Ingathering - The Complete People Stories

by Zenna Henderson

  “Well, you can! You lifted that rock at Macron and you can lift yourself.”

  “Yes, myself.” I shivered at the recollection. “But not the rock. I could only move it.”

  “Try that one over there.” Low lobbed a pebble toward a small slaty blue rock lying on the damp sand. Obligingly it plowed a small furrow up to Low’s feet.

  “Lift it,” he said.

  “I can’t. I told you I can’t lift anything clear off the ground. I can just move it.” I slid one of Low’s feet to one side.

  Startled, he pulled it back.

  “But you have to be able to lift, Dita. You’re one of—”

  “I am not!” I threw the flower I’d been twiddling with down violently into the spring and saw it sucked into the pipe. Someone downstream was going to be surprised at the sink or else one of the thousands of fountains between here and town was going to blossom.

  “But all you have to do is—is—” Low groped for words.

  “Yes?” I leaned forward eagerly. Maybe I could learn...

  “Well, just lift!”

  “Twirtle!” I said, disappointed. “Anyway, can you do this? Look.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out two bobby pins and three fingernails full of pocket fluff. “Have you got a dime?”

  “Sure.” He fished it out and brought it to me. I handed it back. “Glow it,” I said.

  “Glow it? You mean blow it?” He turned it over in his hand.

  “No, glow it. Go on. It’s easy. All you have to do is glow it. Any metal will do but silver works better.”

  “Never heard of it,” he said, frowning suspiciously.

  “You must have,” I cried, “if you are part of me. If we’re linked back to the Bright Beginning, you must remember!”

  Low turned the dime slowly. “It’s a joke to you. Something to laugh at.”

  “A joke!” I moved closer to him and looked up into his face. “Haven’t I been looking for an answer long enough? Wouldn’t I belong if I could? Would my heart break and bleed every time I have to say no if I could mend it by saying yes? If I could only hold out my hands and say, ‘I belong...’ “ I turned away from him, blinking. “Here,” I sniffed. “Give me the dime.”

  I took it from his quiet fingers and, sitting down again, spun it quickly in the palm of my hand. It caught light immediately, glowing stronger until I slitted my eyes to look at it and finally had to close my fingers around its cool pulsing.

  “Here.” I held my hand out to Low, my bones shining pinkly through. “It’s glowed.”

  “Light,” he breathed, taking the dime wonderingly. “Cold light! How long can you hold it?”

  “I don’t have to hold it. It’ll glow until I damp it.”

  “How long?”

  “How long does it take metal to turn to dust?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Do your People know how to glow?”

  “No.” His eyes stilled on my face. “I have no memory of it.”

  “So I don’t belong.” I tried to say it lightly above the wrenching of my heart. “It almost looks like we’re simultaneous, but we aren’t. You came one way. I came t’other.” “Not even to him!” I cried inside. “I can’t even belong to him!” I drew a deep breath and put emotion to one side.

  “Look,” I said. “Neither of us fits a pattern. You deviate and I deviate and you’re satisfied with your explanation of why you are what you are. I haven’t found my explanation yet. Can’t we let it go at that?”

  Low grabbed my shoulders, the dime arching down into the spring. He shook me with a tight controlled shaking that was hardly larger than a trembling of his tensed hands. “I tell you, Dita, I’m not making up stories! I belong and you belong and all your denying won’t change it. We are the same—”

  We stared stubbornly at each other for a long moment, then the tenseness ran out of his fingers and he let them slide down my arms to my hands. We turned away from the spring and started silently, hand in hand, down the trail. I looked back and saw the glow of the dime and damped it.

  “No,” I said to myself. “It isn’t so. I’d know it if it were true. We aren’t the same. But what am I then? What am I?” And I stumbled a little wearily on the narrow path.

  ~ * ~

  During this time everything at school was placid, and Pete had finally decided that “two” could have a name and a picture, and learned his number words to ten in one day.

  And Lucine—symbol to Low and me of our own imprisonment— with our help was blossoming under the delight of reading her second pre-primer.

  But I remember the last quiet day. I sat at my desk checking the tenth letter I’d received in answer to my inquiries concerning a possible Chinee Joe and sadly chalking up another “no.” So far I had been able to conceal from Low the amazing episode of Severeid Swanson. I wanted to give him back his Canyon myself, if it existed. I wanted it to be my gift to him—and to my own shaken self. Most of all I wanted to be able to know at least one thing for sure, even if that one thing proved me wrong or even parted Low and me. Just one solid surety in the whole business would be a comfort and a starting place for us truly to get together.

  I wished frequently that I could take hold of Severeid bodily and shake more information out of him, but he had disappeared—walked off from his job without even drawing his last check. No one knew where he had gone. The last Kruper had seen of him was early the next morning alter he had spoken with me. He had been standing, slack-kneed and wavering, a bottle in each hand, at the crossroads—not even bothering to thumb a ride, just waiting blankly for someone to stop for him—and apparently someone had.

  I asked Esperanza about him, and she twisted her thick shining braid around her hand twice and tugged at it.

  “He’s a wino,” she said dispassionately. “They ain’t smart. Maybe he got losted.” Her eyes brightened. “Last year he got losted and the cops picked him up in El Paso. He brang me some perfume when he came back. Maybe he went to El Paso again. It was pretty perfume.” She started down the stairs. “He’ll be back,” she called, “unless he’s dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  I shook my head and smiled ruefully. And she’d fight like a wildcat if anyone else talked about Severeid like that...

  I sighed at the recollection and went back to my disappointing letter. Suddenly I frowned and moved uneasily in my chair. What was wrong? I felt acutely uncomfortable. Quickly I checked me over physically. Then my eyes scanned the room. Petie was being jet planes while he drew pictures of them, and the soft skoosh! skoosh! skoosh! of the take-offs was about the only on-top sound in the room. I checked underneath and the placid droning hum was as usual. I had gone back on top when I suddenly dived back again. There was a sharp stinging buzz like an angry bee—a malicious angry buzz! Who was it? I met Lucine’s smoldering eyes and I knew.

  I almost gasped under the sudden flood of hate-filled anger. And when I tried to reach her, down under, I was rebuffed—not knowingly but as though there had never been a contact between us. I wiped my trembling hands against my skirt, trying to clean them of what I had read.

  The recess bell came so shatteringly that I jumped convulsively and shared the children’s laughter over it. As soon as I could I hurried to Mrs. Kanz’s room.

  “Lucine’s going to have another spell,” I said without preface.

  “What makes you think so?” Mrs. Kanz marked “46 1/2%” on the top of a literature paper.

  “I don’t think so, I know so. And this time she won’t be too slow. Someone will get hurt if we don’t do something.”

  Mrs. Kanz laid down her pencil and folded her arms on the desk top, her lips tightening. “You’ve been brooding too much over Lucine,” she said, none too pleased. “If you’re getting to the point where you think you can predict her behavior, you’re pretty far gone. People are going to be talking about your being queer pretty soon. Why don’t you just forget about her and concentrate on—on—well, on Low? He’s more fun than she is anyway, I’ll bet.”

  “He’d know
,” I cried. “He’d tell you, too! He knows more about Lucine than anyone thinks.”

  “So I’ve heard.” There was a nasty purr to her voice that I didn’t know it possessed. “They’ve been seen together out in the hills. Well, it’s only her mind that’s retarded. Remember, she’s over twelve now, and some men—”

  I slapped the flat of my hand down on the desk top with a sharp crack. I could feel my eyes blazing, and she dodged back as though from a blow. She pressed the back of one hand defensively against her cheek.

  “I—” she gasped, “I was only kidding!”

  I breathed deeply to hold my rage down. “Are you going to do anything about Lucine?” My voice was very soft.

  “What can I do? What is there to do?”

  “Skip it,” I said bitterly. “Just skip it.”

  I tried all afternoon to reach Lucine, but she sat lumpish and unheeding—on top. Underneath violence and hatred were seething like lava, and once, without apparent provocation, she leaned across the aisle and pinched Petie’s arm until he cried.

  She was sitting in isolation with her face to the wall when the last bell rang.

  “You may go now, Lucine,” I said to the sullen stranger who had replaced the child I knew. I put my hand on her shoulder. She slipped out of my touch with one fluid quick motion. I caught a glimpse of her profile as she left. The jaw muscles were knotted and the cords in her neck were tensed.

  I hurried home and waited, almost wild from worry, for Low to get off shift. I paced the worn Oriental rug in the living room, circling the potbellied cast-iron heater. I peered a dozen times through the lace curtains, squinting through the dirty cracked window panes. I beat my fist softly into my palm as I paced, and I felt physical pain when the phone on the wall suddenly shrilled.

  I snatched down the receiver.

  “Yes!” I cried. “Hello!”

  “Marie. I want Marie.” The voice was far and crackling. “You tell Marie I gotta talk to her.”

  I called Marie and left her to her conversation and went out on the porch. Back and forth, back and forth I paced, Marie’s voice swelling and fading as I passed.

  “...well, I expected it a long time ago. A crazy girl like that—”

  “Lucine!” I shouted and rushed indoors. “What happened?”

  “Lucine?” Marie frowned from the telephone. “What’s Lucine gotta do with it? Marson’s daughter ran off last night with the hoistman at the Golden Turkey. He’s fifty if he’s a day and she’s just turned sixteen.” She turned back to the phone. “Yah, yah, yah?” Her eyes gleamed avidly.

  I just got back to the door in time to see the car stop at the gate. I grabbed my coat and was down the steps as the car door swung open.

  “Lucine?” I gasped.

  “Yes.” The sheriff opened the back door for me, his deputy goggle-eyed with the swiftness of events. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “What happened?”

  “She got mad on the way home.” The car spurted away from the hotel. “She picked Petie up by the heels and bashed him against a boulder. She chased the other kids away with rocks and went back and started to work on Petie. He’s still alive, but Doc lost count of the stitches and they’re transfusing like crazy. Mrs. Kanz says you likely know where she is.

  “No.” I shut my eyes and swallowed. “But we’ll find her. Get Low first.”

  The shift bus was just pulling in at the service station. Low was out of it and into the sheriff’s car before a word could be spoken. I saw my anxiety mirrored on his face before we clasped hands.

  For the next two hours we drove the roads around Kruper. We went to all the places we thought Lucine might have run to, but nowhere, nowhere in all the scrub-covered foothills or the pine-pointed mountains, could I sense Lucine.

  “We’ll take one more sweep—through Poland Canyon. Then if it’s no dice we’ll hafta get a posse and Claude’s hounds.” The sheriff gunned for the steep rise at the canyon entrance. “Beats me how a kid could get so gone so fast.”

  “You haven’t seen her really run,” Low said. “She never can when she’s around other people. She’s just a little lower than a plane and she can run me into the ground any time. She just shifts her breathing into overdrive and takes off. She could beat Claude’s hounds without trying, if it ever came to a run-down.”

  “Stop!” I grabbed the back of the seat. “Stop the car!”

  The car had brakes. We untangled ourselves and got out.

  “Over there,” I said. “She’s over there somewhere.” We stared at the brush-matted hillside across the canyon.

  “Gaw-dang!” the sheriff moaned. “Not in Cleo II! That there hell hole’s been nothing but a jinx since they sunk the first shaft. Water and gas and cave-in sand, every gaw-dang thing in the calendar. I’ve lugged my share of dead men out of there—me and my dad before me. What makes you think she’s in there, Teacher? Yuh see something?”

  “I know she’s somewhere over there,” I evaded. “Maybe not in the mine but she’s there.”

  “Let’s get looking,” the sheriff sighed. “I’d give a pretty to know how you saw her clear from the other side of the car.” He edged out of the car and lifted a shotgun after him.

  “A gun?” I gasped. “For Lucine?”

  “You didn’t see Petie, did you?” he said. “I did. I go animal hunting with guns.”

  “No!” I cried. “She’ll come for us.”

  “Might be,” he spat reflectively. “Or maybe not.”

  We crossed the road and plunged into the canyon before the climb.

  “Are you sure, Dita?” Low whispered. “I don’t reach her at all. Only some predator—”

  “That’s Lucine,” I choked. “That’s Lucine.”

  I felt Low’s recoil. “That—-that animal?’

  “That animal. Did we do it? Maybe we should have left her alone.”

  “I don’t know.” I ached with his distress. “God help me, I don’t know.”

  She was in Cleo II.

  Over our tense silence we could hear the rattling of rocks inside as she moved. I was almost physically sick.

  “Lucine,” I called into the darkness of the drift. “Lucine, come on out. It’s time to go home.”

  A fist-sized rock sent me reeling, and I nursed my bruised shoulder with my hand.

  “Lucine!” Low’s voice was commanding and spread all over the band. An inarticulate snarl answered him.

  “Well?” The sheriff looked at us.

  “She’s completely crazy,” Low said. “We can’t reach her at all.”

  “Gaw-dang,” the sheriff said. “How we gonna get her out?”

  No one had an answer, and we stood around awkwardly while the late-afternoon sun hummed against our backs and puddled softly in the mine entrance. There was a sudden flurry of rocks that rattled all about us, thudding on the bare ground and crackling in the brush—then a low guttural wail that hurt my bones and whitened the sheriff’s face.

  “I’m gonna shoot,” he said, thinly. “I’m gonna shoot it daid.” He hefted the shotgun and shuffled his feet.

  “No!” I cried. “A child! A little girl!”

  His eyes turned-to me and his mouth twisted.

  “That?” he asked and spat.

  His deputy tugged at his sleeve and took him to one side and muttered rapidly. I looked uneasily at Low. He was groping for Lucine, his eyes closed, his face tense.

  The two men set about gathering up a supply of small-sized rocks. They stacked them ready-to-hand near the mine entrance. Then, taking simultaneous deep breaths, they started a steady bombardment into the drift. For a while there was an answering shower from the mine, then an outraged squall that faded as Lucine retreated farther into the darkness.

  “Gotter!” The two men redoubled their efforts, stepping closer to the entrance, and Low’s hand on my arm stopped me from following.

  “There’s a drop-off in there,” he said. “They’re trying to drive her into it. I d
ropped a rock in it once and never heard it land.”

  “It’s murder!” I cried, jerking away, grabbing the sheriff’s arm. “Stop it!”

  “You can’t get her any other way,” the sheriff grunted, his muscles rippling under my restraining hand. “Better her dead than Petie and all the rest of us. She’s fixing to kill.”

  “I’ll get her,” I cried, dropping to my knees and hiding my face in my hands. “I’ll get her. Give me a minute.” I concentrated as I had never concentrated before. I sent myself stumbling out of me into the darkness of the mine, into a heavier deeper uglier darkness, and I struggled with the darkness in Lucine until I felt it surging uncontrollably into my own mind. Stubbornly I persisted, trying to flick a fingernail of reason under the edge of this angry unreason to let a little sanity in. Low reached me just before the flood engulfed me. He reached me and held me until I could shudder myself back from hell.