Under Plum Lake

by Lionel Davidson

  “Locked,” Dido said. “They've got us. Now we have to lock ourselves.”

  There was a bench in the cockpit, and he sat me on it, and then himself. I don't know what else he did, but I was suddenly stuck. I couldn't move. “We'll drop a bit,” he said. “Don't worry.”

  “Drop where?”

  “Into the abyss. It's nothing. There is nothing. Don't worry,” he said again. But I saw he was worrying himself. “You've got to forget this,” he said quietly. “You're absolutely not supposed to see this!”

  The boat had started slowly moving. It was moving towards the wall of mist. I saw now the mist was made up of enormous clouds, moving in a circular motion, up and around, towards us. They seemed to be trying to push us back. Then we were in them, and wherever I looked there were clouds. They were a greyish white, and in furious motion, as if they were pummelling the boat, squeezing it. We seemed to be sliding and slithering through them as if on bumpy ice, and presently Dido said, “Hang on!” and we fell off.

  We fell off the edge of something.

  The nose of the boat dropped and the tail came up and we fell. We fell and fell, the boat toppling end over end. I could feel us falling and toppling but I couldn't see where. We'd fallen into total blackness. It was black outside, and black in. I couldn't see Dido, or myself, or even the dials. The dials had gone out. There was nothing at all to be seen.

  Still weirder, we'd dropped into utter silence. There was no sound of any kind. In blackness and silence we tumbled and fell, and he said, “Barry, don't be afraid!”

  I shouted, “I can't see!”

  I shouted as loudly as I could, but no sound came out. And it hadn't from him. He'd spoken into my mind.

  “There are no light waves,” he said. “There are no sound waves. There's nothing here. There's only thought. They've got us on thought — don't worry. They'll hold us and steer us through.”

  And as he said it I felt us being held and steadied. And we were rising. We were rising and going forward, although still turning slightly; and again I felt a kind of vibration as if the boat was straining towards something and being pushed back. And he said, “Barry, if you see something, turn your head away. Don't look at it!”

  “What is it?”

  “The world creating itself. You mustn't see it, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  But I saw it.

  Just for a fraction of a second I saw it, and looked away but all the same felt blinded.

  I couldn't believe what I saw. But the boat turned and I saw it again, and this time closed my eyes, and still saw it.

  Behind closed eyes I could see it.

  A gigantic pillar, shining like an iceberg, broad as a river, made of light. It was all of light, but it gave no light. It kept its light.

  All around was blackness. In the boat was blackness. The iceberg of light moved majestically upwards, a great molten mass, brighter than a furnace, brighter than the sun. Bits of it had crumbled off, and the bits moved upwards with it.

  Behind closed lids, I felt my eyes searing. I felt my brain coming apart. I knew I was screaming, but no sound came out. I felt a hand on my head, and knew it was Dido's, and then everything went.

  The terrible light went, and the blackness.

  There was just his hand, on my head. And I was lying somewhere, and music was playing.

  “Don't move,” he said.

  He was watching me.

  I was on the sofa again in the main room, and the whole room was bobbing gently.

  “What happened?” I said.

  “We're back, in the world above. In your world,” he said. He was bending over me, holding my head. “Look at me.”

  I looked in his green eyes.

  “You saw it,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I'll take it away now. I'll take everything away.”

  “No. Dido—wait.”

  “I can't,” he said. “I have to get you back. It's almost dawn there.”

  “Just for a moment —” I said, and found I couldn't say any more. My eyes seemed locked on his. There was a strange flicker in the green eyes, and a prickling sensation in my head. At the same moment I had a dizzy dream-like feeling that I wasn't me, but him watching me; and I was watching things in my head — things that flashed past like a speeded-up film. I knew it was me in the film, but what I was doing in it made no sense.

  I was doing crazy things.

  I was flying in a purple night.

  I was watching a lake glow in the sky.

  Then it wasn't a lake but a moat, and whales were racing round it, and I was racing with them. I was cascading in the air with the whales, and then they were in the sea below me; except the sea was a lake of silver now, and there was a cliff in it with the black hole of a cave, and a little canoe bobbing in the moonlight. I was swimming to the canoe, and suddenly this was so familiar — the only thing familiar — that I shouted out loud. I shouted with all my strength, but it came out as a bleat, a shout from a dream. “Dido — stop there! I remember the canoe. What happened to the canoe?”

  The flicker stopped in his eyes, and he paused.

  “Well,” he said, “I'll show you. Just for a minute.”

  He turned, and a door appeared in the back wall. “Can you move?” he said.

  I said, “Of course I can move,” but I found I couldn't. I was weak as a kitten.

  “You've got to feel like that,” he said. “I'll help you.”

  My legs were so weak I could hardly stand. He got me to the door, and up some steps, and we were in the canoe, and I sat and looked round with amazement.

  It was the same canoe. But it was in the wrong place. It was in the wrong time.

  It had been the middle of the night when I'd got in it—just minutes before — and it had been bobbing by the cliff, in moonlight. Now it was in a vast sunlit ocean, and there wasn't a cliff in sight. There was nothing in sight.

  “Where are we?” I said.

  He pointed.

  “Over there is China. And behind us, Australia. We're over the Marianas Trench, the deepest spot of the sea. Below it is the Glister Deep, and below that the abyss. You won't remember any of it.”

  I didn't. I didn't know what he was talking about. And I didn't know what was happening to me. Even while he was talking I was forgetting what he said. I had the strangest feeling I was draining away. I had a feeling a lot of things had happened, and they'd happened with him. Yet I knew I'd only just met him. I'd met him in the cave. I'd gone down to the cave in the middle of the night, and I suddenly remembered I shouldn't have. I remembered I had to go back.

  “I have to go back,” I said.

  “Yes, we'll go back.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Only minutes.”

  This was crazy. It was impossibly crazy.

  “How long have we been gone?” I said.

  “Three days.”

  “Three days! But —”

  “It's all right. Everything is in your head. They've put it there. We've got to move now.”

  “But — my clothes,” I said. He'd got me up and we were moving, and I'd suddenly realized I was wearing strange clothes. I was wearing a kind of tunic, with sandals. “Where are my jeans, the rest of my clothes— ?”

  “You'll have them,” he said. “You'll be back in them. They're damp, but you'll find out why.”

  “And my watch. And the flashlight.”

  “The watch is okay. You'll find it going. The batteries in the flashlight wore out. You'll understand all this. You'll understand it on the shelf.”

  “Shelf? What shelf?”

  He was stretching me out on the sofa. “There's no time,” he said. “But Barry, listen — I won't forget you!”

  “I won't forget you,” I said.

  “You will. You're forgetting me already. You've forgotten my name.”

  I looked at him; and I had! I couldn't remember who he was. Moment by moment, it was all going.
/>   “It's late,” he said, “but I'll tell you something else. The specialists said — there were specialists but you won't remember — the specialists said you had a good mind. They said you had a good body. They said unless some accident happens, you'll have a great life. I'll see no accident happens. I'll try as hard as I can. I'll always watch you, Barry. I'll be your good angel. You won't know it, and there's no point in telling you. And you'd better settle down now.” He had his hands on my head. “In a few minutes you'll wake up and hear it all start again.”

  “Wake up where? Hear what?” I said.

  “Well,” he said, and paused. And that's the last I remember of him. I remember the sea glinting behind him, and his head bent over mine. “You'll hear,” he said, and he seemed to be listening, “you'll hear a kind of roaring sound.”

  Part Four: Dream Journeys

  27. The Planted Memories

  I heard a kind of roaring sound. I'd heard every kind of sound the last few days of wind and gale. I turned on my side and looked towards the cave mouth. I was on a stone shelf at the back of the cave, chilled to the bone and aching all over. It was lighter outside so I knew I'd slept a bit. It was a dirty grey light. Another day had come.

  I tried to remember how many I'd been here. Was it three days or four? It was dark on the shelf and I felt for the flashlight, and then remembered I'd tried it before and the battery had given out. It had given out long ago. I swung my legs off the shelf, and felt my head swim again.

  I was weak as a kitten. It wasn't so much hunger. That was just an ache now. The dizziness was worse. I felt dizzy every time I moved.

  My feet touched ground and I stood, and leaned against the shelf, waiting for everything to stop spinning. I wondered what I was going to do.

  I couldn't jump up to the step on the cliff. I didn't have the strength; apart from climbing the cliff itself. I'd had an idea I might wait for the storm to die, and take my clothes off and swim back. With the tide running, I'd float most of the way. Now I didn't have the strength for that, either. It was a crazy thing I'd done!

  I remembered coming down the cliff in the moonlight.

  I remembered jumping off the last step and exploring the inside of the cave, and suddenly realizing that the sea outside was becoming rough. I'd hesitated too long. Waves had begun slapping the step. They'd slapped everywhere. They'd started washing into the cave. The whole floor of the cave had become a pool, and I'd gone to the back and found the shelf there.

  My clothes felt damp now. They'd been damp for days.

  I'd known right away I was in trouble. After the first day I knew it was serious trouble. I thought I'd have to wait for the sea to stop pounding the step, and creep back, and take what was coming to me. But it had got worse. The sea hadn't stopped pounding. It had gone on and on.

  My legs were so rubbery I didn't think I'd make it to the cave mouth. I thought I'd try it on hands and knees. But there were still pools of water everywhere.

  I started lurching through the water. My head thudded at every movement, and even the murky light outside hurt my eyes.

  But I could see it was different out there now. There wasn't the angry white flash of the sea. There wasn't the grinding sound of it pouring back off the cliff.

  I went up the two steps to the platform and stood there a moment, swaying. I didn't dare go right to the edge. I thought I'd fall in. I just hung on to the side of the cave, and lowered myself into an inch of cold water. I was so exhausted I couldn't even bother getting out of it. I just sat there in the pool of water and looked at the sea.

  It was the colour of lead now, with a sullen heavy swell. There was no white foam any more. I couldn't make out if it was coming or going. I couldn't make out the roaring sound, either. It wasn't the wind. It was hoarser, and sharper. It must be the birds. I'd heard them, too. During the storm some of them had fluttered into the cave before realizing I was there; and then had fluttered out again, frightened. It was like bird noise, but different. The birds were calling in English.

  With my head going round and round, I realized the birds were people.

  I tried to get up, but couldn't. I just rolled forward on my hands and knees. I must have looked like a dog there, a half-starved dog peering out of the cave. They saw me right away. And I saw them.

  I saw the boat with the three figures in oilskins.

  I saw one of them had a police uniform underneath, and another was using a long pole to keep the boat away from the cliff.

  I looked hard at the other. I looked so hard my eyes swam and his head became two, and then one again. But both ways he was my father.

  I remember the boat chugging slowly back to the cove, and them carrying me across the beach and up the rocky path. I remember a crooked ceiling and knowing I was in my own room again. Then a floating feeling, and I was in bed.

  I heard Annie squeaking. She was squeaking, “Why has he got his watch on? Did he go swimming in it? Why has he got his clothes on? Did he go swimming in them?”

  I wished she'd stop squeaking.

  The room was full of people. One of them had a stethoscope round his neck, and was sitting on my bed, feeling my pulse.

  Later my mother was there, alone, and she was giving me spoonfuls of soup. The soup was too hot and it was going down my chin.

  She said I had to drink something from a glass. It was bitter and I couldn't get it down. But I tried a few times, and I did get it down.

  I must have slept.

  I had a dream.

  I had the weirdest dream.

  I was flying, in a purple night.

  28. The Book of Dreams

  Quietly now. I've got to keep my mind quiet. I don't want to write the next bit. I don't even want to think of it. They thought I was crazy. I thought I was, too. My father didn't question me much. (They'd got him back from town when I was missing.) He hardly questioned me at all. They were very careful with me. They said I was delirious for days. I'd been yelling in my sleep, and sometimes even when I wasn't asleep.

  After a couple of weeks we went back to town, but they still didn't question me. They just kept watching me. And at the end of term I went to the doctor.

  Nobody knew what was the matter with me.

  I couldn't concentrate on anything. I kept looking out of the window. I had a feeling I'd lost something. I couldn't think what it was. But I couldn't think of anything else, either.

  The doctor couldn't find anything wrong with me, but he said I had to have some special tests.

  I had the tests, and my mother took me back to him, and he asked when I'd broken my shoulder.

  My mother said I'd never broken it.

  He was looking at an X-ray, and he said I had. He said it was a beautiful job of resetting, and so well healed that it must have been done years ago, so maybe I'd done it as a baby and she'd forgotten.

  My mother was so angry at the idea of her forgetting that he just laughed and said maybe they'd sent the wrong X-ray. But then he asked another thing. He asked why kites reminded me of death.

  I saw he'd got my papers on his desk. They'd asked me questions during the tests, and I'd had to say the first thing I could think of.

  I told him I didn't know.

  He read a bit more, and then he looked up again and asked why darkness should remind me of an iceberg.

  I said I didn't know that, either.

  He brooded a while and said he thought I'd better see one more specialist.

  This specialist was a woman and she scared the wits out of me. I knew she'd heard about my being stuck in the cave, and my answers about kites and icebergs were right there on her desk. But she never mentioned any of them. She did it a tricky way of her own. She talked about being locked in cupboards, and about an air accident there'd been (a plane had blown up over the Arctic, killing everybody in it), and if I'd read anything about it.

  I said I'd read a bit.

  She asked if I dreamed.

  I started saying no, but my mother said yes. She sa
id I'd been yelling in my dreams.

  The specialist asked what I remembered of them, and I said: nothing.

  She said the way to remember dreams was to keep a notebook and write them down first thing in the morning. She said you had to do it fast because they faded fast, and would I do that for her?

  I said I would, but I knew I wouldn't.

  I saw right away she thought I was crazy, so I wasn't going to give her the proof. I thought I'd keep the dreams to myself.

  The notebook seemed a good idea, though, so I kept one. I kept one till I found my mother was reading it, and then I kept two. I kept one for my mother by the bedside, and one for me, under the pillow.

  I had a problem working out dreams for my mother. I ran out of old ones and started writing whatever I could think of. She didn't notice the difference, and when we went back to the specialist, she didn't notice it, either. But from the dreams I'd made up, she got an idea which was useful. She got the idea I was jealous of Annie.

  The first thing that happened was that Annie got put to bed early. She was being a colossal pest just then and she kicked up a row for days, but it didn't help her. They kept putting her to bed early. And the specialist's idea kept on being useful.

  Annie knew about my dreams, and she used to come in the room early to see if I'd had one. She caught me once with the notebook under the pillow. She didn't get the point of it, but it worried me, so I started being ‘jealous’. I yelled that they let her do anything, that they let her come barging in my room, and that they thought more of her than they did of me.

  That stopped her coming in, and Annie didn't know why. She'd always come in my room. She couldn't understand why everyone had started picking on her, and all that happened was she got jealous of me. I was sorry about it, but I couldn't bother with her. I was too bothered with my dreams. I was having fantastic dreams. I was having more and more of them.

  The one she'd caught me with was important. I'd had it in the middle of the night. I'd woken up sweating, so I knew I'd dreamed. I reached for the notebook without waiting to put the light on. I just wrote it in the dark, and put the notebook back and went to sleep again. I had another in the morning, and I was just adding it when she caught me.