Analog SFF, November 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Henry ran the rest of the way down the stairs and pulled Conradin away. “Come on,” he said. “We don't have much time."

  * * * *

  Conradin had eaten dinner at the Wolvertons’ for the seven previous days, and those dinners were the high points of his existence. It was not so much the food—which was fine—but the warmth and the relaxed routine: everyone helping to set and clear the table, the pleases and thank yous as plates of food were passed, the dinner conversation, and his being treated as if he mattered.

  Today's dinner was special—celebratory. Henry's father hadn't known exactly when he'd arrive and had asked that they not hold dinner. But still, a place setting was laid out for him.

  As they sat around the table, just after Mrs. Wolverton had brought in dessert, the doorbell rang. Henry jumped up. “That must be Dad!"

  Henry sprang toward the door, getting there just as it opened. “Hi, Dad!"

  Mr. Wolverton stepped in. He threw his briefcase on the hall table, tousled Henry's hair, and strode briskly into the dining room. Conradin stood as he entered.

  Mr. Wolverton exchanged hugs with his wife and his son.

  Conradin, watching, felt a pang of envy and a sense of loss.

  "And this is my best friend, Conradin,” said Henry.

  "Hi, Conradin,” said Mr. Wolverton with a smile, motioning for the boys to sit. “Henry's talked a lot about you.” He stared at the bruise. “Have you been in a fight?"

  "Sort of, sir,” said Conradin, shyly.

  "It's terrible,” said Mrs. Wolverton, pouring a cup of coffee for her husband. “He's bullied mercilessly at school—and out of school, too."

  Just then, Sniffles padded in from the kitchen. Shadow fluttered in as well and alighted on her dining-room perch. Sniffles jumped up and pawed at Mr. Wolverton. “I like you,” said the dog via Shadow. “May I have a cookie?” he added, exhausting almost half of the Sniffles/Shadow vocabulary.

  "What?” Mr. Wolverton laughed. “What's going on here?"

  "It was Conradin's idea,” said Henry. “Shadow reads Sniffles’ body language and translates it to speech. We've worked on it all week."

  "Fantastic,” said Mr. Wolverton. “What a great idea."

  Conradin beamed.

  "And it really works,” said Henry. “We can actually talk to Sniffles now. A little bit, anyway."

  Ignoring the no-begging zone, Sniffles came up to the table and sniffed at Mr. Wolverton's pants.

  "May I have a cookie?"

  "For gosh sakes,” said Mr. Wolverton, a smile on his face, “won't someone give that dog a cookie?"

  Henry fished a dog treat from his pocket and tossed it to the dog.

  Seated around the dining room table, the Wolvertons were a family. Even though he was included in the conversation, Conradin couldn't help feeling like an outsider. It was even worse when they discussed their plans for Sunday: a family outing to visit Henry's maternal grandparents. Conradin felt like crying. He had no real family—no mother, no grandparents, or even aunts and uncles, just a mean drunken father. It wasn't fair. He started to clench his fists but he stopped in time—before drawing the attention of Shadow.

  After dark but earlier than usual, Conradin said his goodbyes and started to leave. At the front door, Mrs. Wolverton stopped him.

  "I'm worried about those bullies,” she said.

  "I'll be all right."

  "Maybe,” she said firmly. “But to be safe, I want you to take Sniffles with you. He'll protect you."

  "It's okay, Mrs. Wolverton. I don't—"

  "No arguments, young man.” She called for Sniffles and the dog padded in. She bent to the dog and pointed to the door. “Sniffles. You go with Conradin. See that he's safe.” Shadow flew in and perched on the hall table. “You'll have to take Shadow also.” Mrs. Wolverton straightened to her full height and gazed down at him. “They're pretty much a pair now. When you get home, just send them back. Okay?"

  Conradin smiled. “Okay.” There was no arguing with Mrs. Wolverton.

  Outside, as he walked diffidently toward home, he looked at the stars. “Please, White Avenger,” he said. “Watch over me and protect me—and do just one thing for me."

  Even though he was in no hurry, he took the shortcut by the cliff. Something drew him there. Maybe it was the closeness to his mother or maybe the solitude. And anyway, it was early. His father wouldn't be prowling about.

  At the promontory, Conradin sent Sniffles and Shadow home. As much as he loved the Border Collie, it wasn't his dog. And he needed to be alone.

  Again, he gazed at the stars. “Mom,” he shouted at the sky. “It's not fair. It's just not fair."

  Anger replacing sadness, he swiveled around and began to stalk toward home. He'd taken no more than a few steps when a motion caught his eye. Peering at the tree silhouetted against the star-pricked darkness, he saw a sitting figure turn away from gazing out over the dark ocean. The figure rose to his feet, and Conradin sucked in a breath as he recognized his father. They stared at each other for a moment. Then, in the eerie silence, Conradin watched his father rip free a slender rodlike branch from the tree—a smooth wand about as long as his arm. Conradin knew he was in for it, but he almost didn't care. He was boiling angry and stood rooted to the spot; his father had defiled the sacred tree.

  Slowly, his father walked toward him—but without a stagger. Maybe he wasn't drunk this time. Maybe he could be reasoned with. But as he drew closer, Conradin smelled the telltale odor.

  They stood glaring at each other for a moment. Then his father said in a surprisingly calm voice. “Lie on the ground."

  "Why?” Conradin knew it was a silly question; he was just trying to forestall the inevitable.

  "On the ground. Now!” his father commanded. “I'm going to teach you once and for all to listen to me when I tell you something."

  "But—"

  "Now!"

  There was no sense in running away. He was trapped. Conradin complied.

  "Roll over onto your stomach."

  Conradin rolled prone, closed his eyes, and clenched his teeth. Please, White Avenger. Watch over me and protect me. He felt his father roughly pull down his shorts and felt a knee in his back. He heard the wand swishing through the air. A moment later, he threw back his head and screamed.

  Stripped of his dignity, the supple branch began to strip him of his dreams. There was no White Avenger, no All-seeing Eye of Vengeance—just pain. And he was alone—just a powerless, disobedient kid. His shrieks alternated with sobs.

  But after seven strokes, the cadence of the blows ceased and Conradin felt the knee draw away from the small of his back. He sucked in a sob and then he heard the growl. The pain from the last stroke took hold and Conradin felt his fingers twitch.

  "You are a bad man,” came a voice.

  Conradin wiped his eyes and looked toward the sound—the tree. There, almost invisible on a limb, gray melding to black, he saw Shadow. And midway between the tree and his father, Sniffles crouched low, his teeth bared.

  The man, wide-eyed, stared at the Border Collie. “This is nuts,” he said. “I must be hallucinating."

  Fur bristling, Sniffles inched forward. “You are a bad man."

  Conradin's father took an unsteady step backward.

  Feeling it was safe to do so now, Conradin pulled up his shorts. But he stayed lying on the ground as he'd been ordered.

  Sniffles growled again and Conradin's father made a fist.

  "I saw what you did,” came the voice.

  With a look of wide-eyed horror on his face, Conradin's father stared at the dog. “No. You couldn't have."

  Sniffles glanced over at Conradin and then back at the man. “You are a bad man."

  "This ... This can't be happening,” said the man.

  Conradin, smiling through his pain, thought about his wish. But then, seeing that his wish might possibly be fulfilled, he had second thoughts. Maybe he'd deserved the whipping. Maybe he did need to learn to listen to
his father. Maybe his father wasn't evil—or ... or maybe he was. Conradin couldn't decide, but it was his concern for Sniffles that settled it; Sniffles was clean and pure, and Conradin didn't want to get him in trouble. “No!” Conradin shouted. He began to get up but as pain lanced through his tightened muscles, he fell back, prone. “No,” he said again, but softly and with less conviction.

  Sniffles seemed not to hear and continued inching forward.

  The man threw a wild, accusatory glance at Conradin and then turned his attention back to the steadily advancing dog. He made a second fist.

  "I saw what you did."

  "It was an accident,” said the man in a pleading tone. “Just an accident."

  Conradin didn't quite understand what the man was talking about.

  "She just fell,” said the man, his eyes on the dog. “I didn't mean to do it.” He took another step backward. “I was drinking. It wasn't my fault."

  Conradin felt bewilderment and then comprehension made distant by denial and disbelief. He lowered his head to the ground, smelling the cool soil. His father, stepfather, couldn't have...

  He heard Sniffles snarl and looked up.

  His father, still holding the wand, waved it at the dog and then threw it at an angle over the edge of the cliff—inviting the dog to jump after it, to follow it into oblivion.

  Conradin, aghast and frightened for the dog, held his breath and at the same time renewed his wish.

  Sniffles ignored the stick and pressed slowly forward.

  In a flash of understanding then, a vision came to Conradin of how his mother had really died. He screamed in horror.

  His father favored him with a contemptuous glance. “It's your fault,” he said. “We were arguing about you."

  "No! It's not true!” Conradin wiped his eyes, but he couldn't stanch his anguished tears. He buried his head in his hands.

  A few seconds later, Conradin heard Sniffles’ deep-throated growl, and then a loud, horrific cry from his father. Opening his eyes he saw, as if in slow motion, the man trying to regain his footing at the cliff's edge. His father, a dark blot against the stars, bent forward and his feet slipped from under him. He clawed at the dirt and gravel but could not check his fall. He screamed as he slid from view.

  Then, over the roar of the ocean, Conradin heard a muffled cry. “Conradin! Conradin, help me!"

  Struggling to regain his sense of self, Conradin willed himself to ignore the pain and move. He crawled on hands and knees to the cliff edge and cautiously peered down. Sniffles, beside him, also looked over the edge. “You are a bad man,” said the parrot.

  Conradin's father, perched on a precipitously narrow ledge some twelve feet down, held desperately to a rotting tree root. He looked up. “Go for help,” he shouted. “To the Wolvertons. Tell them to bring a rope."

  To Conradin, it was remote—a bad dream, a nightmare.

  "Now!” his father shouted, his face contorted in anger. “Damn it, Conradin. Move!"

  Cowering from the voice, Conradin crawled backward, away from the edge. Then he stood and ran. At first he knew his mission: to get help. But as he raced through the dark, rugged countryside, his overwhelming desire was to escape the horror. He ran not toward a destination but away from an unbearable existence. He imagined his mother screaming to her death and his vision blurred with tears. Furiously, he ran, his body seeming to propel itself without his volition. He gasped from the exertion, and the gasps turned to sobs, and then to shrieks and wails. His memory receded; there was only now; he knew only of running in the darkness.

  At the Wolvertons’ house, Conradin pounded on the door, beating at the wood in mindless fury.

  The door opened and there was Mrs. Wolverton and light and warmth radiating from the open doorway. Sobbing, Conradin threw himself at her and buried his head in her cardigan. Sniffles and Shadow jumped and fluttered, then disappeared inside.

  "Conradin. What's wrong?'

  Conradin held her, tightly, struggling for breath between the sobs.

  She put an arm around him. “Was it the bullies?"

  Conradin, his face against the wool, made no answer.

  Mr. Wolverton came up with Henry and Sniffles following.

  "He seems traumatized,” said Mrs. Wolverton.

  "What's the matter?” said Sniffles, jumping up and down. “What's the matter?"

  "Henry,” said Mr. Wolverton. “Could you put Shadow in her cage? I don't exactly need a talking dog right now."

  Henry urged Shadow to the kitchen while Mrs. Wolverton guided Conradin toward the living room couch. Sniffles, now mute, watched with alert eyes as she sat the boy down.

  Conradin, uncomprehending, rolled onto his side and curled up in a fetal position. Mrs. Wolverton tucked a cushion under his head.

  "I wonder what's happened,” said Mr. Wolverton, softly.

  "I don't know. I feel so helpless. I don't know what to do."

  They watched the boy in silence for a few moments. Then Mr. Wolverton said, “I'd better call his father. Do you have his number?"

  "I have it,” said Henry, coming in from the kitchen. He and his father went off to make the call, leaving Mrs. Wolverton alone with Conradin.

  She pulled a chair up to the sofa and sat. “Can you talk about it?” she said, gently. Getting no response, she stroked the boy's hair—softly, as if he were a cat.

  Mr. Wolverton and Henry returned. “No one home,” said Henry.

  "I'm worried,” said Mr. Wolverton. “Maybe there's been an accident. His father, maybe.” He nodded at Conradin. “Did you get anything out of him?"

  "No. Nothing, I'm afraid."

  "I'm not surprised, considering the state he's in. I don't think he could tell us anything.” Mr. Wolverton sighed. “You know, I think I'll have Sniffles backtrack his scent. We'll find out where the boy's been."

  "Can I come?” said Henry.

  "No. You'd better stay here."

  "But he's my best friend and—"

  "It's almost your bedtime. I'd like you to go up and get into your pajamas."

  "But, Dad, I want—"

  "Go!"

  "All right, all right."

  As if from a great distance, Conradin heard footsteps tromping up a staircase and then felt a dog sniffing him, his dog, the White Avenger. A few moments later, he heard the house door open and close. In the quiet that followed, Conradin glided into a half-awake, half-asleep state. While images of his mother blended with those of Mrs. Wolverton, and the White Avenger with Sniffles, Conradin descended into a troubled sleep.

  * * * *

  The sound of the door opening woke him. But, even though he didn't know where he was, he kept his eyes shut; he was afraid to open them. When Sniffles jumped on the couch and snuggled against him, he knew he was at the Wolvertons'. But he couldn't remember why.

  "Any luck?” said Mrs. Wolverton in a whisper.

  "No,” said Mr. Wolverton, quietly. He glanced at Conradin. “Sniffles led me inland, almost to the main road, nowhere near the boy's house. And there was no sign of his father.” He paused. “Ran into the constable. Told him what happened.” Conradin heard the man sigh. “I'll take Sniffles out to the kitchen."

  "No. Leave him. They look so sweet together."

  Just then the phone rang, sounding loud and raucous against the quiet whispering.

  Conradin heard Mr. Wolverton mutter “Damn,” and then his footsteps as he rushed to the hall telephone.

  Conradin felt his memory returning. Again, he felt the strokes of the oak wand and then, in his mind's eye, he saw his father on the ledge. Conradin inwardly winced; he'd really get it when he got home. He continued to feign sleep; if they knew he was awake, they might send him home right now. Conradin contemplated his beating to come and forced himself to go cold, detached, uncaring.

  Opening his eyes just enough to perceive his surroundings through the filter of his eyelashes, he felt removed from reality. He saw his friend, pajama-clad and barefoot, pad down the stairs.
<
br />   "What's going on?” said Henry.

  His mother shushed him and pointed. “He's sleeping,” she whispered. “And you should be in bed.” Henry didn't move and his mother didn't make an issue of it.

  A minute or so later, Mr. Wolverton walked with heavy step back into the living room. It didn't take a Shadow to interpret his body language.

  "What's wrong?” said Mrs. Wolverton.

  Mr. Wolverton turned to Henry. “I think you'd better go back up to bed."

  "I want to know what happened.” Henry spoke in a loud whisper.

  Mr. Wolverton nodded, slowly. “All right. I guess you'd find out soon enough. And you have a right to know.” Conradin snapped his eyes shut as Mr. Wolverton turned and looked his way. “It's good he's asleep."

  "Please tell me what's happened,” Henry insisted.

  "Conradin's father is dead."

  Mrs. Wolverton stifled a gasp.

  "That was the constable on the phone.” Mr. Wolverton stroked his forehead. “He said Conradin's father fell off the cliff. He had a tree branch clutched in his hand—from the ledge near the summit. Apparently, he'd checked his fall and balanced on the ledge for who knows how long, and then plunged to the rocks at the bottom."

  "That's horrible,” Mrs. Wolverton whispered.

  Mr. Wolverton nodded. “Paul Whitten was night-fishing and heard a scream. It was he who found the...” Mr. Wolverton threw a glance at Conradin. “Paul phoned the constable."

  "Do you think Conradin knows?” said Mrs. Wolverton. “Is that why he's in such a state?"

  "About the plunge, no. I don't think so. Conradin would already have been here when it happened.” Mr. Wolverton looked with a puzzled expression at Sniffles. “I might have saved him if Sniffles hadn't led me in the exact opposite direction."

  "It is strange,” said Mrs. Wolverton. “I've never known Sniffles’ nose to lead you astray."

  "I wonder,” said Henry. “Maybe it was Sniffles and not his nose."

  "What do you mean?” said his father.

  Henry hung his head. “Nothing."

  Mr. Wolverton shook his head in obvious frustration. “Let's hear the dog's story,” he said. “Where's that parrot?"

  "Don't be silly,” said Mrs. Wolverton.

  Conradin, falling momentarily back into his semidream state, mumbled, “Thank you."