Bradley Wallace looked up at his teacher and decided it would be pointless to protest. Besides, he had to get outside and find Whilly before someone else did. He nodded curtly, still unnerved by the staring faces of his classmates, and unable to look at any of them directly.
Especially Janet.
He slipped his books hastily into his desk, feeling like a germ under a microscope, and then moved hurriedly toward the door, anxious to escape. But he couldn’t resist turning one last time and asserting, “But I feel fine.” As he prepared to exit, Wagner’s intense gaze stopped him short. The other boy seemed to be looking right through him, as though searching for something he suspected was hidden deep within Bradley Wallace’s soul. It was an unsettling look, and Bradley Wallace ducked out of the room quickly to escape it. Why did he suddenly have the nagging feeling that Wagner knew something about him, or at least thought he did, something that could destroy him?
Once outside, Bradley Wallace hurried around the building and out of sight of the classroom windows. No one would catch him talking to himself this time.
The nurse’s office was located in the main building, near the principal’s, but he had no intention of going there. He got enough of the thermometer treatment at home. He did wish he knew what he’d done back in that classroom, but pushed the matter aside for now. He called to Whilly telepathically.
The dragon returned his greeting almost at once, gently nudging the boy from behind to indicate his invisible presence. Are you all right, Bradley Wallace? His tone almost sounded anxious or worried, but Bradley Wallace was too wound up to notice.
“Will everybody quit asking me that!” he shouted out loud, quickly realizing his blunder. He ducked back into the shadowy alcove near the janitor’s office in case anyone in one of the other buildings should look out a window. Fortunately no one did, and the boy slipped back outside near the invisible dragon.
Why does everyone think there’s something wrong with me? he asked Whilly impatiently.
Your mind was closed to me, the dragon explained, obviously relieved that the boy had recovered. It was closed to everything. I tried to reach you, and so did your classmates. But you shut everyone out. You shut me out.
Whilly almost sounded peeved, the way Bradley Wallace himself
sometimes acted when Whilly did something he didn’t like. The boy noted this development with curiosity and tucked it away for future thought. So, it had happened again. He had buzzed out, just like that time in the gully when Wagner and his cronies had threatened to rearrange his face. What did it mean? Was he really flipping out, as everyone back in that classroom seemed to think? Or did Wagner somehow hold the answer? Is that why he was watching Bradley Wallace so peculiarly?
Suddenly the cogs in his brain turned another notch, and he recalled that day last year when he spotted Wagner secretly reading a book on witchcraft.
Perhaps it was his interest in “Dark Shadows” and all things supernatural, but Bradley Wallace believed in witchcraft. And he believed anyone could learn how to use it - anyone evil, that is. Because witchcraft emanated somehow from Satan, didn’t it? Was that what Wagner had done, summoned the powers of darkness to use against him?
I have no answers to your questions, Whilly suddenly interrupted, even though Bradley Wallace hadn’t been directing his thoughts at the dragon. But I don’t think John has anything to do with this.
“Why are you always defending him?” Bradley Wallace asked aloud with barely suppressed anger.
Because I don’t think he’s evil, Whilly answered. There are humans who are truly evil, but I don’t believe John Wagner is one of them.
“Why not?” He was going to make Whilly explain himself this time.
I just have a hunch about him, that’s all, the dragon answered. Everything isn’t always what it seems.
Everything isn’t always what it seems? Bradley Wallace knew those words sounded somehow familiar, but was too ticked off at Whilly to search his memory now. He just didn’t understand his so-called friend sometimes.
“Why are you here, Whilly?” he asked in annoyance. He knew he should be talking telepathically, but was too irritated to concentrate. “I told you before not to bother me at school.” He was really angry, more than he knew he should be. The subject of John Wagner had that effect on him.
We have a big problem, Whilly answered, accepting the unsubtle subject change without comment.
“What is it?” Bradley Wallace asked, suddenly interested.
The ranchers who own the cows I’ve been eating have noticed that many have disappeared over the past few months, and they’re forming night watches to spot and kill the animal responsible. That was the longest thought transmission the boy had ever received from the dragon, and Whilly delivered it with the same serious gravity usually associated with Walter Cronkite and the 6 o’clock news.
“Oh, no,” Bradley Wallace murmured, his anger dissipating, to be replaced with fear. How did you find out? he asked telepathically, fearfully adding No one saw you, did they?
No, answered Whilly immediately, and Bradley Wallace released the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. I saw it on the TV news.
No wonder he sounded like Walter Cronkite, Bradley Wallace thought, too worried to be much amused. Whilly’s next question jolted him to the full reality of the situation. Where can I find food now?
Oh, no, not again! Bradley Wallace leaned weakly against the old, cracked drinking fountain, a sickness spreading outward from his stomach. He should have known this would happen eventually. In fact, he’d warned Whilly about those ranchers in the beginning. But, as with everything unpleasant, he’d chosen to ignore the problem and hoped it would go away. But problems never seemed to do that, did they?
“I don’t know, Whilly,” he finally admitted, his throat dry with fear.
I’m sorry, Bradley Wallace.
He actually sounded sorry, too. I must be rubbing off on him, Bradley Wallace thought wryly.
It’s not your fault, he replied, remembering to speak telepathically. It’s just that everything about taking care of you is so hard. If we were in your own time, when, I guess, dragons were no big deal, we wouldn’t have any of these problems. He sighed, suddenly feeling so helpless, so incapable of figuring out any more solutions. He was just problemed out.
Glancing at his watch, Bradley Wallace noticed that it was nearly time for school to let out. He did not plan on seeing the nurse, and had no intention of returning to that classroom to be stared at like some three-headed gopher. No, sir. Besides, he was tired and needed time to think.
Take me home, Whilly, to the water tower, he requested weakly.
Are you all right? Whilly inquired anxiously as the boy groped along the length of his invisible body to his usual mounting spot.
I just feel like crying, that’s all, the boy thought to his friend, pulling himself up into position. The dirty asphalt visible beneath him was unnerving because he felt somehow suspended in midair. And he really did feel like crying.
Then why don’t you? the dragon asked, ambling out of the shadows and crouching down to launch position.
“Because it wouldn’t do any good,” the boy said aloud with a sigh. “Let’s go.”
With a powerful leap and whoosh of dragon wings, they were aloft, high above downtown San Rafael in moments, soaring through air that was crisp and invigorating, under a pale blanket of blue sky. Yet even the thrill usually accompanying flight was lost to Bradley Wallace this day as he melancholically pondered this, his latest dilemma.
Leaning up against the interior wall of the water tank with Whilly crouched on all fours at his feet like a dutiful Saint Bernard, Bradley Wallace mulled over his options.
Just as with the cats before, the cows had now become off-limits as a food source for the dragon. Unfortunately, even though he’d saved up quite a bit of money from working for Mr. O’Conner, Bradley Wallace couldn’t very well order a side of beef at the supermarket and still hope to remain i
nconspicuous.
Whilly waited silently as the boy considered other possibilities, and Bradley Wallace gratefully accepted the momentary solitude. What the dragon needed was another hunting ground, someplace where the disappearance of animals wouldn’t be noticed. Wait a minute! Hunting grounds! That’s it! Weren’t there certain areas set aside for deer hunting? Sure there were. And the deer were expected to disappear from them. Conjuring up images of men shooting the beautiful and graceful creatures caused the boy to grimace distastefully. He hated hunting, hated killing of any kind, especially just so some fat slob can get his jollies sticking a deer’s head up on his wall. He glanced at Whilly before him. The dragon killed, too, but at least he killed to survive. Human hunters killed for fun. How could killing ever be considered fun? He remembered Whilly once asking him that question, and he was no nearer the answer now than he was then. He didn’t think he’d ever understand that.
Do you think you can find such a hunting ground? Whilly interrupted, and Bradley Wallace realized his mind had drifted off onto another tangent. I’m going to need food soon.
“I’m sure I can find out from somebody,” Bradley Wallace replied, outwardly projecting more confidence than he felt. Suppose there weren’t any hunting areas in California? Suppose it wasn’t even hunting season?
These and other related questions so occupied Bradley Wallace’s mind that he completely forgot about having disappeared from school after being sent to the nurse’s office. Thus he was totally unprepared for his mother’s attack when he entered the house.
She pounced like a ravenous lioness, demanding to know why he’d left school, where he’d been all this time, and just what exactly happened in that classroom. It took him a moment to reorient his mind toward these matters, and he realized the principal must’ve called his mother and told on him. Thank you, Sister Dana. Bradley Wallace decided that for once honesty was the best policy, at least to a certain extent.
“I don’t know what happened exactly,” he replied as his mother felt his forehead for a temperature. Satisfied he had none, she sat him down beside her on the family room sofa as he continued. “I guess my mind drifted while I was doing that experiment, you know, and I guess I was thinking so much I didn’t hear Mr. Baldie talking to me. All of a sudden I just saw everybody staring at me like I’d thrown up all over the desk or something.”
She grimaced in disgust at his throw-up reference, as he knew she would, but unfortunately it did not have the desired effect of diluting her concern or distracting her intent as it usually did. That’s probably, he realized, because even though he’d tried to sound casual, traces of his own apprehension had crept into his aggravatingly squeaky voice. Sometimes he felt like the Tin Man in “The Wizard of Oz” and needed a good oiling. Cripes, he sounded like a girl!
“That’s not exactly what Sister Dana told me,” he suddenly heard his mother say and wondered if he’d missed something else while drifting. Her face was creased with obvious worry, and he felt a momentary twinge of guilt for always causing her so much trouble. “And Mr. Baldie was very concerned about you. That’s why he sent you to the nurse.”
Underlying her statement was the unspoken question, why didn’t you go? And he’d already prepared an answer.
“I felt fine, Mom,” he explained truthfully. “I was just embarrassed because everybody was staring at me like I was a real weirdo. So I took off. School was almost over anyway.”
He averted his eyes from her penetrating gaze, concentrating instead on the intricate patterns twisting the plush, freshly vacuumed green rug under his feet.
“I’m worried about this, Bradey,” she continued, stating what was readily apparent. Didn’t parents ever realize that kids could sense things, too? Sometimes even better than grownups. “And I’m making a doctor appointment for you right now.”
She rose and moved to the telephone, which rested unobtrusively atop the shiny white Formica counter separating the kitchen from the narrow pathway into the family room. Bradley Wallace jumped up to follow.
“Aw, Mom, I feel fine,” he reassured her as forcefully as he dared.
But the determined look she directed his way as she picked up the
receiver told him it was pointless to protest. “What happened today is not normal, and you’re going to see the doctor.”
As she put the receiver up to her ear, he lowered his head and sulked his way dramatically past her and down the hallway.
“I’ve got homework to do,” he muttered.
“You can’t,” she called out to him, “You left all your books at school.” She would remember that, he thought with irritation, and she had to say it, too. “Hello,” he heard her voice float back to him as he stopped to listen. “Yes, this is Marge Murphy, I’d like to make an appointment with the doctor, please.” Who else would she want to make an appointment with, he thought in annoyance? She always had to interfere. He was fine. “No, for my son, Bradey.”
That was enough for him. He hurriedly entered his bedroom and closed the door, her voice cutting out as though he’d turned off a radio. Now he’d really done it! He’d have to go to the doctor. The only thing he hated worse than the dentist was the doctor. Especially if he had to get a shot! With a heavy sigh of disgust, he plopped down on the bed and lay back, shutting his eyes and shutting out the world.
Naturally, Bradley Wallace had to go over the whole story again for his father, and continually insisted he felt fine and didn’t need to see the doctor. But this time his father sided with his mother, insisting that it wouldn’t hurt to have the doctor look at him. Realizing that further protest was futile, he gave up.
Katie, who for a time after Hawaii had actually been nice to him, had long ago returned to her usual snotty self, and that night at dinner she badgered him about what happened.
“So, I hear you buzzed out at school today,” she needled obnoxiously.
“I did not buzz out,” he protested angrily. He knew he shouldn’t let Katie get under his skin because all she wanted was for him to get angry, but he couldn’t help it. “And I keep telling everyone I’m fine.”
“That’s enough, both of you,” his mother refereed. “You’re going to the doctor tomorrow and that’s final. Now eat your vegetables.”
Another dig at his eating habits, he realized with annoyance. She never could let the slightest opportunity pass without making some comment.
After a brief, but telling pause, during which everyone ate in silent deliberation, he suddenly blurted out with, “Are there any deer-hunting areas around here?”
The startled reactions of his parents and Katie made him realize he should have eased into such an unusual subject, and he cursed his stupidity.
Jack gazed down at his son quizzically. “Deer hunting?” he repeated, the bewilderment obvious in his voice. “What would you want to know that for? You hate hunting. You don’t even like fishing.”
His father had tried to take he and Katie fishing a few times off one of the piers down at the yacht harbor, but Bradley Wallace never liked it. He hated killing the fish, and he certainly didn’t like eating them, so what was supposed to be so fun about it?
He was on the spot now, and knew he’d better come up with a reasonable explanation fast. “Um,” he stumbled lamely, and then it came to him, “It’s part of a project for school. I’m supposed to find out about hunting areas in California.”
He could see the skepticism flash across his father’s face, and a quick glance his mother’s way caught a similar dubious expression. But they didn’t accuse him of lying, at least. Katie, he could tell, hadn’t bought that lie for a second, but he couldn’t worry about her now.
“Well?” he repeated as casually as he dared. “Are there any around here?”
His father and mother exchanged a look. “I don’t really know,” his father admitted. “Do you, Marge?”
She shook her head. “I’m not into hunting,” she commented dryly. “I’m hardly even buying meat these days.”
> Another jab. They were getting less subtle. She must be ticked off about something, Bradley Wallace decided. “Is there any way I could find out?” he asked, disguising his nervousness under a big swig of milk.
“Well,” his father began, considering the question a moment, “I suppose you could call City Hall. They issue all the hunting licenses down there.”
Of course! Why didn’t he think of that? It was so simple. “Thanks, Dad,” he replied with genuine gratitude. “I’ll call ‘em tomorrow.”
And even though Katie continued to cast her evil eye on him, he knew she wouldn’t accuse him of lying until after she at least tried to find out what he was up to, just in case it was something she could use to her own advantage. He’d have to be extra careful around her from now on.
The remainder of the meal passed in relative silence, which was fine with Bradley Wallace, who busily transmitted to Whilly his newfound information about City Hall. The dragon responded that hopefully soon he’d be able to hunt undeterred by humans, as dragons were meant to. The modern world, Bradley Wallace realized with a certain sadness, was not the place to raise a dragon. Such creatures were, what was the word he’d learned yesterday, oh, yeah, anachronistic. A dragon in this time was an anachronism. And that was sad.
The boy’s sleep that night was troubled. His anxiety over what caused him to buzz out haunted his dreams, and he slumbered fitfully, tossing and turning until the first grey streaks of dawn crept in through his drapes. Whilly had said his mind had been closed off to everything, which sounded ominous. Was it just part of his general weirdness, like the sticky dreams? He just couldn’t be sure of anything anymore, and all these questions disturbed him deeply. He seemed to be having those dreams with ever more increasing frequency, and that worried him, too.
What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just be like everyone else? Why did he have to be so weird? He awoke the next morning with eyes puffy from lack of sleep. It would be a long day today.
When he arrived at school, Bradley Wallace may as well have been a sideshow freak in some traveling carnival the way everyone stared at him so queerly.
A Boy and His Dragon Page 35