The confused and slightly piqued child plopped down onto the grassy knoll beside the silent tower and stretched out to await Whilly’s return. After half an hour passed with no sign of the missing dragon, Bradley Wallace moved himself inside the cool and darkened water tank to escape the suddenly uncomfortable sun.
He must’ve dozed off because the next time he glanced at his watch, another hour had passed. And still there was no sign of his friend. He watched the second hand tick off each successive minute, and his fear grew steadily with each 60-second sweep. This wasn’t like Whilly at all. Suppose something had happened to him. Suppose he’d gone off looking for cows and gotten shot or captured. His mind reeled with endless scenarios, each more dire and outlandish than the last.
As his fear mounted, so did the boy’s sense of helpless frustration. There was nothing he could do but wait, but waiting seemed so useless. He wanted to do something. Anything. Pacing back and forth distractedly, Bradley Wallace nearly felt like screaming aloud his pent-up anxiety. Then a slight ripple nudged his mind, and he leapt for the metal ladder, scaling it two rungs at a time. Clambering out atop the rusty old tower, the boy placed a hand over his eyes to shade them and surveyed the blue sky above. A lone cloud in the distance took on the vague outline of a dragon, and moments later Whilly circled happily overhead, sending the boy playful images of the two of them having fun. A rising mushroom cloud of anger quickly supplanted Bradley Wallace’s intense relief.
“Where have you been?” the youth demanded sharply, hands on his hips in an excellent, though unconscious, imitation of Josette, as the dragon alighted easily and casually before him.
Just out flying, Bradley Wallace, Whilly explained. I need time to think once in a while.
The angry child squinted against the bright sunlight reflecting off Whilly’s shiny scales. “You blocked me out. I didn’t know where you were.”
I wanted to think, the dragon repeated, adding, Alone.
Bradley Wallace felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Alone? Without him? But then it suddenly struck him how selfish he’d been. He, himself, often wanted time alone, free from Whilly’s probing, so he could simply think pure boy-thoughts untainted by the dragon’s. Why should he begrudge Whilly the same individuality? Bradley Wallace felt instantly ashamed of his anger, and dropped his eyes to his feet. “I was worried about you,” he muttered sheepishly.
I’m sorry to have upset you, Whilly apologized, and Bradley Wallace smiled. Soon the companions were soaring amongst the clouds, together in mind and spirit, the mix-up of the morning completely forgotten. Well, not completely. Whilly couldn’t shake a very undragonlike feeling of guilt over the lie he’d told to Bradley Wallace. The lie about where he’d been all morning. But of course, he couldn’t tell the truth. Not yet.
Bradley Wallace spent the latter part of that afternoon with Mr. O’Conner. The old man scrutinized the keychain Bradley Wallace presented to him, turning the black, carved chunk of lava over and over in his liver-spotted hands, his spectacles drooping on the end of his nose.
The boy excitedly told Mr. O’Conner the idol was made of volcanic lava, but didn’t mention the irony he associated with that fact.
The old man thanked him heartily, adding with a mischievous wink that he could use all the fertility he could get. Bradley Wallace grinned, and helped him remove his keys from the tarnished old brass ring on which they presently hung to transfer them onto the new chain. Mr. O’Conner eyed him searchingly, as though for possible changes that might have taken place over the past two weeks. Or perhaps, Bradley Wallace thought, squirming a bit uncomfortably under that steadfast gaze, his bout with pneumonia was still obvious on his wan features.
“So,” the old man said conversationally, but with a firmness and genuine interest evident even in that one word, “how was your trip? Tell me everything.”
There was something about that tone of voice, something almost hypnotic, so much so that Bradley Wallace very nearly did tell him everything. He had to muster all his willpower to omit any and all references to Whilly and Josette and their parts in the various adventures he described to the attentive old man. Mr. O’Conner expressed particular interest in the icy death of Mauna Kea, and the near death of Bradley Wallace, and the boy really wanted to tell him everything. It was almost as if Mr. O’Conner was silently compelling him to tell the entire truth. But of course the boy realized this was all his imagination, and it was merely his own desire to brag about his exploits that he had to suppress.
He felt touched by the old man’s obvious concern for his health, and yet deep down, an underlying, but persistent, tickling at his subconscious told him that Mr. O’Conner already knew about everything that had happened in Hawaii.
But obviously that was impossible, wasn’t it?
He knew it was, and yet he couldn’t help recalling the old man’s warning before he’d departed on his trip - “Things may be different this year, and everything may not be what it seems.” Those words certainly proved prophetic, hadn’t they? But how could Mr. O’Conner have known what was going to happen? Or even that the trip would be so different from previous ones? It had to be a coincidence, he decided finally. He knew Mr. O’Conner too well and liked him too much to even entertain thoughts that his friend would be dishonest with him. No, it was just a coincidence, and one best forgotten for now.
Even though he had essentially enjoyed the excitement and adventure in Hawaii, Bradley Wallace felt strangely comfortable back in the familiar surroundings of ole Shannon, rattling up and down the streets of San Rafael listening to Mr. O’Conner’s mystical tales, seeing the delighted faces of cherubic children as they joyfully bounced up and down trying to decide what kind of ice cream they wanted, and of course, just being with Whilly, flying high among the clouds.
Perhaps it was because of all the excitement of his vacation that everything he’d thought was so boring before the trip suddenly became a safe refuge, like a warm, thick blanket against a freezing wind. Maybe Dorothy was right after all. Maybe there was no place like home.
That night, Bradley Wallace’s dreams tormented him with erupting volcanoes, steamrolling tidal waves, and especially the mysterious Josette, who kept insisting she was a real apprentice and soon-to-be sorceress. She rather haughtily informed him that she would never marry an ignorant Assistant Good Humor Man, especially one who wasn’t even very funny. Bristling with anger and indignation, he pointedly announced that he was too young to get married, and when he did, it certainly wouldn’t be to any motor mouth like her.
She laughed that light, airy laugh he sort-of liked, and he awoke to find that gross, sticky stuff in his jockey shorts again.
Embarrassed as always, he climbed out of bed and cleaned them off so his mother wouldn’t find out. But the dream remained unusually clear in his conscious mind, which was rare for him. Usually his dreams faded away completely the moment he woke up, and he could seldom recall generalities, let alone specifics.
As he lay back against his soft, deep pillow, he wondered again what exactly had been real in Hawaii and what hadn’t. He really needed to know, but how could he find out?
And Bradley Wallace wasn’t the only boy in San Rafael troubled by persistent, incomprehensible nightmares. But at least for him, the images had some reference points in his recent past. For John Wagner, the recurring dreams were completely inexplicable, and that made them all the
more frustrating. He’d hardly slept at all since that night over a week ago when he’d awakened screaming and gasping for breath. The dreams had returned to haunt him every night thereafter, and they always involved that prick Murphy. And someone else, too, someone he could never quite focus on, almost like an echo of Murphy, a faint whispering he couldn’t quite hear.
In the past week John had so taken to moping silently and listlessly around the house that his mother seriously considered taking him to a doctor. Had this occurred during the school year, she would have dismissed it as another of his attempts
to get out of going. But during the summer?
His delinquent friends, Raley and Smith, had been by several times, and each time left slamming the front door. John had refused to even go outside with them, and he’d rejected their suggestions for familiar pursuits, like throwing pomegranates at passing cars, bullying little kids and stealing their ice cream money, or even just sneaking into movie theaters without paying. Much as she disliked these activities, she’d much rather see him thus engaged than brooding alone all day. The last time Smith and Raley departed, it was with the rather vociferous charge that John was crazy. John hadn’t even replied.
For so long now, almost longer than she could remember, Joan had hated her son. She knew such feelings were very un-mother-like, and yet John had never given her any real reason to love him. Still, she’d felt sharp pangs of guilt over her hatred, and that made her resent him even more. Damn his father for walking out! And yet, even after all these years filled with resentment toward her son, who was so much like his father and not at all like her, Joan felt sorry for the boy. She couldn’t help it. Her natural motherly instincts were obviously not completely buried after all. She honestly pitied him. Something deep and brooding was troubling John, a kind of cancerous mood into which he became more and more entrenched with each passing day. She truly wanted to help him, and yet she was powerless.
Because he didn’t want her help. He didn’t want anything. All he seemed to want was to be left alone. Oh yes, and to watch some stupid soap opera every afternoon. Why, she didn’t know, but he’d been in front of the TV every day at four o’clock for the past week, his eyes never leaving the flickering screen. But there remained always a question in those eyes, as though he didn’t understand why he was watching it either. Perhaps he’ll snap out of all this when school starts again, she thought hopefully. But the frightened question continued to nag at the back of her mind like a persistently buzzing insect - what if he doesn’t?
For Bradley Wallace, the remainder of the summer passed quietly and uneventfully. He continued to grow stronger each day, and within a week or two of their return from Hawaii, he’d essentially recovered from his illness. Though he continued to ponder the reality of Josette and all related events, his curiosity began to diminish somewhat with the passing of time. And Whilly never addressed the matter, unless Bradley Wallace brought it up. They simply continued their daily flights together, they watched “Dark Shadows” faithfully each afternoon, and Bradley Wallace continued working with Mr. O’Conner. Whenever the old man referred to him as his Assistant Good Humor Man, the boy would conjure images of Josette in her flowing white gown, who’d seemed so amused by that title. And so, life went on for boy and dragon at a steady, almost idyllic pace. And of course, Whilly continued to grow.
With rising alarm, Bradley Wallace realized the dragon would soon outgrow the enormous water tank, which, with Whilly’s ever-increasing bulk, seemed much smaller than it used to. The dragon so increased in size by summer’s end that he could easily heft a full-grown cow, and Bradley Wallace only came up to his thighs when standing at full height, and Bradley Wallace was 5’ 8” tall. Something would have to be done, and soon.
During those final six weeks or so before school reconvened, the usually stormy weather at home remained relatively calm. Bradley Wallace stayed out of his parents’ way as much as possible, even to the point of doing his chores without having to be told. He felt the less contact with them, the better. However, despite his best efforts to remain unobtrusive, he was still cornered a few times by his father to play baseball, to which he dutifully agreed for the sake of household harmony. But his only real joy came with the time he spent in Whilly’s company.
Yet even Whilly wasn’t completely available to him during those weeks. There were several other disappearances like that time after returning from Hawaii, and in each case Whilly used the same excuse - he needed time alone to think. At first Bradley Wallace accepted this explanation at face value. Eventually he began to suspect there might be more to the dragon’s outings than he was being told. But without any concrete evidence, he felt it best not to say anything. At least, not yet. It still bothered him that Whilly didn’t want him around all the time, but he kept such feelings to himself.
He also began during this time to practice talking to Whilly using just his mind. And he was getting better at it. He was also getting better at blocking his thoughts, so the dragon couldn’t read them. After all, he needed to be alone, too. The next step, he decided, would be to pierce the mental barriers Whilly put up to block him out. If he could do that, he could determine whether or not the dragon spoke the truth about his disappearances without offending his friend. It would take time, but eventually Bradley Wallace knew he’d break through.
Whilly spoke a lot about time these days in an almost philosophical manner. Bradley Wallace decided this fascination probably stemmed from the apparent mix-up in time that caused the dragon to be born so far from his own century. Naturally Whilly would be curious about that. But as he grew larger, he seemed to dwell on more serious matters, and seemed to become more adult-like in terms of his answers to Bradley Wallace’s questions. Whilly seemed to feel that all problems could work themselves out given sufficient time, and likewise all questions could be eventually answered. Bradley Wallace wasn’t so sure this was true, but he appreciated the comforting nature of the dragon’s theory. Whilly was sounding more like Mr. O’Conner every day.
Actually, there was one unusual happening after Hawaii, and it involved Mr. O’Conner. Since Bradley Wallace’s return, the old man always seemed to find some reason or distraction to prevent the boy from touching the chunk of crystal in his truck. The first time he saw the gem, it was as if a tiny alarm went off in his mind. But when he tried to focus in on that alarm and the vague sense of familiarity that accompanied it, his thoughts became suddenly hazy, as if he was lost in a thick fog bank and couldn’t find his way out.
He reached out to touch the crystal, and Mr. O’Conner practically slapped his hand away, quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry, lad,” he had said,
“but I just polished the old girl and I hate to see her all smudged up. You understand.”
The surprised Bradley Wallace had answered, “Sure,” but he really hadn’t understood at all. The old man never polished the gem before, and he’d always allowed the boy to touch it, to wish on its multifaceted brilliance. In fact, insisted on it. But ever since that day in July when Mr. O’Conner slapped his hand away, Bradley Wallace hadn’t laid a finger on the ancient chunk of crystal. At first he’d been hurt, and more than a little annoyed. But thinking the matter through at some length, and failing at both his attempt to interest Whilly in the matter as well as trying to place the image of that crystal into the elusive subconscious context that continued to eat away at him, Bradley Wallace dismissed the old man’s eccentric (his latest word) actions to just being old, and perhaps a touch of what his father had told him about - the brain cells starting to die off or something. He decided not to worry about it, as Whilly advised.
And then, before Bradley Wallace knew it, September arrived and with it the advent of school. He felt as though the summer had only just begun, and he’d had such fun with Whilly. Not to mention adventure. But, unfortunately, school always came along to interfere at the worst possible times. It was what Bradley Wallace called a “there.” Some things were always “there,” or at least seemed to be - parents, chores, big sisters, and school. Other things were “might be’s”- like freedom, fun, friendship, love - and these only if you were real lucky. Bradley Wallace wasn’t sure he understood most of the “might be’s” like he did the “there’s,” but he knew he preferred the former most of the time to the latter.
Whilly did not like the idea of Bradley Wallace returning to school and leaving him alone all day. The boy very nearly let slip a caustic remark about the dragon’s ever more frequent disappearances, but held his tongue.
Instead he attempted to explain the “there” nature
of school to Whilly. But since the dragon seemed to learn more and more every day without benefit of school (in fact, Bradley Wallace was beginning to feel slightly inferior to his friend), he couldn’t fully comprehend the boy’s need to go.
“Because my parents make me,” Bradley Wallace finally settled on as a reason, reducing the matter to its simplest and most fundamental nature.
That I can understand, Whilly conceded. But he still wasn’t happy about it.
Bradley Wallace promised to spend as much time as he could with Whilly each afternoon and after dinner. And of course they would still have “Dark Shadows” to share, even though the current storyline wasn’t too exciting. The harsh reality of the situation was, Bradley Wallace had to go to school, and Whilly would simply have to get along on his own.
This year Bradley Wallace entered the eighth grade, and along with the other boys in his class had Mr. Baldie for homeroom. The girls all had Sister Mary, an arrangement no one seemed to mind. Mr. Baldie could be very funny sometimes, often prattling on aimlessly about his own school days back in Oberlin, Ohio, which he pronounced “Oblin,” when he was supposed to be teaching religion. Yeah, Mr. Baldie was okay, for a teacher.
The first day back consisted mainly of reunions between friends the summer had separated, and the reestablishment of turf between enemies. Bradley Wallace dreaded seeing Wagner again. The summer had been so peaceful without him. In fact, Bradley Wallace hadn’t encountered the bully once since school let out in June, and he certainly hadn’t minded. Unfortunately, there was no avoiding his nemesis here in school, and Bradley Wallace steeled his jaw against the inevitable meeting.
John had passed the remainder of the summer quietly, the nightmarish visions fading with time, just as they had for Bradley Wallace. He still was not back to normal by the time school began, but he had become more animated and quarrelsome, so his mother held off taking him to the doctor. At least until she saw what effect school had on his strange behavior.
A Boy and His Dragon Page 33