady pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “Now look here, just look at this. You’ve got me crying. And there’s nothing to cry about, not anymore, not yet anyway. This is one of the grandest days in history and we’re not going to waste it with puddles of tears. Just look out there.”
The girls turned and looked at the ocean.
“Grandfather’s bubbling right along. He’s doing his job. Every bit of it. And you don’t see him crying. So let’s just stop this silliness right now.” She blew her nose loudly and continued staring at the water as though if she looked at the girls more tears would come.
Amanda and Tori had a thousand questions. But they didn’t ask a single one. A great peace settled over them. Nothing made the least bit of sense, but it didn’t seem to matter. All they knew was that they were with a perfect stranger who understood them better than anyone ever had in all their lives. For a long time the raft drifted through gently rippling water.
Suddenly Tori crawled to the edge and started to reach over the side. “Is it okay if I get a drink?” Cupping her hands, she was about to dip in. Instantly the lined face jerked to attention. “No!” The command was so loud and sharp that both girls jumped.
“Don’t even think such a thing. Not once. Not ever. It’ll make you sick. What’s worse, it’ll make him sick. He’s got a very delicate constitution. Doesn’t like being in people’s mouths. Can’t say I blame him. Gives him gas and we don’t want that. There’s nothing worse than riding on his belly when he starts to burp.”
“Who?” Amanda stared at her as though she were crazy.
“Grandfather. The Old Man of the Ocean. Who else?”
“The old man of the ocean?”
“He’s down there, you know. Deep down, close to the surface, everywhere. All eyes. Never stops watching. But what is the matter with me? Of course, you’re both thirsty. What have I been thinking about? Come right over here. Come, come, come, right now.”
As the girls watched, the old woman mumbled something to herself, then reached into her leather bag with both hands. To their surprise, out came a small blue tea kettle covered with strange symbols. Hanging on the side were two metal cups like the one she had been using. As Amanda and Tori stared, the pot began to puff and rattle and steam shot from its spout.
“All finished. Didn’t take long. Quick as a wink.”
To the girls’ amazement, when the kettle was tipped into the cups, out came ice-cold lemonade. “That should do the trick. Lemon-lemon. From the stand you had last summer. Very good. Just like yours. Exactly the same recipe, I think.”
One sip and they knew that it was the best lemonade they had ever tasted. Only after they were satisfied did the woman pour from the kettle into her own cup, which promptly filled with steaming tea from the very same spout. Then she tucked everything neatly back into the bag.
“How do you do that—get hot and cold stuff out of the same pot?” Tori was enthralled.
“Ask it, talk to it, that’s how. Doesn’t your teapot take orders?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, are you friends?”
“With a teapot?”
“Of course. But it does take time to build their trust. They’re very shy, you know. Shy and never into politics. And they do have feelings—not at all like microwaves. But teapots are a little hard of hearing. It’s because of the steam. That’s the truth, I never lie.”
The words were spoken so gravely that Tori roared with laughter. Amanda couldn’t help smiling too. At that moment they heard a gurgle. The baby’s eyes were open and he was smiling at them.
Tori bent down. “Oh, look, he’s awake. He’s so cute. Can I pick him up?”
The woman nodded.
To her surprise she discovered that he was light as a feather. “He doesn’t weigh anything. Poor little guy. I wonder what happened to your parents.”
“His what, his what?”
“His parents. I think I saw them on the plane.”
“Those were not his parents.” The words were so cold that the mist around her eyes turned into glittering crystals. “Never…ever speak such things again.”
Instantly Tori felt like burying herself under the blankets. But then the frightening look vanished and the old woman sighed, “Forgive me. Do forgive me. I’m tired and that turns my brain to rocks. How were you supposed to know? Indeed, you couldn’t even. It’s just taken so long. But at least he’s with us now.” A great weariness seemed to come over her as she sensed the girls’ lingering fear. “Half to death, I’ve scared you. Now your heads are filled with questions that you’re afraid to ask.” She paused and looked out over the water. “My dear young women. Both of you…all two of you…you haven’t known me long, but trust me, please, in spite of how I sound. Outsides change, but insides—never. You must get to know me inside, because we will be together for a while.”
Amanda stared off at the endless horizon and shivered. Okay, maybe there was just a chance that she wasn’t dead and all of this was real. “Don’t you think they’ll be out looking for us? I mean, after the plane crash and everything.” She couldn’t keep her voice from trembling.<
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“Looking for us? Oh, they’re looking for us, looking everywhere. But we’re well hidden. Hidden where their eyes can never see.”
“What do you mean?”
There was another pause, and then the woman turned toward her. “Amanda. Manda-Manda, what if I should tell you strange things? New things. Things a girl from Earth has never heard. The truth. Questions answered. And it might as well be now. The large plane, the one from Boston. It didn’t crash by itself. I told it to. Just me. Alone.”
“What?”
“Crash. Unpleasant word. Let’s say unscheduled landing in the ocean. Something else. A small but important detail. Don’t be disturbed, but it isn’t one of your oceans. It’s one of mine on a slightly different world.”
“You mean…we’re not on Earth?” Tori’s eyes were wide. “We’re on…another planet?”
“Another planet. Yes. Exactly, precisely other. Look up.”
Both girls stared at the sky. Above them a pale sun was setting, and above it there were stars. A sun and stars together. Tori gulped and her lower lip began to tremble.
“Now, don’t be afraid. You’re safe, so very safe with me. Did I not tear the twilight to come to you? And did I not call the Wind? It blew and blew and carried us away. Too old to do it now—not as young as then—aging with my world, and so it ought to be.”
“Who are you?” Amanda was staring at her with hard eyes.
“Who?” The woman spoke softly and smiled. “Not just who, but what. What and what and what. The Watcher of two girls from the mornings they were born. Who? Many names. Names on names. But only one that matters. On Boreth, I am Bellwind.” As she spoke her name, the mist around her sparkled like a thousand tiny diamonds, and from far away there was a whispering echo as though something unseen had heard and answered. Suddenly the dog began barking joyously, and they all turned to look.
In the distance fog was rising from the ocean, growing in billows like heavy smoke from a giant furnace beneath the sea. And it was moving toward them. As it drew nearer, a vague shape began to form. What they saw was an island made of mist. Cloudy cliffs and dim forests drifted in the haze. Before they knew it, the fog was all around them and they found themselves entering a river of shadows.
Bellwind rose and beckoned. The girls joined her at the front of the raft. Tori stared down at the baby in her arms. As they drifted in the stillness, he was changing. His skin took on a gentle pearl-like hue, and in his hair there were flecks of gold. He was even more beautiful than before, but now there was something wild about him, as though a flower from another world had begun to bloom. He sat, pulling at her sweater, gurgling just as any baby would. Yet, in him, there was mystery and strangeness.
Tori looked up. Bellwind was smiling at her. But the ancient face was not the same. It was her eyes. The silver coverings that had made her appear blind had vanished. Tori was staring into the loveliest eyes that she had ever seen, filled with pale blue mist. And as she stared, from deep within the shadow island, a haunting voice began to sing.
6
GRANDFATHER
Heartbeats.
Clanging.
Sounds without meaning.
Slivers of light and pain.
Alex’s eyelids flickered open…then shut.
More than anything, he didn’t want to wake up. But the very act of willing himself to remain asleep was so annoying that it only awakened him further. And the more awake he grew, the more he knew that everything was wrong. To start with, his whole body ached, even his hair. And his mouth—it tasted like he’d been sucking garbage all night.
More aggravating awareness.
He was lying on something cold and clammy, and it was moving…rolling back and forth…in the most stomach-churning way. And every time it rolled, it made a nasty sound.
Roll-slosh…Roll-squish…Roll-slosh.
He forced himself to crack open one eye. It was a very brief experiment. The lids were stuck with mucus and the light made his head swim. Which didn’t do one thing for his queasy stomach. His aggravation grew to anger.
What was going on here?
He opened his eyes and stared up into a dark blue sky. He hated camping, so he couldn’t think of one good reason why he should be sleeping outdoors. Then he began to realize that the sky wasn’t right. A pale sun was setting and above it there were stars. Sunlight and stars do not go together.
He groaned and turned his head, and the sky vanished. Two feet from his nose bulged an inflated rubber wall. With a great effort he lurched into a sitting position, which made his stomach want to leave his body. He was alone in a huge life raft. He rubbed his eyes. His head was splitting. How in the world had he gotten here?
Then, the terrible memory.
Shrieking wind and noise…
A roaring explosion.
Their plane had broken apart.
Alex forgot the weirdness of the sky and the ache of his body. Amanda and Tori…where were they? Desperately he scanned the horizon. And then he knew the truth. The plane had crashed and he was the only survivor. His sisters, the last people who mattered to him in all the world, were gone. In the agony of his imagination he saw them struggling, screaming, slipping away in the wreckage. And he saw himself in the raft, unconscious, floating off to live while they drowned. Alex shrieked and kept on shrieking until his voice was a rasping croak. Then he sobbed until there were no tears left and all that remained was a black stillness in his heart.
Alone.
Left alone.
First by his parents and now his sisters. If there was a God, He was hideously evil. Far better to die than to go on like this. And so Alex sat, staring at nothing, willing himself into a trance of the dead. In this state he might have remained for many hours but for one unpleasant reality: thirst. His mouth was so dry that his tongue felt like sandpaper. Try as hard as he could, not a drop of saliva would come. He remembered stories about people who had died of thirst in the middle of the ocean—about how your mind could play tricks on you, making you see weird mirages, like rows of ice-cold drinking fountains, squirting water. No ghost drinking fountains yet, but they couldn’t be far off.
An hour passed and his desperation grew. He tried to think of other things—anything to take his mind off the agony. But it always came back to one thing. He wondered how long it would take to die. How much would he have to suffer? And after he was dead, how long would he float before someone found him? He felt for his wallet. Gone. They wouldn’t even know who he was. Just a pile of rotting bones. They’d probably use his skull in some dental school for students to practice drilling. And that would be his reward for brushing every day. But the thought of brushing made him remember sloshing water in his mouth. He swore that never again would he waste a delicious mouthful of tooth-water spit. And the more he thought about tooth-water spit, the more it forced him into a desperate decision.
Why should he die of thirst when he was sitting in the middle of an ocean? People said you weren’t supposed to drink ocean water, but if you were going to die anyway, what did it matter? Besides, salt’s not so bad. Crawling to the edge of the raft, he dangled his fingers in the cool darkness.
How deliciously wet it was.
How good it would feel on his cinder-block tongue.
Suddenly he couldn’t stop himself. Cupping his hands, he bent over the side and drank. And with the first swallow, he cried out in shock.
It wasn’t salty.
The water was as sweet as a mountain spring.
His mind reeled. Oceans were always salty.
But that was as far as he got before thirst took control.
Alex stuck his face in the water and began to drink. And the more he drank, the more wonderful it tasted. He cursed himself for suffering needlessly. Gulping as fast as he could, he sucked it down until his stomach was so full it wouldn’t hold another swallow—until he felt like a bloated whale. Gasping for air, he was about to pull himself back into the raft, when he opened his eyes and looked dow
n into the depths below.
The ocean was even darker than the sky and nothing should have been visible. But something was visible. Many fathoms down, a mass of glowing light was moving. At first, it looked like a school of luminous fish, shifting back and forth. Then the glow changed to fire.
As Alex stared, the floor of the ocean cracked open. Huge fissures appeared, spewing out red-hot lava. To his amazement, a shape was beginning to form. It looked like a massive head, with a face of unearthly coldness. Eyeholes, ringed with flame, stared up at him. A mouth of jagged teeth the size of mountains hung open as though in a watery scream. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t real. But then the mouth twisted wider, and out of it came a rumbling groan that exploded in a gigantic bubble. With a yell, he lurched back into the raft as stinking gas burst all around him.
It was then that the illness struck. A terrible spasm wrenched his stomach, and he began to heave. He kept on heaving as the raft twisted and plunged through steaming mountains of ocean that crashed around him. He puked until every drop of water that he had drunk had been expelled. Then almost instantly the sickness passed, and the ocean settled back into a glassy calm.
For a long time Alex lay with his cheek pressed against the clammy rubber, wanting to be dead. But the only way to accomplish that would be to drown himself. And the thought of jumping into the ocean—straight down to the “thing” at the bottom—was even more horrible than staying alive. He let out a miserable sob. So the decision was made, he would drift until his skull was ready for the dental school.
For some reason the thought of turning into a soggy skeleton brought back the unpleasant memory of his grandfather’s funeral. What had the minister talked about, “The great ocean of eternity”? Could that be where he was, floating in a raft on an ocean that went on forever? But that would mean that he was already dead. He told himself that it just couldn’t be true. But where was the proof? His stomach gave a slight residual lurch. Was vomiting proof? Was it even possible to vomit after you had kicked off? He doubted it. Unless, of course, an eternal cycle of thirst, drinking, and puking was punishment for an evil life.