by Too Far
Grace motioned to him. "Robbie," she murmured. She sank to her knees again, sad eyes glistening, inviting him in. He went, gazing deeply, feeling a little sick all the same. She still seemed beautiful to him, like a pretty flower that had a bad smell.
"I mean well," Grace said.
Fristeen's scorn pained her. In the weeks past, it had gotten much worse. When Grace was home, Robbie was never sure how to act or what to say.
"My problem is—" Grace raised her hand.
Robbie felt her fingers on his cheek.
"I need some of your luck—" Tears brimmed in her eyes.
Robbie took a breath. He had something he wanted to say. "There's no—" He stopped himself, then plunged ahead. "There's no food here. Fristeen's hungry. You have to go to the store." There was anger and frustration in his voice.
Grace froze. She seemed puzzled, and then Robbie saw a wounded look in her eyes. She had been so defenseless with him. "That's easy for you to—" Abruptly, her consternation ceased. Her jaw gaped, and a gagging sound rose in her throat. Then she bowed her head, and her words fought through a sob. "You're right, you're right. Oh Robbie— I'm such a dolt— I should—" She nodded to herself, wiping her cheeks.
"Great." Robbie tried to keep the tremor out of his voice. Grace was lifting her head, and he forced himself to look in her eyes. "Can you do it today?"
"Yes, I promise."
"I'm ready," Fristeen said, emerging from her room.
"Take care of her," Grace told him. "I'll be back."
Fristeen eyed her mother dubiously. "Where are you going?"
"To get groceries." Grace smiled at Robbie. "And after that—" She sighed and stood. "I'm taking a vacation—" Her gaze found the window, and she eyed the dense woodland as if it was an impossible puzzle. "From all of this." She turned toward the glass of water on the table.
Robbie realized she had something in her hand.
"A long walk on a quiet beach," Grace said softly. She opened her hand over the table, and a red capsule rolled beside the glass.
Robbie saw the contempt in Fristeen's face.
"Go on," Grace shooed her daughter. Then she looked at Robbie. "Oh, I see what you see," she said half to herself, half to Fristeen. "He's—" She was on the verge of tears again. "—a real man."
"Stop it!" Fristeen grabbed Robbie's arm to escort him to the door.
But Grace held Robbie back. "Thank your mother for the handouts." Her eyes were suddenly piercing, like a lynx Robbie had seen in a cage. "I know what she thinks."
"Mom didn't—"
But Grace wasn't listening. "She's wrong," she said. Her eyes swam with emotion, again locking Robbie with a desperate appeal. Finally, she relaxed her hold.
They hurried out the door.
Grace called after them, "Don't get wet."
***
Was Shivers waiting? It was his kind of day. There was sun on the Hill when they started up it, but at the top, a chill came into the air. At the Bendies, the wind gripped the trunks and shook them, and when they rose from beneath the Fallen Down Trees, a thick mist gathered round them and everything was consumed. They waited, and just when they were about to turn back, the fog thinned and the sun reappeared.
He Knows was noncommittal. "Maybe" and "Take care" was all they could get. There was calm till the Jigglies. Then the wind rose and cut them to the bone. By the time they reached Trickle, they were both shaking.
"Robbie?"
The slope ahead was ponded with mist.
"Doesn't look good," he said, weighing their chances. The sun was still visible. If it vanished, they could turn and race back. He started up the slope. Halfway to the Great Place, Shivers rolled in like the tide.
The mist rose to their chests. They could barely see their shoes. The broth was freezing, the woods grew muffled and still. They stood shivering, watching the whorls turning purposefully around them, seeing the currents divide and flow, before and behind, and to either side.
"Go away," Fristeen shouted.
They could hear Shivers sniffing through the bushes, scuttling over the leaves.
"Let's go back," Fristeen whispered.
Robbie shook his head. "The Safe Tree—"
"Oh speak up, will you," Shivers sighed. "It's your old friend."
A freezing wind blasted down the slope, leaving everything trembling in its wake. Robbie turned his face, and Fristeen ducked behind him.
"We're not your friends," Fristeen cried out. "We hate you."
The wind struck again, wedging between them. Robbie lunged for Fristeen's arm, caught hold of it and struggled up the slope. The mist rumpled like a blanket sliding toward them, sculpted from beneath by hillocks and scrub. Drooping cheeks appeared, the feathered brow, the sagging nose. The place where Shivers' voice emerged was snagged by branches, and the wind sucked and blew through the stretching hole.
"Love, hate—" Shivers was indifferent. "It's time. You're mine."
His spectral face lifted from the slope like a mask.
"We belong to the Dream Man," Robbie told him.
The cloudy lips twisted. "Oh, I'm happy to share you." Shivers laughed. "What parts would he like?"
Robbie edged past, one hand gripping Fristeen.
"Maybe he'll offer something in trade?" Shivers turned to follow them, milky eyes bulging. "Dreams, perhaps? Pity. I don't need any of those."
"Our thoughts," Robbie muttered, "belong to him."
Shivers' eyes puckered in. "Your mind has no life of its own, you fool. When Shivers is done dining, there's nothing left."
"Can you see anything?" Fristeen's teeth began to chatter.
"Help us," Robbie pleaded, trying to conjure the Dream Man.
"He's out in the marsh, bagging dream ducks with Hands." Shivers cackled.
"You don't know—" Robbie groped forward. "You don't know, you don't know—"
"That bonghead— That self-righteous ass!" Shivers spat. "I know him too well. He doesn't care about you," he said acidly. "Dreams come first."
Suddenly, Fristeen's chattering was magnified a hundredfold. A fierce chomping sounded behind them, ascending the slope.
"Robbie," she cried.
Before he could reply, the onslaught reached them, and they yelped and howled as a thick shower of hail pounded down.
"There—" Robbie caught sight of the Great Place.
They broke into a run, arms raised to protect their faces, slipping and stumbling on the rattling ice. Shivers whistled after them. "You're desperate little mites," he jeered. "Don't you have folks?"
The first of the Great trees towered before them, crowns thicker than ever, impossibly high. The pelting ceased, but Shivers had other tricks up his sleeve. Through a hole in the canopy, a thick fog descended, and as fast as they ran, Shivers kept alongside.
"Great balls of humus," he roared, laughing. "I've got you now!" He was an orb, then a swept wing crying, "oh-eee-oh-eee," then a corrugated sheet eeling through the trees.
Robbie was losing steam.
"The Safe Tree," Fristeen shouted.
Through his tears, Robbie saw it, and he threw himself forward. Shivers whirled out in front of him, exploding in his face, soggy jaws parting. The wind closed around him, mouthing him with toothless gums and a wet tongue.
"Don't stop," Shivers garbled. "I'm having too much fun."
They were here— Robbie fell to his knees and scrambled beneath the skirt of the Safe Tree, Fristeen right behind. Breathless, they drew against the trunk, huddling while Shivers convulsed outside.
Were they really safe? Their eyes met.
Shivers circled a few feet away, huffing and banging the poles of their tent.
He puled and raved, but he finally let up. "You belong to Shivers. Don't forget." He gave them his word before he left: "I'll chew slowly. No bolting. Any care life or the Dream Man has shorted you—count on me. Time, I promise you." He whirled and tacked through the Great trees with a lunatic whine. "Quality time."
*
**
They made it back to the Clearing without a mishap, and counted themselves lucky. They should never have ventured out. Grace kept her word—she went to the store. Fristeen was thankful for that. But things remained unsettled for both of them during the days that followed. Rain and fog, and Shivers in the forest. At Fristeen's house, Grace in a stupor more often than not. And at Robbie's, the freezing space between Mom and Dad.
And the Dream Man? He just stayed away. Robbie kept trying. He closed his eyes and spoke softly in the dark. He went down on his knees, like Grandma when she prayed. But night followed night without a reply. Fristeen had better luck with Dawn. She came when summoned, but only at midnight, and her voice was faint. "Robbie will make sure you don't get hurt," Dawn said.
Were their idols retreating? Had marriage changed them? Were they just too busy? Maybe Shivers was right.
Finally, after a week of fitful nights, in the gray hours Robbie heard the longed-for voice:
"What shade is to a tree, fear is to the free. The sun still shines. Your soul is still growing. The waking world is still your home."
No picture, no light. Just those cryptic words, filtered through baffles of dark oblivion. Was Robbie asleep or awake? He rose—or imagined he did—and went to his window. Through the smoky pane, Dawn's first colors were tingeing the sky. As he watched, a dim shadow drifted across it. The Dream Man—distant, so distant. But with Robbie in mind.
***
Two days later, the bad weather ended. Fristeen was waiting for Robbie in the shrubs. The expectation, the excitement was the same as always, but the desperation they shared was something new. They ran and scrambled all the way to the
Two-Tree, never thinking to stop, shrieking and howling to keep their agitation at bay. Today was the day. Their idols would return, they hoped. No—they knew.
At the edge of Too Far, they threw off their clothes. Robbie thought they should go straight to the Cabin. But the black place still spooked Fristeen, and she wanted instead to call Dawn from the low rise by the Pool. They circled the red water, climbed the mound, and lay down.
Fristeen tried with all her heart, but Dawn didn't hear.
Were they at the Cabin? Or anywhere near? Maybe Too Far was alone with its black trees.
"It's no use," Fristeen said.
Robbie's eyes were still closed. It was at that moment, he became conscious of another presence, directly above him. First, he heard its breath. Then he felt it on his chest, like a warm night wind full of prickling stars. Then he smelled its fur, smoky and leathery. Robbie opened his eyes and saw Hands gazing down. His nose was quivering, his antlers flared wide—just a head and neck regarding him with gentle brown eyes.
"Fristeen," Robbie whispered, sitting up. "Hands is here."
When Fristeen saw Hands, she was overjoyed. She ran to him, opened her arms and hugged his neck. Robbie stood close and stroked Hands' nose. It was soft and round, and his breath pulsed powerfully through tear-shaped nostrils. They could both see now how old Hands was. His front was cut and scarred, and crumbly at the edges. And his beard was thick and dusty. When his rubbery lips parted, he was missing a tooth.
"Is it lonely in the Cabin?" Fristeen asked.
Hands tipped his head toward her. He couldn't talk, but they could see his thoughts in his deep brown eyes. He wasn't thinking of himself—he was thinking of them. He knew why they were there, and how much they needed the Dream Man and Dawn. And he knew something else—something he'd learned from so many seasons and so many leavings. And that made him sigh.
Hands lowered his antlers.
"He's going to give us a ride," Robbie said.
Fristeen thought he meant to carry them to the Cabin. But Hands' gentle gaze calmed her. That wasn't what he wanted at all. They knew they could trust him, so they climbed over his tines and lay back on his palms. The sooty bone was etched with lines. "Maps," Robbie said, feeling the surface. Fristeen nodded. Then Hands rose and floated into the trees.
He took a twisty way through the labyrinth of spindles, and the farther they went, the hotter it got. A nimbus of gnats joined them. They were dizzy and sweating, and their pale bodies glowed. Hands moved with intent, and as the fever mounted, they both sensed something special in store.
"Robbie— It's Dawn—I can feel her!"
The very next moment, they emerged from a thicket and Fristeen cried out. Dawn, giant and alive, burst from the skies. Her great wings were pulsing, and through the gaps in her feathers and her loving eyes, golden sun poured. She was dazzling, blinding, singing with all her heart—on every side she brimmed the hillocks and flooded the ravines. It was all Dawn's joy, her special gladness—like a peach your face was buried in, and the juice everywhere, fragrant and sweet.
"Do you know what she's thinking?" Fristeen said.
They were hovering above a tall hill, and as Hands settled onto its top, Robbie saw Fristeen's face before him, bright as the sun, with Dawn's great pinions combing the blue on either side.
"You should be married," Dawn whispered, and the silence that followed crowded out every sound.
"We should," Robbie cried.
"Just like you," Fristeen agreed. "Will you show us how?"
"That's why I've come," Dawn replied.
And that's what they did.
Not the strange way Robbie and Fristeen had witnessed at the Pool. There was another way that was better for kids.
"Lay here," the deep voice of the Dream Man said.
It was like the blade of an axe splitting dry wood. Robbie turned, scanning the surging sky for his idol.
"Inside you," the Dream Man said.
It was true. Robbie could feel the dark brawn beneath his skin. And the whirling he felt? That was inside his head, now unnaturally tall—like a giant pickle jar with a screw-top lid.
"Lay here," the Dream Man repeated.
Beneath them was a pallet of cranberry sprigs. At its border, the steep flank of the hill went down and down.
"Together," Fristeen spoke with the authority of Dawn, as they slid from Hands' palms. The wind circled strangely.
Silent, hands clasped, they knelt and lay down.
"We thought you'd forgotten us," Robbie murmured.
The Dream Man seemed not to hear.
"Ready?" Dawn whispered.
"Yes," Fristeen replied.
"Hug," Dawn said.
They embraced, their sweating bodies pressed close.
"Hold on tight," the Dream Man warned. "Now roll yourselves over—"
They started to roll.
"Again, again—" the Dream Man directed.
"Can you feel it?" Dawn said. "The edge of the dropoff—"
"Roll! Keep rolling," the Dream Man boomed. "Hands— give them a push. Hold on tight!"
Suddenly the earth fell beneath them—they were rolling free, clutching each other, turning and turning, hanging on for dear life. Robbie felt his chest against hers, tummies thumping like drums, knocking knees and shoulders. They were tumbling and tumbling, rolling down and down, Dawn's gold pouring over them, while the Dream Man's thoughts went wild in his head. Your joy is melting into Fristeen's, your heart is a stream meeting a river, your deepest feelings are finally free. All this is Dawn's doing. Now here is my part. This swarm of trapped thoughts? This great galaxy whirling? I'm going to open the jar. I'm going to take off your lid.
Every thought Robbie had from his first day of life—every spark of idea, each star born in a dream—rising toward the rim now, seeking their freedom at the very same time! Then, then, in a single moment— The vessel opens and the thoughts explode! Released, they're weaving a new universe around the tumbling glow. One heart, one mind, boundless, heedless, tumbling out of control.
"This is the way," Dawn said softly, "life should be."
A great splash! They landed in a sea of gold—the one Dawn had poured out for them. Two children, dissolved in each other, now dissolved in her.
Robbie felt himself sinking. He couldn't brea
the.
Then Hands' fingers scooped beneath him, and Fristeen was beside him, naked and glowing. Hands carried them back to the top of the hill and set them down on the pallet, where they fell asleep.
With oblivion came peace. Robbie felt Fristeen close. Now and then, her breath reached his ear, and there were caring voices that came and went. Finally, as the day reached its end and the air grew chill, one surfaced, louder than the rest.
"The waking world," the Dream Man said. "What is it really? Would you like to know? An island of doom in a tempest of fire. The war is raging on every side. Here, right now— Open your eyes."
With the Dream Man's words echoing in his ear, Robbie parted his lids, raised himself and looked around.
The declining sun had ignited a purple holocaust—an enormous shrine with flashing peaks and sheer palisades.
Hundreds of smaller pyres flanked it on the circling horizon, blazing copper and beet, in distant lands. They were everywhere, surrounding the enclave of man, each with a charred Cabin at its heart, raising souls to the Dream Man and Dawn.
Fristeen heard him stirring and knelt beside him. Her body was still glowing, but with softer hues, amber and rose.
"We belong with them," Fristeen said. "I don't want to go back."
But what choice did they have?
They started the return to the Pool. Hardly a word was spoken.
They were climbing the slope to the Two-Tree, when a cold mist drifted past.
"A wicked lie," a wheezy voice chided. "It's all an illusion— just ash and dust."
"Fristeen—" Robbie looked in her eyes and together they turned.
At the base of the purple shrine, a myriad windows had opened, and through each the long rays of Dawn reached out. One seemed meant for them, but it didn't touch their overlook. It fell short, stopping at the fold in Too Far directly below them—the Hollow where the Cabin rested in its bowl of embers.
Shivers was wrong, Robbie thought. It wasn't the realm of the Dream Man that was wicked and false. It was the other, to which they were returning. Only unfortunates abided in that forlorn place.
10
The next morning, Dad looked up as Robbie sat down for breakfast.
"What happened to you?" Dad wondered.
