The Weight of Memory

by Shawn Smucker

  Meanwhile, I feel completely rejuvenated. Maybe it was the stars or the breeze or the spray off the lake, but I feel alive again. I reach up to touch the knot, overcome with this sense that it is gone, that life has returned to normal. Relief spreads through me even as I raise my hand—if it’s not there, you and I can go home. Our life can go on. I can almost taste the hope.

  But the knot remains. It feels harder than before, almost brittle. And instead of it shifting when I touch it, I can feel where its roots have lodged into my skull. The sensation makes me shiver. I wish I wouldn’t have touched it. I wish I wouldn’t have checked on it.

  Tom and I walk up the dock to the cabin. The recently fallen leaves swish and crackle under our feet, and rising from the ground is that smell of the woods before winter, that smell of dirt and decay racing to finish its work before the first freeze. We make no attempt at silence. We check the deck door and Tom rattles the handle loudly, proving to me that he kept it locked, that there is no way you could have gone inside, even if you possessed the miraculous ability to come all this way. The two of us turn and walk to the other side of the cabin, which seems much bigger now that we are standing under its nighttime shadow. There is, in my mind, nothing to be afraid of.

  Until we turn the corner, because there before us is the front door, open.

  Tom looks frustrated that this open door could even possibly go along with the idea of you being here, so he peeks his head inside and shouts your name. We listen. Nothing.

  Where have you gone?

  “Satisfied?” Tom asks.

  I stand there in the silence as he takes out his keys and locks the door. I lean my head back and take in the trees. The stars are slowly vanishing, disintegrating into nothingness as clouds sift into the sky above us.

  “We should go.” Tom clears his throat and seems to be making an attempt at some sort of peace between us. “There’s a storm coming. Maybe Pearl has already come home.”

  While I would stay out all night looking for you, storm or no storm, his words remind me that you do normally return home on your own, in your own time. I nod, and we make our way to the back of the cabin, the dock, the boat, and the lake.

  “I really don’t know what to do with her,” I admit. It is my own peace offering, and he takes it.

  “Children can be . . .” He glances at me, keeps walking. “Children can be hard to understand. Their minds don’t work the way ours do. They don’t have the same inhibitions, the same fears, the same concerns. The future, in the minds of many children, barely exists. All that is, is here, now.”

  We stop walking. I can hear the rain on the lake, far away. The wind picks up, and a curtain of leaves begins to fall around us.

  “Pearl is different,” I say. “I know what you’re saying. I’ve seen these precocious children at her elementary school. But there is something different about Pearl.”

  He nods, but I know what he’s thinking: She’s different because she’s yours.

  “So many times, she knows things she couldn’t possibly know. So many times, her fantastic stories somehow add up. I can’t explain it.”

  We stare at each other in that darkening night, and the first heavy raindrops plunge through the leaves, rustle their way into the undergrowth like miniature projectiles fired at us from some faraway castle.

  “You witnessed it yourself not too many hours ago,” I say, looking away.

  “We should go,” Tom insists.

  That’s when I hear you scream, a short burst.

  I glance at Tom to verify that I actually heard something, that it isn’t a figment of my imagination or the sound of some horrific night animal I am not familiar with. It seemed to come from far off, even under the ground.

  Tom’s face echoes my . . . what? Fear? Anxiety? Terror? We stop in our tracks, standing as still as deer interrupted.

  It comes to us again, this time louder, more urgent, and closer. Definitely from the cabin, seemingly from the front door. I move in that direction. Tom calls after me, but I can’t tell what he wants. I don’t think he knows what he wants.

  We move as quietly as possible through the brittle leaves, around the cabin to the side opposite the lake. There is a flickering of light on one of the small windows, as if the glass is reflecting some far-off approach. I turn quickly toward the driveway, expecting to see a car, but there’s only darkness. I don’t see a light. And by the time I turn back around, I realize the light is coming from inside the house.

  There is a crashing sound. The light goes out. Another scream, this one stifled. There is a fumbling at the lock inside the door. The knob turns violently and the door explodes open.

  You fall through the open space, your eyes wild. When you see me, you scream, hold your arms out to shield yourself, then recognize my face and fall into my wide-open arms.

  You are soaking wet.

  “Pearl!” I say.

  Tom races up to us. But you interrupt me.

  “Run,” you say. “We have to run.”

  So Close

  I try to hold you close once we’re in the boat, but you keep straining to look behind us at the house we are now speeding away from. The wind has whipped the lake into a frenzy, and miniature whitecaps bounce us up and down. A torrential rain soaks us in seconds.

  “It won’t take long to get home,” Tom shouts through the sound of the motor and the rain and the wind. “Hang on.”

  He leads the boat into an even greater speed, and I’m afraid one of us will fly off the back, vanish beneath the wind and the waves. Above us, the stars are gone.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, trying to protect you from the elements and failing badly. It is so, so cold. “Pearl,” I begin again, wanting to ask what in the world you were doing there, how you got there, why you keep leaving me. But I don’t say anything. I squeeze you tighter, and now that the cabin is out of view, you give in, crumple into my lap.

  I can see the light of Tom’s house. He waits until the last moment to slow down, then rams the motor in reverse so that we lurch. He hops lightly up onto the dock, ties up the boat, and reaches down for you. I’m reluctant to hand you over, but I do—I can’t possibly get out of the boat while carrying you.

  Tom carries you to the house, and I try to keep up. I can’t help glancing back over the lake, for what, I’m not sure. The fear I heard in your screams has settled into a deep place inside of me. I won’t forget that sound for a long time.

  Inside, the house is quiet, although I can hear the distant roar of the rain, which has picked up. Thunder and lightning roll over the water.

  Tom doesn’t stop in the living room—he keeps going all the way to your room, and I follow him through the twists and turns. Finally, we go through your door.

  The small lamp on the table is turned on. Your map is there, held down by the same three books. The window is open and a strong breeze pulses through, along with the rain, which has puddled in a round, glassy shape on the floor.

  Tom has somehow grabbed a towel with his free hand on the way through the hall. He hands it to me. “Spread it out. I’ll lay her down. You can help her change into dry clothes.”

  I follow his instructions. He eases you down onto the towel. I can feel him standing over us as I dry you off. You’re so sleepy, almost like you’re drugged.

  “Pearl,” I whisper. “Help me get your clothes changed.”

  “I’ll give you a minute. You want some coffee? Tea?” Tom asks. His voice is laden with concern.

  “Tea, please.”

  “Pearl? Would you like anything?”

  You shake your head, your eyes heavy.

  Tom turns to go, looks over his shoulder at me, and there are things in his eyes I never would have expected to see: confusion, even uncertainty. Lightning flashes at the window, and he starts to say something, stops, and walks out into the dark hallway.

  I finish drying you off, and then together we change you out of your wet clothes and into something comfortable and dry. Even though To
m closed the window, the room still smells like the outside—wet and fresh and full of autumn leaves. I tuck you into bed.

  “Pearl, what happened? What were you doing out there?”

  You give me a small smile—despite the circumstances, despite the near drowning earlier that day and the screams from the house, you are rather delighted.

  “I was so close,” you whisper. “So close.”

  “So close to what?”

  But you shake your head.

  “Pearl, I need to know what’s going on.”

  For a moment I think you’ve fallen asleep. The lightning blinds me through the windows, but the sound of the rain has slowed, and it’s not being driven against the glass anymore. I have never felt more ready for a sunrise, for the morning, for light to bring a sense of normal along with it. I consider leaving tomorrow, going back to our home and figuring things out there. I know you had your struggles there in the city, I know you vanished many times and concocted the wildest stories, but what’s happening here feels extreme, even for you.

  “Pearl, please.”

  That same light of adventure is in your eyes. “Grampy, it was amazing.”

  When You Arrive at the End, Keep Going

  When she showed up outside my window, knocking on the glass, I rolled over, faced away from her, and tried to go back to sleep. I was so tired, and all I wanted to do was sleep. And I was angry at her for pulling me down into the water. But when she kept knocking, I thought, I need to go over there and tell her off! I need to tell her that it isn’t okay what she did, and that she shouldn’t ever come back here again.

  So I crawled out of bed and walked slowly to the window. I took my time, because I didn’t want her to think I was going to do whatever she wanted me to do, and I even stood by the window for a minute, glaring out at her. I gave her a scowl and finally opened the window.

  All the light she used to carry seemed to be gone. The silver in her hair had dulled to gray. She was even more like a shadow than before, long and stretched, her face hidden. I asked her what she wanted.

  She said it was time. She had waited long enough. If I wanted to save you, Grampy, I needed to go down into the basement, through the door, and do what she wanted me to do. I asked her why I would ever do such a thing when she had nearly drowned me only a few hours ago! And even though I couldn’t see her face in the shadows, I could tell she was staring straight at me. She said she was trying to help me. If I helped her, she could help me.

  “Who are you?” I nearly shouted.

  She paused. “Pearl,” she said in a quiet voice, “I’m Death. I need your help.”

  I stood there for what felt like a very long time, Grampy. Her voice was sad, and when I thought of helping you, I knew I would do it. Whatever it was that she needed me to do, I would do it. For you.

  “Why’d you try to drown me?” I asked her.

  “I wasn’t trying to drown you. I was helping you learn how to swim underwater.”

  “How do I know you won’t try to do something like that again, something that might kill me?”

  “I can’t make any promises, Pearl. You might die. Everyone does, you know. But you’re the only one who can help me now. The town is nearly empty.”

  So I climbed out the window.

  Running through the woods that time felt more familiar, and I even kind of enjoyed it. She didn’t forget about me, not once, and she set me down gently outside of Tom’s cabin, right by the front door. She told me what she wanted me to do.

  “Can’t you at least come down the stairs with me? You came the last time,” I said.

  “You have to go someplace I can’t go. I’d rather wait here.”

  “How will I know what you want me to get for you if you don’t come with me?”

  “You’ll know.”

  “But how?”

  “Trust me. You’ll know.”

  “But—”

  “Go!” Suddenly her voice was like the thunder.

  I took two steps back from her. It hurt my feelings that she shouted at me like that. And I could tell that she wished she hadn’t.

  I turned and checked the door. It was unlocked. She handed me a flashlight. Then she melted into the shadows.

  “Are you there?” I asked.

  “I am always here.”

  Pure fear melted right through me. Grampy, I’ve never been so scared in all my life. Never.

  “You can’t tell me anything?” I begged.

  “When you arrive at the end, keep going,” she said.

  I opened the door, walked through the part of the house we had walked through before, down the long hall, and finally came to the doorway at the top of the stairs. I opened it and started going down.

  The walk down took me so long that at one point I thought maybe I had imagined the bottom, that the stairs went on and on forever. That old flashlight kept shining down farther and farther on rickety wooden steps, and I started to panic a little, thinking about what I would do if the batteries died. I even stopped and sat on the steps and almost cried. I doubted what I was doing and why I wasn’t home in my warm bed.

  I thought about what she had said: “When you arrive at the end, keep going.”

  I stood up, sighed, and kept going down. Eventually, I got there and stood in front of those three doors. I guess I didn’t see it the first time I was there, but it was such a strange place, like an in-between place, like it didn’t really exist except it was where the stairs ended and whatever was beyond the doors began. I took a deep breath, pointed the flashlight back up the stairs one more time, and went through the door all the way on the left.

  As soon as I opened the door, I could tell something was different, Grampy. The air was humid, like on a cool summer day when a storm is coming. I stood there holding the doorknob, and it was slick in my hand, and smooth. I was staring down a dark hallway, but it was more like a narrow cave with a low ceiling—the passage was cut through rock, and hidden in the rough places were veins of something shiny. The floor was like smooth glass, but when I took a few steps forward I saw it wasn’t glass. It was water.

  I started walking, and the farther I went, the deeper the water got. It was very gradual, so at first I didn’t feel it getting deeper, but it was. And the ceiling was getting lower. I walked all the way into that cold water until it was up to my waist. I started to get nervous that my flashlight would get wet, so by the time the water was up to my chest and the ceiling was down to my head, I found a kind of rocky shelf in the wall to place the flashlight.

  Straight ahead and not that far in front of me, the ceiling came down low and met the water.

  The only way forward was by going under.

  I stood there for a while, so long that I started shivering.

  When you arrive at the end, keep going.

  Grampy, I was so scared. But I took a deep breath, and I went under.

  It’s True

  Tom knocks lightly on the door and peeks his head in. “Everyone okay?” he asks.

  You nod. You already seem so much more clear-eyed than at any other point today.

  Tom eases into the room, carrying a mug in each hand. “For the lady,” he murmurs, handing you a steaming mug of tea. “In case you’ve changed your mind. And for you, sir.”

  I breathe in the mint smell rising. “Thanks, Tom.”

  “I’m going to grab mine and come back. You don’t mind, do you? I think I’d like some company tonight.”

  I can’t tell if he’s asking me or you, but I know what you’ll say. Your face is so white, framed as it is by your dark hair. Your kind eyes smile.

  “Sure,” I say, trying not to let a lack of enthusiasm infiltrate my voice. “Join us.”

  He leaves, pulling the door closed behind him. I can’t even bring myself to ask you what happened next in your story. Your skin is so pale it’s almost blue, so I reach over and tuck the blanket tighter around you. You take a sip of tea.

  Pearl, your imagination has clearly gotten the be
st of you. I can’t even begin to imagine where all of these things have come from, all of these . . . I can’t call them lies, because you so clearly believe what you’re telling me. Untruths? Misrepresentations? I don’t know. Confusion? I feel a deep weariness setting in.

  “Pearl,” I finally say, shaking my head, my tired eyes blinking slow and heavy.

  “Grampy,” you whisper. “It’s true. All of it.”

  The Other Side

  When I went under, the very next moment I didn’t feel cold anymore. I felt like I was one with the water, like I was water, and I grabbed the stone walls and pulled myself through the darkness. I kept my eyes open, and I’ve never seen water that was so clear. I could see the light from the flashlight laying a skin of glaring white on the top of the water, but that wasn’t the only light—there was something in front of me, something farther along the tunnel that was lighting up the water.

  I kept going, holding my breath. Every so often, a few bubbles would escape through my nose. I didn’t get very far before I felt like I was going to burst.

  That’s when I saw it.

  Just as I thought I was going to run out of air, when I thought I’d have to take in a big breath, lights started shooting past me, like those veins of light in the rock. It was like seeing shooting stars, but they were all around me. Up ahead it got even brighter. I thought I was going to make it. I pulled myself farther through the water and saw that it was about to open up above me—I was through the tunnel! I could see it! It wasn’t night there, above the water. It was beautiful and bright, a new world waiting for me above the surface, the brightest greens and blues. And as I got closer, I had this feeling that it wasn’t an ordinary place—it was someplace very special.

  But as I started rising, I realized the surface was a lot farther away than I thought, and those lights started flashing past me again, and I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I felt like I was running out of air, like I had to take in a deep breath.