The Indian in the Cupboard (20 page)

Patrick looked at him wonderingly. “I never thought of that,” he said slowly. “So there’d be nothing to stop us—months or even years from now—from bringing Boone and Little Bear back again. To visit.”

“I don’t know,” said Omri. “Maybe their time is different from ours. It would be awful if they were old, or—.” But he couldn’t say, “dead.” Both Boone and Little Bear came from such dangerous times. Omri shivered and changed the subject.

“As for our brothers coming,” he said, “all I want of my brothers is to keep that rat in its cage.” The rat had been caught by Omri after a long, patient wait with cheese and a fishing net, and Omri had threatened Gillon with the worst fate imaginable if he let it get away again.

The two boys went to Yapp’s after school and bought feast food for the ceremony—salted nuts, chips, and chocolate. Omri bought a quarter pound of the best meat at the butcher’s for tiny hamburgers (a teaspoonful would have been enough, but the butcher wasn’t interested in
that)
. They got bread, biscuits, cake, and soda from Omri’s mother, and Omri sneaked another dropperful of “the hard stuff,” without which Boone would certainly not consider it a festive occasion at all.

Omri was rather surprised Boone had agreed to be brother to a “stinkin’ redskin” at all, but Boone actually seemed rather to like the idea.

“T’ain’t jest anyone gits t’ be brother to an Injun chief, y’know,” he said proudly, as he rolled up his sleeve and Bright Stars carefully swabbed his arm with soap and water. But when he saw Little Bear sharpening his knife on a pebble he turned pale.

“Heck! It’ll hurt!” he muttered, but Patrick told him not to be a coward.

“It’s only a little nick, it’s nothing at all!”

“Easy fer you!” retorted Boone. “I ain’t so sure this is sich a nice idee, after all. …”

But he cheered up when he saw the campfire being kindled, and smelled the meat Bright Stars was cooking on a pointed stick; and when Omri gave him a good swig from the dropper he swaggered up to Little Bear and offered his arm with a drunken flourish.

“Chop away, brother,” he said loudly.

Little Bear went through a whole routine first, cleaning himself, offering up loud chanting prayers to the spirits, and performing a marvelous stomping dance around the fire. Then he nicked his own wrist with the point of his knife. The blood welled up. Boone took one look and burst into tears.

“Ah don’t wanna! Ah changed m’ mind!” he bawled. But it was too late for that. Little Bear seized his arm, and before Boone knew what was happening the deed was done.

Bright Stars bound their wrists together with a strip of hide torn from the hem of her red dress. Boone looked at it in a bemused way and said, “Gee whiz. We done it! I’m part Injun! Wal… Ah guess Ah cain’t say nothin’ ’gainst ’em in the future.”

Then the two “brothers” sat on the ground and Bright Stars served them the cooked meat and all the rest of the feast. Patrick and Omri offered their congratulations and started in on their own food. They kept the campfire going with tiny bits of broken matchsticks and a bit of coal dust Omri had collected in the outside bunker, which, when sprinkled on the flame, made it spit minute sparks. Looking at it, and the three little figures around it, the boys gradually lost their sense of size altogether.

“I feel as if I were the same as them,” murmured Patrick.

“Me too,” said Omri.

“I wish we
were
all the same size, then there’d be no problems.”

“Don’t be funny! No problems, with two full-grown Indians and a six-foot crying cowboy?”

“I meant if we were small. If we could enter their world-sleep in the longhouse, ride the horses—”

“I wouldn’t mind eating one of those hamburgers,” said Omri.

Bright Stars was now crouched by the fire, tending it, singing softly. One of the horses whinnied. Boone seemed to have dropped off to sleep, leaning on Little Bear’s shoulder. Little Bear alone was aware of the boys, watching them. He beckoned to Omri with his free hand.

When Omri bent to hear him, he said, “Now!”

“Now? You mean, to go back?”

“Good time. All happy. Not wait for morning.”

Omri looked at Patrick. He nodded slowly.

“When you go into the cupboard,” Omri said, “you must hold Bright Stars. Or she may not go back with you.”

“Woman go back with Little Bear. Little Bear hold, not let go. And horse! Little Bear only Iroquois with horse!”

“But Boone must go separately. Don’t drag
him
back to your time. Your people would kill him even if you are his new brother.”

Little Bear looked at Boone, asleep at his side, and at their joined wrists. Then he took his knife and cut the thong that bound them together. Patrick gently lifted Boone up.

“Don’t forget his hat! He’d never forgive us if we let him leave that behind.”

To be safe, they sat Boone on his horse. Cowboys often ride in their sleep, and he didn’t stir as Little Bear led him down the ramp, across the table, and up another ramp that Omri stood against the rim of the cupboard. Then Little Bear went back to the seed box. Carefully he and Bright Stars put out the fire with earth. Little Bear took a last look at his longhouse. Then he put Bright Stars onto his horse’s back and led them after Boone.

They stood all together in the bottom of the cupboard. Nobody spoke. Omri had his hand on the door when Patrick suddenly said, “I’m going to wake Boone up. I don’t care, I’ve got to say good-by to him!”

Hearing his name, Boone woke up by himself, so suddenly he nearly fell off his horse and had to clutch the high pommel of his saddle.

“Watcha want, kid?” he asked Patrick, whose face was close to him.

“You’re going home, Boone. I wanted to say good-by.”

Boone stared at him and then his face slowly crumpled.

“Ah cain’t stand sayin’ good-by,” he choked out as tears began to stream. He pulled a huge red grubby handkerchief from his pocket. “Ah jest re-fuse t’ say it, that’s all! Ah’ll only bust out cryin’ if Ah do.” And he blew a trumpet blast on his nose.

Omri and Little Bear were staring at each other. Something else was needed—some special farewell. It was Little Bear who thought of it.

“Omri give hand!”

Omri put his hand forward. The horse braced his legs but Little Bear held him steady. Little Bear took hold of Omri’s little finger, drew his knife, and pricked it in the soft part. A drop of blood appeared. Then Little Bear solemnly pressed his own right wrist against the place and held it there.

“Brother,” he said, looking up at Omri with his fierce black eyes for the last time.

Omri withdrew his hand. Little Bear jumped onto the back of his horse behind Bright Stars, holding her around the waist so that he, she, and the horse made one unit that could not be separated during whatever kind of unearthly journey they had to make together through the unknown regions of time, space—proportion.

Little Bear raised his arm in the Indian salute.

Omri put his hand on the door. He nearly couldn’t do it. He had to set his teeth. Boone and his horse stood patiently, but the Indian’s horse started to prance and sidle. It put up its head and gave a long, challenging neigh.

“Now!” cried Little Bear.

Omri drew in his breath, closed the door, and turned the key.

He and Patrick stood frozen with the sadness, the strangeness of it. The magic was working at this moment. … Both of them silently counted to ten. Then, very slowly, Omri, whose hand had not left the key, turned it back again and swung open the door.

There they were, the two plastic groups—forms, outlines, shells of the real, real creatures they had been. Each boy lifted out his own and helplessly examined it. The life-giving details were blurred—plastic can’t show fine beadwork, the perfection of hair and muscle, the folds of hide, the sheen of a horse’s coat or the beauty of a girl’s skin. The figures were there, but the people, the personalities, were gone.

Patrick’s eyes met Omri’s. Both were wet.

“We could bring them back. Just as quick,” Patrick said huskily.

“No.”

“No … I know. They’re home by now.”

Omri put his group—the Indian, the girl, and the horse—on the shelf nearest his bed where he could see it easily. He laid the beaded belt—still real—beside it. Patrick slipped the mounted cowboy into his pocket, keeping his hand around it almost as if to keep it warm.

Then Omri took the key and left the room.

His mother was in the kitchen getting everyone a hot drink before bed. She took one look at Omri’s face and her hands became still.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Mum, I want you to keep this key. I lost it. Lucky I found it again; you told me it was important. Better if you keep it. Please.”

She nearly refused, but then, looking at him, she changed her mind and took the key from him.

“I’ll get a chain and wear it,” she said, “like I always meant to.”

“You
won’t lose it, will you?”

She shook her head, and suddenly reached for him and hugged his face against her. He was shaking. He broke away and ran back to his room, where Patrick was still standing with his hand in his pocket gazing at the cupboard.

“Come on, I’m going to put all sorts of medicines in it,” Omri said loudly. “Bottles of pills and stuff Mum’s finished with. We’ll pretend it’s a doctor’s drug cupboard, and we can mix lots of them together. …”

His voice petered out. Those were silly games, such as he had played—before. He didn’t feel the slightest interest in them now.

“I’d rather go for a walk,” said Patrick.

“But what shall I do with the cupboard?” asked Omri desperately.

“Leave it empty,” said Patrick. “In case.”

He didn’t say in case what. But he didn’t have to. Just to know you
could
. That was enough.