Rich Shapero (4 page)

The humor pierced her bewilderment. She
made a dazed face and rolled her eyes. "Until then," Mom laughed,
"you're not to play with her. Are we clear?" "But—"
"Are we clear?"

Dad nodded. "Mom's right," he
said.

***

When it was bedtime, Dad came in to read
him a story. Robbie was sitting with his back against the pillow and his legs
beneath the sheets, sulking.

"What's wrong?" Dad said.

"You know."

Dad's hands shot out. Robbie crowded his
arms together, but Dad's fingers found the gaps, playing his ribs like a toy
piano.

Robbie howled and writhed till he cried.

When they had both calmed down, Dad pulled
a book from the shelf.

"Right here, Doc," Robbie patted
the bed.

Dad laughed and sat beside him. "It'll
be awhile."

Robbie closed one eye, as if taking aim,
pointing his finger in his father's face. "Your brain is a forest."

"And the nerves are trees," Dad
sang out.

"When the branches touch—" Robbie
brought his forefingers together.

"Snaps jump between the leaves!"

They squinted at each other, and then Dad
opened the book.

Robbie put his hand over the title page.
"I want to go to the lab."

"Sure."

"And look through the
microscope."

"At. . . anything in particular?"

Robbie looked at the wall opposite. A large
poster hung there, showing a brain in cross-section. It was ringed with
examples of branching nerves. The riddle of the mind—that was an interest he
and Dad shared.

"Thoughts travel around inside
nerves," Robbie said. "I've seen nerves in the lab. I want to see
thoughts."

Dad frowned.

"It's not that simple," Robbie
guessed.

Dad shook his head. "Nerves and
chemicals are physical mechanisms. They produce thoughts. But we can't see
them."

"When you're older, you decide what
thoughts you're going to have." Robbie regarded him. "Don't
you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Mine just fly out of nowhere. Because
I'm six. Right?"

"You'll have more control over them
when you're older. But thoughts are that way. They come and go without
permission. They can surprise you. Shock you. Overpower you. The way they take
control of the mind is a great mystery." He paused. "Is this about
the Hill?"

Robbie peered into Dad's eyes. He didn't
have to say anything. Dad's eyes were razor sharp, and in their depths the
darkness was irising open.

"Thought takes us to our limits,"
Dad said softly. "The highest mountains, the deepest oceans— And beyond,
into the cosmos. To distant galaxies and boundless space. Thought seeks the
unknown."

"Exploring," Robbie said.

"Yep." Dad put his arm around
Robbie and held him close.

"Mom doesn't understand."

Dad didn't reply. He gazed at the open book
for what seemed a long time. Sometimes a thought takes hold of you and won't
let go.

"She does understand," Dad said
finally. "You don't remember what it was like in California— And before
you were born—" He stopped cold.

"What?"

Dad shook the thought off. "The moose
that killed that boy in Nenana— That scared her. It scared me, too."

"He was feeding it peanut butter
sandwiches."

Dad eyed Robbie sadly. "Mom would do
anything for you. We're lucky to have her. Don't make things harder for
her."

"Just tell me why."

"Why what?"

"Why she doesn't like Fristeen."

"Let's not get into that."

"Has she ever met her?"

"Probably not."

"What about you?"

Dad shook his head. "I bet she's a
firecracker."

Robbie laughed, and a little star burst to
life between Dad's mind and his.

"Now listen—" Dad turned serious.
"The rules may be nonsense. But you better use your head. Even great
explorers make fatal mistakes."

Robbie nodded. He remembered Shivers and
their headlong descent.

"What are the Big Two?" Dad
asked.

"Don't eat anything except
blueberries, and if you see a moose, don't stay in the open. Get behind a
tree."

"Right. And when you leave your
backyard, there's a third. Don't get lost. There are things you have to
do—"

"Like marking the way."

"Exactly. Make sure you always know
where you are. If you get excited about going this direction or that—before you
do, stop and look around. Which way did you come from? How will you find your
way back? What will stick in your memory if you get confused? That's
your
job, no one else's. Whether you're with a friend or alone." He gave Robbie
a searching look. "Got it?"

"Yep."

"You never know," Dad laughed.
"You might want to come home."

Robbie grinned and settled back, and Dad
began to read.

I
t rained for a
week. Robbie was stuck inside with Mom, or with Trudy when Mom was gone. Through
the back window, he watched the forest. Had Shivers claimed it? No, the trees
weren't bothered by the damp and the fog. They grew quickly. Wherever branch
ends met sky, there were sprays of leaves. Every day new bursts of green
appeared on the Hill, till the aspen tops swayed beneath resplendent crowns. It
was all happening without them.

Fristeen was never far from his thoughts.
He fogged the glass with his breath and drew her running: a stick figure in the
shrubs. And then she was there on the deck outside, waiting. It was nothing but
wishing—just fog and mist. So he rubbed her away and started again. It all
seemed impossible after what Mom had said.

When it was dark, he lay down, hoping for
sun the next day. And when he got up, it was still raining and his vigil
continued.

"Jim's coming over to play," Mom
said one morning. "You like him."

Robbie nodded.

He met Jim in kindergarten, but they
weren't really friends. Mom liked Jim's mom because she was smart and taught at
the University. She brought some books for Mom, and the two women talked in the
kitchen. Jim stood in the living room, checking things out.

He was holding something over his heart. It
was shiny and red—a plastic car. He sat down on the floor and looked this way
and that—the coast seemed clear. He bunched himself up, made a grumbling sound
and sprang forward, driving his car around a chair.

Robbie stood and watched. Jim had an
imagination, but it wasn't anything like his.

The car circled the sofa. Robbie followed
along. Jim jumped on the cushions and drove over the top. Suddenly, from his
throat came a gargling and crackling, and he raised his arm terribly and
brought it down. His arm was a chain saw. It cut the sofa in two. He drove the
car down the canyon, back onto the floor.

"I've been in the forest," Robbie
said over the noise.

The car careened past him and circled the
cordwood.

Robbie pointed through the window. "To
the top of the Hill."

Jim nodded excitedly and the grumbling
mounted.

"If it ever stops raining—"

"Watch me," Jim shouted. He drove
his car up the window and along the spine of the Hill.

Robbie frowned. Mom was wrong—he didn't
like Jim. And he was upset with himself. The forest was a secret. Jim descended
the glass and zoomed toward the stove. Robbie turned from the race and headed
for his room.
The forest,
he thought,
belongs to me and Fristeen.

That evening, he was with her. "Sweet
dreams," Dad said when he kissed him goodnight, and the place he drifted
into when the light switched off couldn't have been sweeter. No rain, no
Shivers, no Jim and no rules. Just a woodland wrung with yearning and Robbie in
it, gazing up. Fristeen— Fristeen filled the sky, her smile like the sun, and
no matter how much he drank of it, the warmth still poured down. Bedtime would
never darken the spirit again. This new light had such energy that it could
burn forever.

***

He woke the next morning feeling hollowed
out, expecting the worst. But when he peered through the window, the sky was
clear.

Mom left for work as soon as Trudy arrived.
It didn't take Trudy long to get absorbed in her things. She filed her nails,
she fussed with her curls, then she called one of her friends. She was facing
the back door, so Robbie crept out the front.

Rules and promises— Dad understood. Some
things you have to do, no matter what.

Not far from the edge of the Clearing, he
found a crooked path. The shrubs were dripping, and before he had lost sight of
the deck, his pants were soaked. He expected a house to burst into view, but
the path kept twisting. It entered a tall thicket. Could he find it? What if he
never saw her again?

Then the alders parted, and there it was. A
house smaller than his own, but full in the sun. Someone had painted it yellow.
Half of it, anyway. The other half was brown.

Was this where she lived?

Robbie stepped around to the front, patting
his thighs, very excited.

A big motorcycle, silver and black, was
parked on the gravel.

Who would answer the door? Fristeen?
Probably not. He strode up to it, mustered his courage and raised his hand to
knock. Then he stopped.

He could hear adult voices inside.

Robbie lowered his hand.

Suddenly the door swung open and a dark
figure barged out. Large boots and grimy jeans swept beneath a shiny black coat.
The man's cheeks were bearded and a swoop of black hair beetled over his brow.
In the gap between, suspicious eyes darted.

"Liberty caps, Duane," a woman
said from the doorway. "Don't forget."

The man nodded, folded some money and put
it in his pocket. He almost knocked Robbie down.

"Hey, shorty. Watch out."

He laughed and straddled his cycle, coat
squeaking like there were animals inside. Then his machine roared to life and
the gravel was flying. Robbie turned, taking the stings on his back and shoulders.

As the clamor subsided, he realized the
door was still ajar.

The woman stood watching him. She was
beautiful, with long chestnut hair that fell in sleek waves, and deep blue
eyes. She was wearing a robe, but it wasn't like Mom's.

"You must be Robbie."

He nodded. The robe was short and red, and
sun was caught in its folds.

"I'm Grace," she said.

Robbie smiled hello.

Her brows twitched strangely. For a moment,
he thought she was going to make fun of him. Then her features sobered and she
motioned him closer. She had something in her hand—a baggie with dried-up
plants inside.

"Would you like to come in?"

Robbie nodded.

Fristeen,
he thought as he
stepped through the door. Honey melting in tea—it was her smell. The living
room was different than his. All the stuff was on the floor where you could
reach it. A mattress, some pillows and blankets. Grace pointed at a cushion and
Robbie sat down.

"Fristeen," Grace called.
"Your friend is here."

A moment of silence, then a wild squeal. At
the rear, Robbie saw a door pry open. Fristeen peeked out and ducked back.

"Just a minute," Grace said.

She disappeared and Robbie could hear them
on the other side of the wall. Fristeen cried out and Grace made conciliating
sounds. Then Fristeen was chattering. "No," she insisted, "like
this." Grace made a disbelieving sound and Fristeen giggled. Still more
yammering, and then the door opened and Grace stepped forward.

"The angel will be with us soon."
She sat on the mattress opposite Robbie. "Well now. Finally." She
folded her legs beneath her and regarded him with curiosity.

It wasn't unpleasant. Not like when a
grownup inspects you. She had magical eyes, gentle and hesitant, and they drew
you inside, just like Fristeen's. And once you were in there, it was all wonder
and excitement and playful surprises.

"Not so fast, Romeo," Grace
laughed. "I've heard about you."

Robbie laughed back.

Grace reached for something on the
mattress. It was like a tiny box of Kleenex. She pulled some tissues out and
stuck them together. Then she opened the baggie and put some of the dried
plants inside. She fooled with it, and it turned into a cigarette. She lit it
and took a deep breath, peering through the smoke at him.

"I'm mystified." She exhaled in
his direction. "Fristeen says—"

Robbie sniffed at the sweet vapor.