Carson read his sour expression. ‘Now, Nathan, we don’t mean to make fun at your expense. It’s just that . . . well, this isn’t your normal town. I mean, you already know that, don’t you?’
Nathan made no sign to agree, though he could have. More than anything, he found it strange that he didn’t feel more guarded; the unknown was present in abundance and the unnatural seemed hinted at as well, yet he felt only vaguely uneasy, not threatened or imperilled. There was calm in this muted, white world. A tepid musky smell wafted through the fog and seemed to instil a bucolic torpor. Nathan was reminded of a hundred old films noirs when the sultry seductress slipped the hero a mickey. He didn’t want to lose his wits. Nathan breathed in deep, trying to draw clean air from between the particles of mist.
‘Yes, I expect you do,’ Carson answered the lingering question for him. ‘But you don’t know the half of it yet. Luelle, is T.R. around?’
Luelle huffed. ‘Is T.R. around? Bet yo’ ass he’s around.’ Luelle let her eyelids droop and cocked her head coyly. ‘But you know how jealous he gets.’
Nathan looked at Carson to see if he should be worried. Carson retained his beatific smile and nodded to Luelle.
Luelle sat still, staring straight ahead.
From the shallow darkness of the house, a man’s voice called, ‘Luelle?’
Carson said, ‘Door’s closed, Luelle.’
Luelle started. ‘Oh!’ She pushed herself up from her chair with difficulty. Unashamedly, she pulled the gathered material of her sweatpants from between her buttocks. She waddled a few steps to the entrance and pulled open the screen door, which protested with a pained creak. A man stepped out of the house onto the porch. He was a deep chocolate colour; his shoulder-length hair was soaked with Jheri-curl. A thin moustache sat atop full, fig-toned lips. He wore a leather jacket sectioned into block shapes of red, green, white and black over a ruffled white shirt tucked into tight acid-washed jeans. His eyes darted back and forth between Luelle and Nathan. Luelle let the screen door slam back against the frame behind him.
‘Evenin’, Carson. Sure is nice to have company.’
Nathan thought the man’s mellow baritone wavered queerly like a worn cassette recording.
‘Luelle, uh,’ he leaned close to her and asked nervously, ‘who’s this, darlin’?’
‘T.R., meet,’ she paused and then announced, ‘Nathan,’ like it was the manliest name ever imagined. She cooed like a belle, ‘Did I get that right?’
Nathan didn’t like the tone and chose not to respond.
T.R. scolded her unevenly, ‘Now, Luelle, you know you best not be steppin’ out on me. I wouldn’t like that.’ It seemed like a poorly-acted play to Nathan; there was no believable conviction to T.R.’s admonition.
He couldn’t deny the heat in Luelle’s reply, though: ‘Oh, I best not be steppin’ out on you?’
T.R. bowed slightly towards Luelle and clasped his hands together. ‘Baby, please. Don’t be upset. You know you’re the only one for me.’
‘Mm-hmm. We can talk about this later. You bet yo’ ass we’ll talk about this later.’ She turned her head to look at Nathan and smiled darkly as she commanded T.R., ‘Right now, I want you to go on back inside the house.’
T.R. shifted uncomfortably. He glanced over at the door. ‘Baby . . .’
‘Go on back inside!’
T.R. shot a glance at Nathan that held more fear than jealousy, yet somehow little personality. Then T.R. turned and stepped through the unopened door and into the darkness beyond.
A wave of dizziness knocked Nathan backwards. ‘Oh, shit!’ His legs spread wide and he bent forward to keep his balance. His stare remained fixed on the closed screen door for several seconds. He pointed at the door. ‘What!?’
Luelle and Carson smiled broadly.
‘We’re sorry,’ Carson chuckled, ‘You must pardon us our fun; we get so few newcomers. And, honestly, there is no easy introduction. There you have it: Not every person in this town is really a person. Interested in the nickel tour? It won’t take long. Of course, you’ll have plenty of time to get to know it.’
‘I don’t—hoo—,’ Nathan discovered he was having trouble breathing. ‘I don’t intend to stay.’ He looked around to make sure no one had crept up while he was distracted.
Carson drew his bushy brows together. ‘Oh, now, no worries. You can leave anytime you want. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just . . . you won’t want to leave.’
‘Mm-hmm.’
Nathan held one arm out straight in front of his body defensively. ‘I want to use your phone. I just need to call roadside assistance and I’ll be on my way.’
‘Boy got no sense of adventure. Or no sense at all.’
‘Luelle, please. You know quite well it wasn’t any easier for you when you arrived. Hell, you hit like a tornado!’ Carson took a step towards Nathan. ‘No phone.’ He shrugged and displayed empty palms upward. ‘We’re not exactly plugged in . . . anywhere. Are you sure you wouldn’t care for a look around?’ Carson smiled with foreknowledge of victory.
Nathan thought he heard the peal of children’s laughter in the distance. He asked, ‘What’s everybody doing up at this hour of night?’
Carson shot a quick glance skyward. ‘Oh, is it night? You never know around here. Ah! But of course it’s night. Isn’t it always deep in the dead of night when someone new arrives?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘So you don’t know when the fog will lift?’ Nathan knew it was a stupid question even before he asked it.
Carson didn’t laugh, but tilted his head empathetically. ‘I’m sure you’ve guessed already,’ he said. ‘The fog never lifts here. We wouldn’t want it to.’
An intelligent question—a very strange but important question, in his estimation—occurred to Nathan: ‘You don’t know where the town is right now, do you?’
Carson’s face beamed admiration for Nathan’s intuition. ‘That’s right!’
‘But you said I can leave anytime I want. But how can you know that? How do you know how long it is before the . . . door closes or—or the town moves on again?’
‘Ah! The way is always open, and the town doesn’t move—for any of us. At least, that’s how I understand it. You see, if you leave, you would be back on the side of the road in . . .’
‘Ohio.’
‘Ohio! Yes. And Luelle here would step out onto an alley in Biloxi. I would be on a hillside above a frozen lake in Connecticut. But I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to ever go back to that.’
‘Ya damn right,’ Luelle growled from her perch. ‘Go on with the man. It ain’t a big town. Won’t cost you nothin’ to look.’
‘But if you’ve never left . . .’ Nathan began.
Carson completed the thought, ‘How would I know where I would be when I came out? It . . . comes to you. There’s knowledge in the fog. Mostly it takes thought, but there are some certainties it provides, little explanations in an unspoken compact. No, no—let me anticipate you—it asks nothing in return. No sacrifices, no pledges. It is just a special place for people like us.’
‘People like us?’
‘Dreamers! Romantics!’ Carson turned halfway, inviting Nathan to follow. ‘It really would be better to show you.’
Nathan searched his thoughts and found relievedly that he felt no overriding compulsion to stay. He felt he could leave if he wanted to, and that eased his anxiety. Though this place was clearly unnatural—perhaps because the town was unnatural—his primal ‘flight’ response was disengaged. He felt sure that, for better or worse, this was something that would only happen once in his life, and curiosity bloomed. Also, he saw no advantage to leaving: after a hike in the dark, he’d just be back on the side of the road again, waiting for the fog—the normal fog—to clear. And when it did clear, he’d go on with his life, wasting time wondering about the strange town he’d never again see.
He motioned for Carson to lead on.
They walked on a wide, wel
l-tamped dirt road between two uneven rows of wood buildings. A few small houses preceded a few larger houses before they could see what looked like a set Nathan thought, straight out of a Western. The raised walkways in front of the ‘commercial’ buildings affirmed the idea. Dim lights shone from inside random rooms in the residences, and staggered lamps illuminated the street.
‘Electricity,’ Nathan observed.
‘Well, near enough to it,’ Carson said. ‘Light’s not really a problem; if you want more, you get it. But, of course, I’m sure you know that less is more when it comes to light in the fog.’
The sound of the laughing children crossed their path ahead out of sight. A knocking sound erupted to their left.
A man was pounding a nail into a plank on one of the walkways. Several other boards lay nearby. Nathan saw that there had been a second-storey balcony above, but half of it was gone. It appeared the man had cannibalised the balcony to fix the boardwalk. The man seemed exasperated; he was trying to knock straight a bent nail.
‘Phil,’ Carson called softly.
Phil rolled back on his haunches and turned. ‘Hey, Carson.’ He looked at Nathan. ‘Not your usual.’
‘No, no. This is Nathan; he’s new to town.’
‘Oh!’ Phil jumped up and wiped his hand on dirty jeans before offering it. ‘Phil Lewis, Oklahoma City.’
Nathan introduced himself. ‘You look like you’re having some trouble there.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Phil regarded his efforts, both destruction and reclamation. ‘The boards are good enough. It’s not like I was making use of the view.’ He smiled and turned towards the others, as if expecting a laugh. ‘Heh. Well, the problem is using the nails again. Probably I’ll just knock them out and lay the planks down. It’s not like they get that much traffic. So what if they bounce a little, right?’
Carson patted him on the arm. ‘It’s good work you’re doing there, Phil. I’m sure everyone appreciates it.’
‘Thanks, Carson. I guess I better get to it while the spirit moves me. We’re burning daylight, right?’ He gave another waiting smile.
Carson patted him again and nodded before turning away. When he and Nathan were back in the middle of the street, Carson said, ‘It’s like it’s out of a Western, isn’t that what you were thinking? That’s what everyone thinks. Because they’re right: This was a town somewhere once, some prospecting town where the mother lode never panned out. Maybe the town didn’t like being abandoned and let the fog swallow it up. Or maybe someone called down the fog somehow; I found a set of bones in the stables when I arrived. I couldn’t say how ‘here’ became ‘here’. The upshot is that, physically, there are limitations; we have to make do with what we have. But it’s nothing you’ll miss. Look here.’
A woman walked towards them, though Nathan could tell she was not approaching them. She walked with the steady indifference he had seen displayed by the woman on the path. She was a much plainer woman than the other, almost mousy, with flat, brown hair and round, protuberant cheekbones. When she had nearly passed them, Carson, called softly, ‘Claire.’ The woman stopped. Nathan saw that Carson was staring at her hard. She turned and her face lit up. Her whole body roused as if from sleep; though the change was subtle, Nathan couldn’t help but think that there was now life in her body.
‘Hi, Carson. It’s good to see you again. It’s always good to see one of Phil’s friends.’
Carson indicated, ‘Claire, this is Nathan.’
Claire turned to look at Nathan but couldn’t seem to focus on him, as though he weren’t there.
‘You have to think at her,’ Carson advised.
Nathan was unsure what that meant. Carson nodded towards Claire enthusiastically and put his fingers to his temples to indicate concentration. Nathan felt queasy. He didn’t want to look at Claire and think about her. It wasn’t just her—something about the entire situation ran contrary to his nature and it unsettled him. Nevertheless, Nathan felt the best thing to do was to follow instructions. He looked at Claire, at her searching eyes; he read the inquisitive concern on her face and thought . . . it’s like I should tell her I’m here. Or like I should make myself be here. Or . . . I should make her be here.
Claire’s face brightened. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Nathan. Are you a friend of my husband’s?’
‘We just met,’ Nathan muttered.
‘Well then, you’ll be friends soon. It’s always nice to meet a new friend of Phil’s.’
The light drifted out from Claire’s eyes and she turned slowly to go. She shuddered twice while Nathan felt a jerky falling sensation in his head.
‘You can relax your mind. I’ve dropped her from my thoughts,’ Carson said. ‘She’ll wander until Phil wants her again.’
Nathan thought to say something but instead felt his strength drain out and he dropped to one knee. He was surprised to find his hand clasped in Carson’s for support.
‘You’ll be used to it in no time at all. Once you’re connected, really a part of the town, the engine stays on.’ Carson tapped his forehead.
‘Lost love,’ Nathan panted. He let Carson help him to his feet. ‘Is it the same for everyone?’
‘Not for all, but for most. Though it’s we who are lost, isn’t it? That’s how we find our way here. We can lose more than love—you’ll see—but isn’t that the main thing? Makes the world go ’round? So, yes, mostly it’s lost love. It can go away, like T.R., or it can be taken from us, like Claire, or . . . or it can never be. I don’t think the means matter in the end. Not really.’ Carson sniffed and worked his lower lip over the top one several times. He gazed between the buildings, out beyond the town. Then he brightened suddenly and clapped his hands together. ‘Well! We have more to see! Shall we?’
But before they could recommence their tour, a half-dozen children burst from between the buildings and ran past them. Nathan thought they were playing a sort of chasing game, as the largest boy (maybe ten or twelve) brandished a strip of coloured fabric teasingly, though Nathan noticed that the others held similar strips in their hands even as they chased their leader. The children were laughing and calling after each other as they passed out of sight around the corner of another building. Their joyful noise lingered briefly before being subsumed in the dull quiet.
Carson gazed after them. ‘Ah, the hardest loss of all—the loss of a child; and so you see what might be the greatest comfort this place bestows. There have been quite a few to pass through over the years yearning for the chance to see their babies again.’
‘Pass through?’
‘Oh, yes. I told you, you can leave whenever you want. These children’s parents had their son or daughter taken from them too quickly to adjust, too tragically to understand what had happened. They needed to say goodbye. It’s a beautiful gift the fog afforded them; we can all be thankful for that.’
‘Pass through?’
Carson was perplexed by Nathan’s indignation. ‘Well, sure. I . . . I don’t think I understand. . . .’
‘They just left them here?’
Carson laughed. ‘Oh! Oh, now I see! Well, it’s not as though they could take their “children” with them when they left. My boy—you must remember—these aren’t real people. They’re . . . oh, I don’t want to say they’re playthings because that’s not right at all. They’re so much more than that. They are our dreams, our hearts’ most fervent wishes. They are our creations.’
Nathan stared at him.
‘Well, of course! Where did you think they came from? From us. You saw how our thoughts energised Claire? Creation is much more involved—but much more rewarding. Really, it’s not actually hard, because it’s the reason you found this place. After all, what could be easier than thinking about your heart’s desire? You’ll see. And you’ll be happy. I know you will, because I know it’s the same for you. Lost love, eh?’
Carson’s prompt brought Charise to mind; Nathan thought about where she was right then and he burned to be with her. He ached with je
alousy and self-reprisal and with longing most of all. Then the tightness in his chest and stomach burst and something flashed cold in every nerve. A sudden wave of power coursed up from the ground and gathered at his head, a crackling, buzzing halo. He heard Carson’s voice distorted and muffled saying, ‘So fast!’ There was a thrilling deliriousness to the energy but Nathan did not think it debilitating or intoxicating because there came with it the knowledge of power and an understanding of its profit: the sated rapture of triumph. It seemed a perfect goal, easily attained.
The idea of Charise began to take form as a picture of her in his mind, becoming clear around the edges, infused with her scent. But then a splinter of doubt, a prickling of horror, needled into Nathan’s thought. I don’t want this, not this way, he thought. He heard Carson again, ‘Use it, boy! You can’t push it away!’ Nathan didn’t know if that were true or not; he didn’t know the rules at all. He did know that he had to get the power away from him somehow, fast. So he thought of something strong in his memory, something true that always came back to him with a smile. A vacuum popped the bubble around Nathan’s head and his senses became immediately clear.
‘You’re a natural! I knew it as soon as I saw you. She’ll appear soon, don’t worry. She’ll walk right up the street out of the fog. You’ll see.’
Nathan breathed deep and checked his faculties. He clenched and relaxed his fists. ‘Didn’t think of her,’ he said.
‘Oh?’ Carson looked doubtfully at Nathan, and then circled slowly to peer into the fog in all directions.
Soft piano chords faded in, impressionistic jazz chords, complex but not complicated, not if you know how. Call that one a major six with a flat nine if you have to. Or don’t give it a name at all.
Nathan smiled. He didn’t need some old white man from the Twilight Zone to tell him that he could create; he had found that out for himself one unimportant afternoon in a stuffy practice room with an almost-out-of-tune upright. He’d write better material later on, of course, but he kept those chords close to his heart, that delicate, summer-sad progression, and he had played it often in solitude ever since. The song didn’t matter, the moment did: the moment when he knew he had something to give.
The Hidden Back Room Page 10
