by Too Far
When they reached the Perfect Place, they joined hands and brushed shoulders as they walked. They paused before the hole in the Needle Patch, then Robbie knelt and started through it. The needles pricked them as always. Robbie stopped midway.
"Fristeen," he whispered.
"Yes?"
He tucked his chin and turned his head. He could see her out of the corner of his eye. "Here." He pointed at his bicep, showing where a needle had scratched.
She put her finger to her lips and touched his arm.
"Did you get one?" he asked.
"On my neck," she whispered.
"I had a dream last night, too," Robbie said.
"Tell me."
"I know what happened at the Cabin."
"Really?" Fristeen scooted closer.
"She burnt up," Robbie said.
"Burnt up?"
"Yep. That's what you do. If you want to be with him."
"What do you mean?"
"He turned her into smoke. That's what Dawn is now."
"Smoke?" She was trying to understand.
"Remember what you said? The Dream Man hurt her, but she liked it?"
"Yes, I remember."
"It's okay if your body goes away," Robbie said. "Bodies don't matter."
A wand with long prickers elbowed into the tunnel just ahead. Robbie sucked in his breath and drove his leg toward it, scourging his knee.
Fristeen cried out, unable to move or do anything to help. "Does it hurt?"
"Yep," Robbie laughed.
They scrambled out of the hole. As he rose, she lingered on her haunches, inspecting the wound. "It's a bird's foot." She put her finger in the blood and painted the figure on the back of her hand, smiling as only Fristeen could.
Robbie took her hand. Where should they go? Neither was really sure. Maybe a walk in the Great grove. Had Used-to-Be raised any fresh blooms? Before they knew it, they were beneath the Two-Tree.
"Want to?" Robbie said.
"Okay," Fristeen nodded. "But not to the Cabin."
And they started down. There was mystery and magic in the black trees.
They shed their clothes at the border, reached the Pool and mounted a hill to the left, striking a fresh path. The sun was hot, and the thrill of naked freedom spurred their abandon. They ran themselves breathless, shrieking and whirling through swales of feather moss, shaking their brains and their bones loose. Then, from a great distance, Dawn's song reached them, and that turned their joy crazy. Their faces twitched, their eyes rolled round, their limbs flexed and jerked like demonic puppets. And what came from their mouths was all gibberish and nonsense and irrepressible delight.
Fristeen collapsed, and Robbie beside her, and she called to Dawn in a jabbering swoon. Robbie felt feverish, his vision blurred, and the mound of cauliflower lichen beneath them started breathing, buoying them up. Fristeen sang with all her heart, the heat blazed fiercely, and the mound lost its mooring and began to turn.
Was it too much to hope for? Not at all— In a corner of the sky, the clouds curled to either side, and as Robbie added his pleas to Fristeen's, Dawn plunged through! She was rosy and golden, a million bright jewels set loose as she passed, a million bright voices singing together, an ocean of joy, welcoming as a warm bath.
Fristeen whimpered. Was she sad? No, her heart was welling at Dawn's arrival. She sang of gratitude and confidence, not just for herself, but for Robbie too. Thank you, Dawn, thank you. Oh thank you, thank you!
Dawn's wings pulsed loudly through the gasping wind. Between Robbie's quivering lids, through dazzled tears, he saw the blurred beats—splashes of peach, creamy scallops, streaks of red fox, rippling and soft. Her face resolved, white as a cloud, hair swept back, voice bursting over him, filling his ears. Love, boundless cheer, solace in sorrow. Dawn heard Fristeen's longing. She knew Robbie's heart without saying a word.
A swoop of wind caressed his cheek—the soft fingers of her wing. With Dawn, no one ever feels forgotten. No wonder the Dream Man loved her—
Beyond the bright song, Robbie heard a dark rushing. And the more intently he listened, the closer it came.
"The Dream Man," he shouted.
Of course. Dawn was his wife.
The rushing grew louder. The air trembled, and then the earth. The edge of a gray blanket drew into sight. And as Robbie watched, it advanced till it darkened half of the sky. On one side, Dawn hovering in the blue, blazing and singing. And on the other, leaden clouds surrounding the great whirling eye.
"Hear him?" Robbie asked.
The rushing crested, and then the Dream Man spoke.
"Fristeen? Glad to meet you." In one ear, the Dream Man had the voice of a young boy. But in the other, his voice was booming, deep and wise. "You know my bride. I dreamt of her endlessly. And now I've taken her. Exactly, my children, as I will take you."
The last he said gravely, and their hearts leaped in their chests. The eye drew nearer, the whir of dragonflies filling the Dream Man's side of the sky.
"Love," said the Dream Man, "is nourished by danger. Dawn knows."
On Dawn's side, agreeing voices sprinkled joyfully down.
"Is it true?" Fristeen wondered. "That you turned into smoke?"
Dawn's pale face drew closer, smiling. "Yes," she whispered. "Nothing but smoke."
As her wings stroked the air, sun flashed through her feathers.
"I gave up my body," Dawn said. "I took to the skies to find my dream. And when I found him, the smoke became light and song."
"She is your comfort," the Dream Man told Fristeen. "I am everything," his voice grew softer, "you don't know."
"Don't worry," Dawn assured her. "You're going to be okay."
"Can I see your face?" Robbie asked the Dream Man. "Your whole head?"
"You're looking down into it," the Dream Man said.
Robbie was stunned. He watched the hurricane iris giantly for his benefit. The dragonflies were moving too fast to see, the great eddy a vapor of whirring wings. The lip of the cauldron was the top of the Dream Man's head.
"If you reach out," the Dream Man whispered, "you can put your hands on the rim."
The lip glowed as the churning thoughts spilled over it. Robbie didn't dare.
"I brought our friend," the Dream Man said.
Something shifted in a cluster of spruce. As they watched, blackened antlers rose up. It was Hands, just as they'd seen him—his long head, his bony basket, a singed neck, and nothing more—rocking in the breeze, then tipping forward and floating toward them.
"Why is he here?" Fristeen objected.
The Dream Man laughed. "Watch this."
Hands settled beside Robbie, bowing, the front edge of his basket grazing the ground. The charred tines slipped beneath him. Their palms were warm, as if fresh from the fire, and they cradled him gently. Hands lifted him up. Robbie hung his feet over the front edge and held on tight, but there was nothing to fear. Hands moved with great care. Suddenly Robbie realized: it was Hands who had carried him in his dreams. He just hadn't seen him. He looked down, and there were Hands' kindly eyes, gazing up.
"He's right," Robbie smiled at Fristeen. "Hands is great."
Fristeen pouted, but then Dawn chimed in.
"He's my pet," she said fondly.
And that did the trick. "Well, okay," Fristeen said.
Robbie scooted onto Hands' right palm.
Then Hands dipped and scooped Fristeen up with his left.
"Look at this—" Robbie reached down and felt Hands' nose. "He doesn't mind." The breath from Hands' nostrils was thick and warm.
Fristeen giggled. "His fur smells like chocolate."
"Want to see more of Too Far?" the Dream Man asked.
Robbie looked at Fristeen, and they nodded as one. So the Dream Man showed them around. Hands carried them, and Dawn hovered above.
First, the Dream Man took them to the Slope of Webs. The black spindles were so close that there were webs between each. Hands set them both down and sta
rted them twirling, and they went through the webs like spinning tops, wrapping themselves in tingling silk. You'd giggle at first, and then you'd shriek, because you'd feel something creeping in your hair, or down your neck or on your knee. When they reached the Slope's bottom, the webs were ladders, and bridges you could walk across. The Dream Man showed them how, while Dawn and Hands kept watch.
Then they crossed a valley of lettuce lichen, and reached the Be Green Streams. Busy rivulets netted a hillock of feather moss, and they hissed and gushed to invite you in. You couldn't stand up—you rolled and wriggled in the cool flow. The water was clear, but the channels were lined with black gooey stuff, and you came out covered with it. That was the idea—you used it like glue. You plucked feathers from the hillock, and covered every inch of yourself. Too Far monsters, born from a dream—burly and growly, and completely green!
Then the day grew hotter, and the Dream Man led them still deeper into the Too Far maze. They chased some ducks and followed a porcupine, and he showed them the first berries at Cloudberry Glen.
"I don't have any markers," Robbie said.
The Dream Man laughed. "We won't get lost."
Then he took them to the Cook Some Fish place. It was on a hillock covered with straw-colored rods flattened in the grass. The Dream Man brought his cauldron close, and spilled some dragonflies over the lip. Flames rose where they landed, and Dawn beat some breeze on them and made them dance. "No," Fristeen shrieked, and they both clung to Hands' tines. But he shook them loose, rolling them onto the glowing rods, and they writhed there together, sweating and curling like fish on a grill.
Then Hands lifted them up, and they were airborne again. It was a wonderful ride. You could face forward and see where you were going, or turn and look down at Hands' furry head. His blunt nose quivered as it tasted the wind. He gazed across the hills as they drifted, and now and then he would glance up and you could see into his eyes. Fristeen spoke his name softly and stroked his ear. Hands made exploring even more of a thrill, and he did exactly what the Dream Man said.
The deep voice was always with them. When he was guiding, it was with confidence and command. When he meant to teach you, he knew a path through your thoughts, and found his way with ease. If you had a question, the Dream Man listened. He didn't coddle you, but he was patient. He gave you the answer slowly, making sure you understood.
And, of course, Dawn was there.
The last thing they did was the most exciting.
When they floated over it and looked down, neither Robbie nor Fristeen could tell what it was. It was roundish and the wind ruffled its top, and it was big—big as a car. Black trees with turrets surrounded it, and from the turrets gray jays made a terrible racket. It wasn't till Hands let them down, that they realized they were on the back of a giant bear. His fur was shaggy, and when he started lumbering you had to hold on tight. It was like being in the water, riding a large swell, or laying facedown on a dune of shifting sand. Dawn hovered close, fanning her wings—their naked bodies glowed as they slewed back and forth, and the oily skim from the Be Green Streams mixed with their sweat and made rainbows on their skin.
How long did they ride on the shaggy beast? Only Dawn and the Dream Man could say, because it was right there on his back that Robbie and Fristeen fell asleep. Their idols remained for a time, Dawn on one side of the sky, and the Dream Man on the other. Whispers crossed the heavens, things the godly couple meant no one else to hear.
After they departed, Hands watched over the children with pensive eyes.
***
As daylight waned, they woke. Hands was in the distance, but he remained in sight till they found their way back. The sun's oblique rays lit his fingertips, ringing his head with golden flames. Then the bony candelabra turned and was lost in the spruce.
At the border of Too Far, they noticed some berries on the viburnum. They went looking for more, and came upon a wet meadow they had never seen before. It was fun to slosh through it. You could splash each other, and hide and chase, and that's how they stumbled on the special place. It was a bed of moss about the size of your room, but it wasn't solid—it was springy—and when you jumped on it, it was like a trampoline. There was water beneath. They jumped and jumped till their legs gave out, and then they lay on their backs and made it bob with their rears. Fristeen named it Big Sponge, because that's what it was.
They were stepping back onto firm ground when Robbie saw the bird. It was lying motionless at the base of a broken willow. He picked it up, turned it over and showed Fristeen. Blood was crusted on its front, and its body was stiff.
"It's dead," Fristeen said. She stroked its wing.
Just then, a chill wind strafed the meadow.
"Shivers wants him," Robbie said.
Fristeen nodded.
"What should we do?"
She made a helpless face.
Robbie glanced around, then stooped to retrieve a fan of withered willow leaves. He rested the dead bird on the fan, and set the fan on the water beside Big Sponge. When he gave it a push, the tiny barge drifted through the reeds.
"That's what they did when King Arthur died," he said.
For a few moments, the willow fan bore the bird up, then it began to sink. They watched in silence as the water circled the little creature's beak. Then it was beneath the green surface, fading from view.
"He can't give himself to the Dream Man now," Robbie muttered. "It's too late."
Fristeen stared at the water. "That won't happen to us."
At the border of Too Far, they drew their clothes back on.
They paused at Used-to-Be, so Fristeen could twine co-mandra in her hair. As they descended to the Great Place, she stopped and turned.
"Where are they now?" she mused, gazing back.
"In the sky."
They lifted their faces and scanned the heavens together.
"And Hands?"
"He's in the Cabin. That's where he sleeps at night."
9
The dinner blow-up was behind them, and as if encouraged by that, the good weather persisted for five days. Then the sun disappeared, and by the end of the week, it was as if it had never existed. Rain came and went, but the mist was constant. It seemed to like Robbie's home. A thick ground fog stole around the small dwelling and entrenched itself like a white moat.
Robbie spent lots of time at Fristeen's house. He brought food that didn't need to be cooked—crackers, fruit, bread, carrots—things like that. One morning, he'd loaded a grocery bag and was making for the back door when Dad saw him.
"What's in the sack?"
"Lunch," Robbie said.
Dad stared at him. It was a lot of stuff. Just then, they both heard Mom coming down the hall. Dad nodded toward the back door, and turned to meet her. Robbie slipped out before she saw.
Mom and Dad weren't fighting, but the tension between them didn't go away. There was courtesy and forbearing, but no warmth or love. Mom was discouraged. It was like the cut on her hand. She thought it was getting better, but when she picked the scab off, the cut was still there, bleeding as bad as ever.
She decided to redo the kitchen cupboards, and Dad sawed shelves for her. One night they didn't go to sleep. Robbie found them in the garage the next morning, still working. What did that mean? Robbie guessed for a few days, and then he stopped trying.
When Sunday came, the house was quiet. Mom was writing in her journal, Dad was reading a book. Robbie was on the floor of his room, playing with his marbles. One of them had yellow swirls like the Dream Man's eye.
There was a knock on the door.
"Can I come in?" Dad asked.
"Sure."
Dad stepped through the door and closed it. He went to Robbie's window and looked out. "Rotten weather."
"Yep."
"What d'you think?" Dad said, still gazing through the window. "Should we go for a ride?"
Robbie stood. "Where?"
"I don't know." Dad turned to regard him. "We could drive a
long the Chena or up to the Dome."
Robbie shrugged. Dad was watching him, waiting.
"I wish your mom and I were happier together."
He saw the understanding in Dad's eyes. Robbie tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Then tears heaved up and he hugged Dad's middle. Dad stroked his temple while he cried.
"Things will change," Dad said.
He was speaking of their family. Did Robbie believe it? It was Dad's shirt his tears fell on, but the eye of the Dream Man was in his hand, and he was holding tight.
***
On Monday, the mist was still swirling, but there were breaks of clear sky and the rain had stopped. Robbie rose, looked out, and dressed quickly, determined to escape. Dad was already gone. Mom was still in her robe, drained and distracted. It was easy to slip out.
When he knocked on the door, Fristeen opened it. She was overjoyed to see him, but she stood in the gap, barring the way.
"Wait here," she whispered.
Then the door swung wide, and Grace appeared behind her with a glass of water in her hand.
"What's the secret?" Grace said. "Invite Robbie in."
Fristeen gave him a warning look.
As he entered, Grace knelt before him. "Let me see you."
The living room was hazy with smoke.
"She's high," Fristeen said.
"It's true," Grace said to Robbie. "High and wide— Open to everything— That's good, isn't it?" she asked him. "Better than being afraid and alone?" She glanced at Fristeen. "Love is easy for you. When you're older, you have to get high to remember—" She paused. "That purity, that freedom, that infallible trust—"
She faced Robbie, threw her arm around him and swept him up. "If I had one wish— I'd be six again, and have a friend like you." She hugged him tightly, spilling water down his back.
"Grace," Fristeen yelled.
"Don't worry," Grace assured her. "Robbie understands. Don't you?" She kissed his cheek and lowered him down. Then she set the glass of water on a small table.
Robbie felt dizzy. The sweet-smelling smoke made it hard to breathe.
"Let's go—" Fristeen eyed him narrowly.
"It's cold."
She nodded and ran for a jacket.
