Ingathering

by Zenna Henderson

  “I don’t have to hold it. It’ll glow until I damp it.”

  “How long?”

  “How long does it take metal to turn to dust?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Do your People know how to glow?”

  “No.” His eyes stilled on my face. “I have no memory of it.”

  “So I don’t belong.” I tried to say it lightly above the wrenching of my heart. “It almost looks like we’re simultaneous, but we aren’t. You came one way. I came t’other.” “Not even to him!” I cried inside. “I can’t even belong to him!” I drew a deep breath and put emotion to one side.

  “Look,” I said. “Neither of us fits a pattern. You deviate and I deviate and you’re satisfied with your explanation of why you are what you are. I haven’t found my explanation yet. Can’t we let it go at that?”

  Low grabbed my shoulders, the dime arching down into the spring. He shook me with a tight controlled shaking that was hardly larger than a trembling of his tensed hands. “I tell you, Dita, I’m not making up stories! I belong and you belong and all your denying won’t change it. We are the same—”

  We stared stubbornly at each other for a long moment, then the tenseness ran out of his fingers and he let them slide down my arms to my hands. We turned away from the spring and started silently, hand in hand, down the trail. I looked back and saw the glow of the dime and damped it.

  “No,” I said to myself. “It isn’t so. I’d know it if it were true. We aren’t the same. But what am I then? What am I?” And I stumbled a little wearily on the narrow path.

  During this time everything at school was placid, and Pete had finally decided that “two” could have a name and a picture, and learned his number words to ten in one day.

  And Lucine—symbol to Low and me of our own imprisonment—with our help was blossoming under the delight of reading her second pre-primer.

  But I remember the last quiet day. I sat at my desk checking the tenth letter I’d received in answer to my inquiries concerning a possible Chinee Joe and sadly chalking up another “no.” So far I had been able to conceal from Low the amazing episode of Severeid Swanson. I wanted to give him back his Canyon myself, if it existed. I wanted it to be my gift to him—and to my own shaken self. Most of all I wanted to be able to know at least one thing for sure, even if that one thing proved me wrong or even parted Low and me. Just one solid surety in the whole business would be a comfort and a starting place for us truly to get together.

  I wished frequently that I could take hold of Severeid bodily and shake more information out of him, but he had disappeared—walked off from his job without even drawing his last check. No one knew where he had gone. The last Kruper had seen of him was early the next morning after he had spoken with me. He had been standing, slack-kneed and wavering, a bottle in each hand, at the crossroads—not even bothering to thumb a ride, just waiting blankly for someone to stop for him—and apparently someone had.

  I asked Esperanza about him, and she twisted her thick shining braid around her hand twice and tugged at it.

  “He’s a wino,” she said dispassionately. “They ain’t smart. Maybe he got losted.” Her eyes brightened. “Last year he got losted and the cops picked him up in El Paso. He brang me some perfume when he came back. Maybe he went to El Paso again. It was pretty perfume.” She started down the stairs. “He’ll be back,” she called, “unless he’s dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  I shook my head and smiled ruefully. And she’d fight like a wildcat if anyone else talked about Severeid like that...

  I sighed at the recollection and went back to my disappointing letter. Suddenly I frowned and moved uneasily in my chair. What was wrong? I felt acutely uncomfortable. Quickly I checked me over physically. Then my eyes scanned the room. Petie was being jet planes while he drew pictures of them, and the soft skoosh! skoosh! skoosh! of the take-offs was about the only on-top sound in the room. I checked underneath and the placid droning hum was as usual. I had gone back on top when I suddenly dived back again. There was a sharp stinging buzz like an angry bee—a malicious angry buzz! Who was it? I met Lucine’s smoldering eyes and I knew.

  I almost gasped under the sudden flood of hate-filled anger. And when I tried to reach her, down under, I was rebuffed—not knowingly but as though there had never been a contact between us. I wiped my trembling hands against my skirt, trying to clean them of what I had read.

  The recess bell came so shatteringly that I jumped convulsively and shared the children’s laughter over it. As soon as I could I hurried to Mrs. Kanz’s room.

  “Lucine’s going to have another spell,” I said without preface.

  “What makes you think so?” Mrs. Kanz marked “46 1/2%” on the top of a literature paper.

  “I don’t think so, I know so. And this time she won’t be too slow. Someone will get hurt if we don’t do something.”

  Mrs. Kanz laid down her pencil and folded her arms on the desk top, her lips tightening. “You’ve been brooding too much over Lucine,” she said, none too pleased. “If you’re getting to the point where you think you can predict her behavior, you’re pretty far gone. People are going to be talking about your being queer pretty soon. Why don’t you just forget about her and concentrate on—on—well, on Low? He’s more fun than she is anyway, I’ll bet.”

  “He’d know,” I cried. “He’d tell you, too! He knows more about Lucine than anyone thinks.”

  “So I’ve heard.” There was a nasty purr to her voice that I didn’t know it possessed. “They’ve been seen together out in the hills. Well, it’s only her mind that’s retarded. Remember, she’s over twelve now, and some men—”

  I slapped the flat of my hand down on the desk top with a sharp crack. I could feel my eyes blazing, and she dodged back as though from a blow. She pressed the back of one hand defensively against her cheek.

  “I—” she gasped, “I was only kidding!”

  I breathed deeply to hold my rage down. “Are you going to do anything about Lucine?” My voice was very soft.

  “What can I do? What is there to do?”

  “Skip it,” I said bitterly. “Just skip it.”

  I tried all afternoon to reach Lucine, but she sat lumpish and unheeding—on top. Underneath violence and hatred were seething like lava, and once, without apparent provocation, she leaned across the aisle and pinched Petie’s arm until he cried.

  She was sitting in isolation with her face to the wall when the last bell rang.

  “You may go now, Lucine,” I said to the sullen stranger who had replaced the child I knew. I put my hand on her shoulder. She slipped out of my touch with one fluid quick motion. I caught a glimpse of her profile as she left. The jaw muscles were knotted and the cords in her neck were tensed.

  I hurried home and waited, almost wild from worry, for Low to get off shift. I paced the worn Oriental rug in the living room, circling the potbellied cast-iron heater. I peered a dozen times through the lace curtains, squinting through the dirty cracked window panes. I beat my fist softly into my palm as I paced, and I felt physical pain when the phone on the wall suddenly shrilled.

  I snatched down the receiver.

  “Yes!” I cried. “Hello!”

  “Marie. I want Marie.” The voice was far and crackling. “You tell Marie I gotta talk to her.”

  I called Marie and left her to her conversation and went out on the porch. Back and forth, back and forth I paced, Marie’s voice swelling and fading as I passed.

  “... well, I expected it a long time ago. A crazy girl like that—”

  “Lucine!” I shouted and rushed indoors. “What happened?”

  “Lucine?” Marie frowned from the telephone. “What’s Lucine gotta do with it? Marson’s daughter ran off last night with the hoistman at the Golden Turkey. He’s fifty if he’s a day and she’s just turned sixteen.” She turned back to the phone. “Yah, yah, yah?” Her eyes gleamed avidly.

  I just got back to the door in time to see the car stop at the gate. I grabb
ed my coat and was down the steps as the car door swung open.

  “Lucine?” I gasped.

  “Yes.” The sheriff opened the back door for me, his deputy goggle-eyed with the swiftness of events. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “What happened?”

  “She got mad on the way home.” The car spurted away from the hotel. “She picked Petie up by the heels and bashed him against a boulder. She chased the other kids away with rocks and went back and started to work on Petie. He’s still alive, but Doc lost count of the stitches and they’re transfusing like crazy. Mrs. Kanz says you likely know where she is.

  “No.” I shut my eyes and swallowed. “But we’ll find her. Get Low first.”

  The shift bus was just pulling in at the service station. Low was out of it and into the sheriff’s car before a word could be spoken. I saw my anxiety mirrored on his face before we clasped hands.

  For the next two hours we drove the roads around Kruper. We went to all the places we thought Lucine might have run to, but nowhere, nowhere in all the scrub-covered foothills or the pine-pointed mountains, could I sense Lucine.

  “We’ll take one more sweep-through Poland Canyon. Then if it’s no dice we’ll hafta get a posse and Claude’s hounds.” The sheriff gunned for the steep rise at the canyon entrance. “Beats me how a kid could get so gone so fast.”

  “You haven’t seen her really run,” Low said. “She never can when she’s around other people. She’s just a little lower than a plane and she can run me into the ground any time. She just shifts her breathing into overdrive and takes off. She could beat Claude’s hounds without trying, if it ever came to a run-down.”

  “Stop!” I grabbed the back of the seat. “Stop the car!”

  The car had brakes. We untangled ourselves and got out.

  “Over there,” I said. “She’s over there somewhere.” We stared at the brush-matted hillside across the canyon.

  “Gaw-dang!” the sheriff moaned. “Not in Cleo II! That there hell hole’s been nothing but a jinx since they sunk the first shaft. Water and gas and cave-in sand, every gaw-dang thing in the calendar. I’ve lugged my share of dead men out of there—me and my dad before me. What makes you think she’s in there, Teacher? Yuh see something?”

  “I know she’s somewhere over there,” I evaded. “Maybe not in the mine but she’s there.”

  “Let’s get looking,” the sheriff sighed. “I’d give a pretty to know how you saw her dear from the other side of the car.” He edged out of the car and lifted a shotgun after him.

  “A gun?” I gasped. “For Lucine?”

  “You didn’t see Petie, did you?” he said. “I did. I go animal hunting with guns.”

  “No!” I cried. “She’ll come for us.”

  “Might be,” he spat reflectively. “Or maybe not.”

  We crossed the road and plunged into the canyon before the climb.

  “Are you sure, Dita?” Low whispered. “I don’t reach her at all. Only some predator—”

  “That’s Lucine,” I choked. “That’s Lucine.”

  I felt Low’s recoil. “That—that animal?”

  “That animal. Did we do it? Maybe we should have left her alone.”

  “I don’t know.” I ached with his distress. “God help me, I don’t know.”

  She was in Cleo II.

  Over our tense silence we could hear the rattling of rocks inside as she moved. I was almost physically sick.

  “Lucine,” I called into the darkness of the drift. “Lucine, come on out. It’s time to go home.”

  A fist-sized rock sent me reeling, and I nursed my bruised shoulder with my hand.

  “Lucine!” Low’s voice was commanding and spread all over the band. An inarticulate snarl answered him.

  “Well?” The sheriff looked at us.

  “She’s completely crazy,” Low said. “We can’t reach her at all.”

  “Gaw-dang,” the sheriff said. “How we gonna get her out?”

  No one had an answer, and we stood around awkwardly while the late-afternoon sun hummed against our backs and puddled softly in the mine entrance. There was a sudden flurry of rocks that rattled all about us, thudding on the bare ground and crackling in the brush—then a low guttural wail that hurt my bones and whitened the sheriff’s face.

  “I’m gonna shoot,” he said, thinly. “I’m gonna shoot it daid.” He hefted the shotgun and shuffled his feet.

  “No!” I cried. “A child! A little girl!”

  His eyes turned to me and his mouth twisted.

  “That?” he asked and spat.

  His deputy tugged at his sleeve and took him to one side and muttered rapidly. I looked uneasily at Low. He was groping for Lucine, his eyes dosed, his face tense.

  The two men set about gathering up a supply of small-sized rocks. They stacked them ready-to-hand near the mine entrance. Then, taking simultaneous deep breaths, they started a steady bombardment into the drift. For a while there was an answering shower from the mine, then an outraged squall that faded as Lucine retreated farther into the darkness.

  “Gotter!” The two men redoubled their efforts, stepping closer to the entrance, and Low’s hand on my arm stopped me from following.

  “There’s a drop-off in there,” he said. “They’re trying to drive her into it. I dropped a rock in it once and never heard it land.”

  “It’s murder!” I cried, jerking away, grabbing the sheriff’s arm. “Stop it!”

  “You can’t get her any other way,” the sheriff grunted, his muscles rippling under my restraining hand. “Better her dead than Petie and all the rest of us. She’s fixing to kill.”

  “I’ll get her,” I cried, dropping to my knees and hiding my face in my hands. “I’ll get her. Give me a minute.” I concentrated as I had never concentrated before. I sent myself stumbling out of me into the darkness of the mine, into a heavier deeper uglier darkness, and I struggled with the darkness in Lucine until I felt it surging uncontrollably into my own mind. Stubbornly I persisted, trying to flick a fingernail of reason under the edge of this angry unreason to let a little sanity in. Low reached me just before the flood engulfed me. He reached me and held me until I could shudder myself back from hell.

  Suddenly there was a rumble from inside the hill—a cracking crash and a yellow billow of dust from the entrance.

  There was an animal howl that cut off sharply and then a scream of pure pain and terror—a child’s terrified cry, a horrified awakening in the darkness, a cry for help—for light!

  “It’s Lucine!” I half sobbed. “She’s back. What happened?”

  “Cave-in!” the sheriff said, his jaws working. “Shoring gone—rotted out years ago. Gotter for sure now, I guess.”

  “But it’s Lucine again,” Low said. “We’ve got to get her out.”

  “If that cave-in’s where I think it is,” the sheriff said, “she’s a goner. There’s a stretch in there that’s just silt. Finest slitheriest stuff you ever felt. Comes like a flood of water. Drowns a feller in dirt.” His lips tightened. “First dead man I ever saw I dragged out of a silt-down in here. I was sixteen, I guess—skinniest feller in the batch, so they sent me in after they located the body and shored up a makeshift drift. Dragged him out feet first. Stubborn feller—sucked out of that silt like outa mud. Drownded in dirt. We’ll sweat getting this body out, too.

  “Well,” he hitched up his Levi’s, “might as well git on back to town and git a crew out here.”

  “She’s not dead,” Low said. “She’s still breathing. She’s caught under something and can’t get loose.”

  The sheriff looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I’ve heard you’re kinda tetched,” he said. “Sounds to me like you’re having a spell yourself, talking like that.

  “Wanta go back to town, ma’am?” His voice gentled. “Nothing you can do around here any more. She’s a goner.”

  “No, she isn’t,” I said. “She’s still alive. I can hear her.”

&nb
sp; “Gaw-dang!” the sheriff muttered. “Two of them. Well, all right then. You two are deppytized to watch the mine so it don’t run away while I’m gone.” Grinning sourly at his own wit, he left, taking the deputy with him.

  We listened to the echoes of the engine until they died away in the quiet, quiet upsurging of the forested hills all around us. We heard the small wind in the brush and the far cry of some flying bird. We heard the pounding of our own pulses and the frightened bewilderedness that was Lucine. And we heard the pain that began to beat its brassy hammers through her body, and the sharp piercing stab of sheer agony screaming up to the bright twanging climax that snapped down into unconsciousness. And then both of us were groping in the darkness of the tunnel. I stumbled and fell and felt a heavy flowing something spread across my lap, weighting me down. Low was floundering ahead of me. “Go back,” he warned. “Go back or we’ll both be caught!”

  “No!” I cried, trying to scramble forward. “I can’t leave you!”

  “Go back,” he said. “I’ll find her and hold her until the men come. You’ve got to help me hold the silt back.”

  “I can’t,” I whimpered. “I don’t know how!” I scooped at the heaviness in my lap.

  “Yes, you do,” he said down under. “Just look and see.”

  I scrambled back the interminable distance I hadn’t even been conscious of when going in, and crouched just outside the mine entrance, my dirty hands pressed to my wet face. I looked deep, deep inside me, down into a depth that suddenly became a height. I lifted me, mind and soul, up, up, until I found a new Persuasion, a new ability, and slowly, slowly, stemmed the creeping dry tide inside the mine—slowly began to part the black flood that had overswept Lucine so that only the arch of her arm kept her mouth and nose free of the invading silt.

  Low burrowed his way into the mass, straining to reach Lucine before all the air was gone.

  We were together, working such a work that we weren’t two people any more. We were one, but that one was a multitude, all bound together in this tremendous outpouring of effort. Since we were each other, we had no need for words as we worked in toward Lucine. We found a bent knee, a tattered hem, a twisted ankle—and the splintery edge of timber that pinned her down. I held the silt back while Low burrowed to find her head. Carefully we cleared a larger space for her face. Carefully we worked to free her body. Low finally held her limp shoulders in his arms—and was gone! Gone completely, between one breath and another.