Phantom (28 page)

Peeler smiled.

''I'll tell you a funny thing about ghosts.
When you're a youngster, you can't help but believe in 'em. Then
you get a little older, and it seems like you can't help but not
believe in 'em. And when you get to the point where you're an old
fart like me, why, son of a gun if you don't start wonderin' about
'em all over again, and maybe you even want to believe."

"Like a second childhood?"

Peeler stopped again. His body began to
shake and then he broke up and roared with laughter.

"You're right, Nedly, so help me, you're
right."

They walked on.

"Well, then, you do believe."

"No. To be honest, I don't. There's a part
of me that'd like to, I guess, a part of most folks. Then we'd know
somethin' about the other side, or at least that there is an other
side. But that ain't good enough, so the answer is: no."

Ned didn't say anything for a while.

"What about you?" Peeler asked.

"No .... I guess not,” Ned replied, although
his voice still sounded uncertain.

"Just remember what I told you. You don't
have to be ascared of anything. Y'understand? There ain't no Farley
woman no more."

When they got back, they found Cloudy dozing
in the cool of the baithouse. They cleaned the rock bass and buried
the scraps in the garden: Cloudy built a fire out in the yard and
then sizzled up the small strips of fish meat with butter in a
large frying pan. Ned thought it was delicious. Not a morsel was
left at the end of the meal.

"I think he liked it."

"Looked that way to me."

They sat around and relaxed for an hour or
so, talking about fish and fishing. Peeler and Cloudy competed with
each other to see which one could come up with the most outlandish
anecdote. Cloudy won. He told about a young man he had known many
years ago, in the Deep South. This person used to tie a dead eel to
his leg, under his pants, before he went to the ice-cream parlor
every Saturday night. But on one occasion the eel wasn't quite dead
and it actually started twitching and jumping in the fellow's pants
as he stood around socializing in the crowded ice-cream parlor. It
caused quite a stir. The man dashed out of the place and was never
seen again. Ned couldn't understand why anyone would want to tie an
eel to his leg in the first place, but Peeler and Cloudy laughed
longest and hardest at that story.

Peeler pulled himself up out of the
armchair. He turned to a small wooden cabinet, took a few things
from it and put them in his canvas sack.

"Come on, let's go."

"Where?"

"Stony Point."

''I'm too tired," Ned protested.

"Me too," Cloudy said.

Peeler stared at his partner. "How can you
be tired? You ain't done nothin' all day." Then, to Ned: "And as
for you, I guess if I can make it on my old bones, then a young man
like you will have no trouble."

"Aw, Peeler;' Ned pleaded. But he started to
get to his feet. After such a good day, it seemed ungrateful not to
go along with the old man.

"It's perfect out," Peeler said. "Come on
now."

"Perfect here too," Cloudy groused. "Don't
know how perfect it is out at Stony Point." But he fell into stride
with the other two and wisecracked all the way.

When they reached the high ground at Stony
Point they sat down wearily. The air was quite clear and the
western horizon unusually sharp. Peeler produced a can of beer for
himself, and a soda for Ned.

"Lemme have one of them beers too;' Cloudy
said. When he saw the astonished looks this caused, he explained:
"I must be out of my mind already just to be here, so a little beer
can't make it any worse."

Peeler handed him a can without comment. And
they sat and waited.

"Ooh, that tastes strange," Cloudy said,
studying the beer can as if it were some curious new invention.
"Would you mind tellin' me just what it is I'm supposed to be
lookin' for?"

"Yeah, come on, Peeler;' Ned joined in.
"We've been coming here enough so you should tell us."

Peeler wouldn't budge. "Just keep lookin',"
he said quietly.

"At what?"

"The sunset."

"I seen enough of them," Cloudy said, but he
watched dutifully. "Bet he thinks he might see a flyin' saucer
someday, that's what."

The sun was easy to look at, an immense bead
of blood lowering itself behind the black rim of the earth. Its
movement was so slow as to be stately, but its diminishing surface
grew a deeper, more explosive red. The sun's exit was powerful and
humbling, the only way it could be. When there was nothing left but
a curl of brilliance, Peeler jumped forward in a low crouch.

"Now, now," he whispered. "Watch it
now."

The. fierce red vanished from sight,
replaced instantly by a diffuse orange-yellow glow. Then it
happened. An awesome shaft of rich, vibrant green shot up from the
horizon, high into the sky, feathered there, lingered for a long
second or two, then scattered like smoke. Gone.

They didn't move.

They could scarcely believe what they had
just seen. Or even that they had, really, seen it. The green flash.
They knew they had been privileged to witness one of nature's rare
and most beautiful phenomena, and yet it was almost too amazing to
accept. Peeler was the first to come out of the spell.

"That's it,” he said, as if telling himself.
Then he leapt up, thrust a fist in the air and screamed joyously as
loud as he could.

Then the three of them were dancing around
in a circle, all jabbering excitedly at the same time. Ned saw
tears shining in Peeler's eyes, but he looked like the happiest man
in the world, and he exclaimed several times: "I never thought I'd
see it, I heard of it but never thought I'd see it." He rummaged
around in the canvas sack and came up with a pint bottle of sour
mash.

"I had a feelin’ it was tonight," he said.
"That's why I brung this along."

Peeler unscrewed the cap and took a long
drink, his head right back, his face to the sky. Then he passed the
bottle to Cloudy, who winced when the fiery whiskey hit his throat
but swallowed a mouthful. Peeler was about to put the cap back on,
but Ned stopped him and took the bottle. The two old men didn't
speak, but their eyes were saying, Just a taste. Ned put the bottle
to his lips and tilted his head back, but he only let a little
liquor come into his mouth. He swallowed it quickly and handed the
bottle back to Peeler. Ned's cheeks flushed, his mouth burned, his
stomach felt as if molten lead had fallen into it, and the
sprinkler system in his eyes was turned on. But he was grinning
proudly. Then Peeler and Cloudy cheered and slapped him on the
back. They set off for home.

"You better get in the middle, Mr. Tadpole,"
Cloudy joshed.

"In case we got to hold you up."

"Yessir," Peeler said. ''I'm gonna sleep
like a baby tonight."

They all did.

For the last time.

* * *

25. The Vigil
Begins

Linda was making a pitcher
of lemonade when she heard the sound. It was a small thump, not
particularly disturbing but odd. Not heavy enough to be Ned, who
was in the living room, reading. That was it. He had been looking
through the large
Wilderness U.S.A.
book Michael had ordered from National Geographic
a while ago. The sound she heard must have been Ned tossing the
volume onto the coffee table.

"Want a glass of lemonade?" she called to
her son.

No answer. Linda put the pitcher in the
refrigerator and went to the living room. The book was on the
floor. Ned was lying on the sofa with one arm dangling over the
edge. He fell asleep, Linda thought as she crossed the room to
check him. He had lazed around the house all morning, kind of dopey
and lifeless, and it seemed like it had taken him forever to finish
one tuna sandwich at lunch. Linda thought Ned was still tired from
his outing the day before. A day of relaxation and napping would do
him good.

She picked up the book and set it on the
table. Ned's hair was shiny and soft from being washed in the
shower last night. Linda stroked it and brushed it back off his
face. Wait a minute. Was his forehead a little warm, or was it just
her imagination? She pressed her cheek lightly to his. Yes, he was
warm. At the same time, she heard his breathing. It had the
regular, autonomous rhythm that came with sleep, but there was a
faint, reedy note to it. Ned's lips had formed a pout and he was
breathing through his teeth. Nothing necessarily wrong with that,
Linda told herself, but she wondered if it was usual for Ned. Dear
God, how can you raise a child for nearly ten years and not be sure
how he breathes when he's sleeping?

Linda fetched the fever strip from the
medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom and held it to Ned's
forehead. The crystals encased in plastic glowed a dull blue:
ninety-nine, shading toward a hundred. A slight temperature but
enough to start Linda worrying. She poured a little glass of orange
juice, boosted it with vitamin drops and made Ned sit up to drink
it. His eyes opened only a little.

"Ned."

"Mommy, I don't feel good."

"Where does it hurt, honey?"

"All over."

"Is it a sharp pain or more like an aching
soreness?"

"Aches."

"Okay, honey, you've got a wee bit of a
temperature. Nothing to worry about, but I'm going to put you in
bed where you can get a proper rest. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Can you get up? Here, I'm right here. Lean
on me."

He moved groggily, as if his bones had
turned to rubber, and Linda had to help him up every step. At the
top of the stairs, Ned stopped.

"Mommy, I want to rest in your bed."

"Sure thing."

It was actually a good idea, Linda thought.
Their room was well equipped, with an air conditioner, an air
purifier, an ionizer, a humidifier and an emergency bottle of
oxygen, whereas Ned's room had nothing of the kind. She helped him
up onto the big bed, and then went to get his pajamas. Ned was
incapable of undoing a single button. He was like a floppy doll in
her arms, but she finally got him changed. His limbs were clammy,
she noticed. Poor Ned. He looked so tiny and frail in the middle of
the bed, with the covers tucked up under his chin. Linda went
downstairs to phone Michael.

"Ned's sick."

"What's the matter?"

She described what had happened.

"Sounds like he's caught a bug," Michael
said.

"Do you think it could be something he ate
yesterday—the fish they cooked? Maybe it was bad."

"I doubt it. Those two old-timers ought to
know better than anybody when fish is okay to eat and when it
isn't, which ponds are safe and which are polluted. And they ate it
within a couple of hours of catching it, so it couldn't have
spoiled."

"What do you think I should do?"

"Just what you have done."

"Should I call the doctor?"

"If it'll make you feel better."

Linda ignored the tone of that remark.

"Call me back if you have any news," Michael
said. "Otherwise, I'll be home at the usual time. ".

"Try to come early, if you can."

"Sure. Bye."

Linda dialed Dr. Melker's number. The doctor
was busy, his nurse said, and would call back. Linda made a cup of
hot tea and waited. Forty minutes later the phone rang.

"Sounds like a bug," the doctor said after
listening to Linda.

She gritted her teeth.

"What should I do?"

"Plenty of fluids, plenty of rest, and keep
him warm. Give him some aspirin, too."

"All right. Anything else?"

"That mild temperature should stay where it
is, or even drop. But call me if it should happen to go up."

"I hope I won't have to bother you again,
doctor."

"That's all right, Mrs. Covington. I'll have
my nurse phone you tomorrow to find out how the boy is doing."

"Oh—doctor?"

"Yes?"

Now that she had Dr. Melker on the line she
had very nearly forgotten to tell him about Ned's catching and
eating fish the day before.

"The symptoms you've described don't fit
food poisoning," the physician said, in response to her
explanation. "He'd have felt it much sooner, probably in the middle
of last night. Very strong, sharp stomach pains."

"No, he hasn't had that."

"Okay. But he could have picked up a bug
while he was out there yesterday. That's the most likely
thing."

Linda was working up quite a hatred for that
word, but what the doctor said did make her feel a little better.
She crushed some aspirin in a tablespoon, stirred it into another
glass of juice and took it up to Ned. He fell right back onto the
pillow after finishing the drink. Linda checked his temperature
again; it hadn't moved. She pulled her vanity chair next to the bed
and sat there, holding Ned's hand. She was still there when Michael
got home a couple of hours later.

"How is he?"

"The same."

"Nothing to it." Michael hung up his jacket
and took off his necktie. "How are you?"

"Okay."

"Good. What's for supper?"

"Make yourself a couple of sandwiches or
something," Linda said. 'Tm going to stay here."

Michael gave her one of his don't-be-silly
looks, but then decided not to argue about it. He went downstairs,
made a drink and sat back to watch the evening news. Later, he
found some cold chicken legs in the refrigerator to munch on.

A little before eight, Linda appeared in the
living room. She looked more worried.

"His temperature is up to a hundred and
one," she said.

"It is?"

At last some concern, Linda thought. "He's
started moaning in his sleep, tossing and turning."