Fool's Gold (11 page)

After that his mind was so busy with other things, he wasn't really listening to Murph anymore and it must have been quite a while later that he realized that it was quiet in the kitchen. Murph had quit talking and was just doing the narrow-eyed bit in Rudy's general direction.

Rudy got to his feet, thanked Murph for the coffee, and headed out the door. He was partway down the back steps when he turned around and ran back.

“Murph,” he said as he threw the kitchen door open. “About these phobia things. Isn't there anything you can do about them? I mean are they like, incurable, or what?”

Murph came out onto the back porch. He stared at Rudy for several seconds before he said, “Very little was ever done to help the victims of phobias when I was young. But I've read that nowadays there are several methods of therapy that have been used successfully for treating people who suffer from various kinds of phobias. Just the other day I read—”

But at that moment Natasha came out on the veranda and shouted for Rudy to come home.

“I couldn't imagine where you were,” she called. “Come along home now and stop bothering poor Murph.”

Murph gave Rudy his sneaky “we're in this together” grin. “Another time,” he said. “We'll talk some more another time.”

So Rudy went home and looked at the stuff Natasha and the M and M's had bought and listened to a quarrel about who was going to get the pink tutu and who was going to get stuck with the other one. It was after nine o'clock before he was able to get away to his own room and think—about phobias.

T
HERE WASN'T A
whole lot about phobias in the encyclopedia in the children's room of the library, but there were a few interesting bits of information—like a list of the most common ones. Rudy had heard about some of them before, without knowing their scientific names. He knew about acrophobia, for instance, in which people were so afraid of high places that they couldn't go up in airplanes or even in tall buildings, but he hadn't known what it was called scientifically.

There were others, however, that he'd never heard of at all, like gatophobia (fear of cats). That struck him as a little bit weird. He got one of his vivid mental pictures—a big muscle-bound guy cringing in a corner, trying to hide from a fluffy little blob of a kitten. But then, a phobia was a phobia, and he supposed gatophobia made as much sense as any. There wasn't any mention of fear of dogs, or cows, but he supposed some people had hang-ups about them too. Not to mention horses. He snickered. Like Shetland Ponies from Hell. Maybe he'd make up a name for Ty's phobia and tell Barney and Heather about it. Pintophobia, maybe?

Another one he didn't recognize right off was nyctophobia. Who'd ever heard of nyctophobia? Probably not one percent of the millions of people who'd probably had it. Like most little kids who'd ever lived—including Rudolph W. Drummond. Nyctophobia, it turned out, meant fear of the dark.

Rudy chuckled out loud this time and Mrs. Carnaby, the librarian, looked over at him questioningly. When he shrugged and grinned at her she went on looking curious for a second or two before she smiled and went back to sorting some cards. Mrs. Carnaby was used to Rudy—he'd been one of her most constant customers ever since he'd learned to read. She'd helped him on lots of research projects, including the famous bastards thing, and the one comparing court jesters to modern comedians. She was also used to the fact that he laughed at a lot of stuff that wouldn't strike most people as particularly hilarious—like the encyclopedia.

Under other circumstances he probably would have taken time to explain what he was laughing about, but he was in a hurry and besides, he wasn't sure if Mrs. Carnaby would get much of a kick out of hearing about how, when he was a little kid, probably four or five years old, he used to break all existing speed records on his way down the dark hall to the bathroom. Natasha had scolded him a hundred times for always waiting until it was an emergency, but as far as he could remember, he never did set her straight. He never clued her in to the fact that the danger was not that he might wet his pants. The danger was, of course, that he would be eaten alive if he gave the Monsters of the Dark time to get their act together before he made it to the light switch.

So there apparently were temporary phobias, like the ones people tended to outgrow—the encyclopedia called them “mild” phobias. And then there were others. Like agoraphobia (fear of open spaces), which was what had ruined Murph's mother's life. And then there was claustrophobia.

Claustrophobia. That was what he'd been looking for, but except for saying that it meant the fear of confined spaces, the encyclopedia didn't have much to offer. He'd heard of claustrophobia, of course. He'd always thought of it in terms of people who didn't like being in small rooms or in anything but aisle seats on airplanes and in theaters, but he hadn't ever related it to himself. After all, his bedroom was pretty small and that had never bothered him, and he'd never had any problem with elevators or middle-of-the-row seats. It wasn't until last night's conversation with Murph that he'd thought of his problem as maybe relating to claustrophobia.

Besides the list of scientific names and what they meant, the article in the encyclopedia included a short general paragraph that said a phobia was an intense fear focused on a specific circumstance or idea, and that it was a fear that tended to be “excessive, inappropriate, and without obvious cause.” Right! Like having a world-class case of the screaming meemies when your little sister locks you in a closet.

As Rudy put away the encyclopedia he realized that he was feeling encouraged. So there was a name for it, and even a reason. A reason other than just general chickenhood, that is. Of course, he knew that just having a name for something didn't mean you had it licked. At some point Mrs. Woodbury might have found out that what she had was agoraphobia, but that probably wouldn't have cured her of it. But Murph had started to say something about some new therapies that helped people with phobias.

He thought of asking Mrs. Carnaby where he might find some more information, and then decided against it. Instead he just told her good-bye, put away the encyclopedia, and went down to the adult department. It was there in the card catalogue that he found just what he was looking for. A whole book on the subject called
Conquering Your Fears
by Dr. Melvin Grosser. It was a thick book and judging by the first page it didn't seem like it was going to be particularly easy reading. Not easy, but possibly
very
enlightening. Some of the chapters listed in the contents had titles like Traditional Therapeutic Approaches and Recent Experimental Treatment Techniques. Rudy checked the book out and took it home.

The next morning, after he'd gotten the M and M's off to Eleanora's he started reading, but he'd barely gotten into it when Mr. Williard, a neighbor on Lone Pine, called up and asked if he'd like a lawn mowing job that morning. Since, at the moment, he happened to be even more broke than usual, he decided he'd better do it. The Williards' lawn wasn't big, but it was complicated by all sorts of little flower beds and rock gardens, and by the time it was finished the morning was almost over.

Then the M and M's got home and he gave up on
Conquering Your Fears
at least for the time being. He knew the two of them too well to clue them in on phobias. He could just imagine what Moira, in particular, could do with that kind of information. Like coming down with a bad case of dustaphobia (fear of cleaning up your room) or vegaphobia (fear of eating your carrots and peas). So the reading material for the afternoon turned out to be “Cinderella” and “Lady and the Tramp.” Talk about Yawn City.

He'd probably read “Cinderella” to the M and M's several hundred times, but this time it turned out to be a little more entertaining. Somehow, maybe because he was in a hopeful frame of mind, he started putting a little more into it, and he wound up acting out some of the parts. He set up a stage in the bay window, and made little costumes with pillows and doilies and scarfs when he was being the evil stepsisters. The part the M and M's particularly liked was when he emerged from behind the drapes as the fairy godmother wearing one of Natasha's tutus and waving a plumber's friend for a magic wand.

Later when he was in the kitchen getting the cookies and milk ready he overheard Moira saying, “Rudy is the best story reader in the whole world.” And the amazing part was that Margot agreed with her, which was probably one of the few things they'd agreed on since they'd learned to talk.

After dinner that night he tried to get into the phobia book again, but he'd no more than gotten settled in the living room when Natasha came in. Rudy shoved the book under the couch pillow.

He didn't know why, exactly, except that he wasn't ready to talk to her about the phobia thing. As far as he knew, Natasha didn't even know about his screaming meemies problem. She hadn't been around when the worst attacks had happened, except for the time Moira had locked him in the storage closet. And even then she'd only gotten home in time to get in on the end of it, and she'd apparently thought it was just an extradramatic temper tantrum. And he'd never even tried to tell her what it had really been like. He didn't know why exactly, except that Natasha had to depend on him for a lot of things since old Art bailed out, and she'd had a hard enough time without having to worry that he was about to crack up and fink out on her too.

So the book stayed under the pillow and Natasha settled down on the other end of the couch. She'd finished getting the M and M's to bed and seemed to be in a talkative mood.

At first she told him about her day at work and then they got into the subject of the riding lessons and Heather Hanrahan and Heather's inheritance.

“I think it's so great,” Natasha said. “No one could deserve it more. I just hope that great uncle of hers is getting all sorts of brownie points in heaven for leaving that money to Heather. You know, the Hanrahans were totally surprised when they found out about it. Heather came over to tell me about it the day she found out and she was so thrilled and excited. It's great that she's going to be able to go away to college. Of course, we're all going to miss her around here.”

“Tell me about it,” Rudy said. “All the professional girl watchers in Pyramid Hill are going to go into mourning. Not to mention a lot of other people. Everyone's going to miss her.”

Natasha was certainly one of the people who would miss Heather. They'd been good friends ever since Rudy was just a little kid and Heather used to take him and some other little kids in the neighborhood over to her house to play school. She was a good teacher, too, even when she was only a kid herself. Natasha always said it was probably because of the good start Rudy had gotten with Heather that he'd always been at the top of his class in reading.

“You're right,” Natasha said. “Everyone's crazy about Heather.”

“Right!” Rudy said. “And you know who especially? Barney Crookshank. Barney really has it bad for Heather. I mean, it seems kind of pointless. A guy like Barney who has every girl his age in the whole town drooling over him, and he never even notices. And then he goes into a major seizure over someone who's terminally unavailable. Like four years older, for one thing.”

“Really,” Natasha said. “Is it that serious?” And then she sighed and added, “Poor little Barney.”

Rudy snorted. “Poor?” he said. “What's poor about Barney? Or little, for that matter?” He could think of a lot of adjectives to describe Barney Crookshank, but “poor” had certainly never been one of them.

“Well…” Natasha said. Then she shook her head and looked away, as if she'd decided against what she'd been about to say.

“Poor?” Rudy insisted.

“Everybody has problems,” Natasha said. “Even Barney.”

“Sure,” Rudy said. “Big problems. Like being great-looking and a world-class athlete—and having parents who are practically famous and have lots of money, and who let you do anything you want. And living in a great place like the Crooked Bar Ranch. Sure wish I had some of Barney's problems.”

He'd not meant to sound bitter or jealous or anything, but maybe he did, because when he finally ran down Natasha was staring at him in a funny way as if what he'd said had made her angry or maybe just depressed. Then she sighed and picked up the paper and started to read, and when Rudy said “Mom?” she just said “shh” with her finger to her lips.

“Shh, Rudy. No more about problems tonight, please. I'm just too tired.”

And since having a serious phobia in the family would probably be considered in the problem category, the book by Dr. Grosser stayed right where it was, under the couch pillow.

It wasn't until Rudy was in bed that night that he was able to get back into phobia research. After skimming over the chapter headings he picked out the section about recent experimental treatments as being the most interesting and started reading there.

Some of it was so full of technical and scientific language that it didn't make a whole lot of sense, but there was one part that seemed like it might be useful. It was about some psychologists who had worked out a method of treatment called “implosion.” What they did was to get their patients to imagine the worst. Like a lady who was so afraid of spiders that she couldn't go anywhere or do anything for fear she might meet one was treated by having her imagine over and over again that spiders were everywhere, even all over her clothes and hands and face. The treatment really freaked her out at first, but after a while she began to get over it and finally she wasn't overly afraid of spiders at all anymore.

Okay, he thought. The implosion method. According to Dr. Grosser all you had to do was “Picture as realistically as possible whatever it is you are most afraid of.” It sounded simple enough. All you had to do was imagine—something that Rudy had always been good at. He closed his eyes and lay back on the pillows.