“Really?”
“Um hmm. He loved you. No matter what.”
“I think I love him too. And hate him too. Is that okay?”
“Yes…that’s okay,” she said. Halley looked in the little girl’s sad eyes. “He was much better at loving you later, you know. There’ll be a horse named Athena and wildflowers, and…” She took a deep breath. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
The little girl looked down.
“I can’t go. And you can’t go either.”
The warm yellow light of the secret room had dimmed.
“Why? Why can’t we go?” Halley asked, perplexed. “I’ve told you – you’ll be safe.”
The little girl looked away. “I don’t want to. Because it was my fault. When Mom died. My fault.” The child’s lip trembled again, but she didn’t cry.
My fault, my fault, my fault.
Halley wished she could turn off the echo of the words in her brain, where it resonated and filled all the available space.
The little girl looked at Halley’s expression closely, and drew away. “It’s true then. It was my fault.”
Halley was seeing her mother, stretched out in her coffin. Of course, she’d never really seen it – she’d been far too young to take to a funeral. In her mind, though, she’d seen the scene scores of times. Her mother: cold, with wide-open, staring, accusing eyes. Too thin. Thin as a bone.
It had happened so fast, the cancer eating her, and they made Halley keep going to school, even after she began wetting herself. She’d lied the first time it happened, had said she’d landed in a puddle at the end of a slide, but they could smell the urine, and they knew. My fault.
Halley shook her head to clear it. “It was cancer,” she said. She had learned the right words to say many years ago.
“Can…” The little girl tried to say the word. “Can…cer? I don’t know that word. What does it mean?”
“It means she got…”
Halley struggled to force the words out. It was like pushing bubble gum through thin wire mesh – some got stuck, and the bits that got through were deformed into unintended shapes. “… sick,” she finished lamely. The word seemed round, and all-encompassing.
“Like when I got fever,” the little girl said.
“What?”
“Like when I got fever. I stay in bed, all day,” the little girl said. “Sick people must stay in bed. Mom stayed in bed after I go school, all the time. My fault.”
Halley looked around the small secret room. She’d been so focused on the little girl she hadn’t taken time to examine it before. It was larger than she’d remembered, and brighter. Its walls were rounded, and edged with vibrant cushions. It was like they were sitting in a genie’s jar. Like in “I Dream of Genie”, she thought suddenly. She’d fashioned the room after the show that she and her brother watched every Saturday at noon. “It’s not so bad in here, is it?” she said, as if to herself. She picked up Fluffy and rubbed his worn brown paw between two fingers. “I could stay here with you.” My fault, my fault, my fault.
The little girl looked suddenly very frightened.
“Halley?” The voice called from back in the cave.
Halley didn’t answer.
“Who’s there?” the little girl asked. Fear made her voice tremble.
“Halley? Are you in there?” Eden’s voice sounded distant.
Halley remained silent. She was mouthing the words to herself: my fault, my fault, my fault. Stay here. Hide here.
Eden popped through the small round hole from the closet into the secret room. “Oh, wowww! It’s still here. I can’t believe this place is still here.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and hummed the refrain from “I Dream of Genie”, just like the actress in the show used to do.
“Who are you?” the little girl said, also crossing her arms across her chest, but in a defensive way. “And…Hey! Why are you wearing my clothes?”
“I’m Eden.” She looked down at the little girl and giggled. “I guess I am wearing your clothes. They sure fit me better than you – you’re tiny!” The little girl scowled. Eden looked at her more closely and added, “And you need a bath.” She addressed Halley, who still hadn’t spoken. “What’s the matter?”
Halley didn’t look up. She continued to massage the bear’s brown paw. My fault, my fault, my fault.
“Halley? Halley!” Eden grabbed the bear and pulled it away. “What are you doing?”
“Stay here. Hide here,” Halley said, in a strange, child-like voice.
“What!?”
“My fault.”
Eden and the little girl looked at each other.
“Did you tell her that?” Eden said.
“No, you did.”
“I think we both did. Come on.”
Eden got the two of them to stand up, and helped them to join hands with her. They stood in a circle in the center of the genie room.
Halley moved as if mesmerized. She lifted her chin and stared up at the conical roof. It was like the photos of the Pantheon; she’d always wanted to go there. It was lovely here in this safe place, it really was.
“I’ve read about cancer,” Eden said.
“Cancer,” the little girl said.
“It’s no one’s fault. It just happens.”
There were the words from the books again.
“Just happens,” Halley parroted. The others’ hands felt cold and almost bloodless.
Eden squeezed Halley’s hand so hard it hurt. “It wasn’t your fault. You’ve got to let it go.”
“If I let it go, I let her go.”
“No!” the little girl shouted. “No! Don’t let her go!”
The light in the cave shimmered. The air was suddenly permeated with the pungent seaside smell of bayberries.
The little girl gasped. “Mom…” She breathed in deeply, lifting her chin, savoring the scent. “You’ve come back…”
“Not my fault,” Halley said.
“That’s what she said,” Eden replied, gesturing towards the empty space in the center of the circle.
“Who?” Halley asked.
“Mom. Didn’t you see her? She was there, but just for a moment.” Eden looked perplexed. “She said the same thing you did – that it wasn’t my fault.”
“She’s never said that before,” the little child said.
Halley lifted her chin and stared up at the roof. “The three of us have never been here together before,” she said. She looked down at their joined hands, at the way their fingers overlapped. Her hands were the largest by far, the most grown. She had to be the one to decide.
“It was cancer,” she said firmly. “No one was to blame.” The words were no longer simply words from a book; they were the truth.
“No one was to blame,” Eden repeated.
“Dat’s right,” the smallest girl confirmed.
The smell of bayberries settled into them, scenting their clothes and their skin. The spell that had fallen over Halley was broken. Eden quickly and quietly left.
When Eden was out of sight, the child said, “Can we go outside now? I’d like to go too…”
“You bet!” Halley replied immediately.
The child bounded to her feet. “I’ll go first!”
She slid easily through the round opening into the closet. Halley followed closely behind. When they stood side by side in the closet, the child swept her hand over the hole in the back wall and it vanished. The way to the secret genie room was closed forever.
With the genie hole closed, the closet was dark again, and the air immediately began to feel close. There wasn’t much space to move. A slight variation in the darkness of the closet wall was the only indication of the hole that led back into the cave.
We’re going to go from the inside of a closet into a cave, Halley reflected. I almost wish we’d end up back in the house instead.
“Halley?”
“Hm?”
“It didn’t look like this in h
ere before…”
“What do you mean?” Her five-year-old eyes must be able to see better than mine.
“That hole in the other wall…that wasn’t there before.”
“That’s the way we have to go.”
“I always just walked out through the closet door. Can’t we go that way?”
“I don’t think so.”
The little girl reached up impulsively and turned the knob. Halley felt a chill run down her spine. The little girl peeked through the crack. “Water…” she said.
“Water?”
“Not my bedroom. I just see lots of water and…”
Halley grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door firmly shut. “This is the way.” She indicated the hole she’d made that led to the cave.
“Oh, okay.”
God, what would have happened if we went through that door? The idea of being underwater makes me feel suffocated.
They slid through the rocky hole back into the cave. It felt so good to feel the earth under her feet again.
“Cool!” the little girl said, looking around. “A real cave!”
“Haven’t you been here before?”
“Never!”
Taking the child’s hand, she reversed the process she’d used to find her way. “Don’t be afraid. I know the way out.”
“I’m not afraid. I’m with you.”
The walk through the tunnel was shorter this time and much less frightening. When they exited the cave, still holding hands, the fog had cleared and the sky was a remarkable blue. Eden giggled from somewhere above them, and they looked up to find her waiting for them up in the tall tree. With a swinging somersault, she jumped down, landing solidly on both feet.
“Yippee!” she shouted. “She’s free!”
“We all are,” Halley replied.
With a laugh, the little girl darted off into the grass.
It was a short walk from the cave to the foothills at the base of the mountains. The last of the long grass disappeared, and the trail started to slant gently uphill.
It was good to have to focus on small things, on the slight incline, on the extra effort in heart and muscles that it took to walk uphill. The trail was littered with large rocks buried deeply in the earth, ideal for climbing, making the initial foothills easy to traverse. They soon left the tundra and the rivers far behind, and the colors became subdued and hypnotic: tans; beiges; light browns.
Later, dark green tree ferns appeared, abundant with fronds uncurling from the center of their crowns. When a frond broke off at full maturity, it left behind a circular pattern on the tree trunk, as if to say, “I was here: this is my mark.” Halley herself was now unfurled, stretched out to a full and glorious length. She was ready to make her mark.
The sun was hot on her back, and sweat dripped off her elbows. She slipped off her orange windbreaker and tied it loosely around her waist, and walked in her long sleeved t-shirt, sweeping her hand across her forehead now and then to prevent the sweat from dripping into her eyes. Eden was singing, bounding from rock to rock.
The foothills came to an abrupt end at the base of the first tall mountain. They had finally arrived at a real climb. Halley took a deep breath, and tilted her head all the way back to look up the steep ascent. Doing so made her mouth drop open. Even with her head back, she couldn’t see the top. Just take the first step, and then the next one, and then the next one. She began.
As they climbed, the gradient became steeper, and the green tree ferns disappeared. Weeds replaced them – dusty, dry and stringy, hued in grey and olive tones. These were hardier things not crafted for beauty, but for survival.
Soon, the terrain became so steep that the only way up was via hundreds of rough steps carved into the solid bedrock. It was a switchback trail, just two feet wide, its camel-colored steps shallow and dry, and just that bit too small to allow a full foot-length. Before long, they were hundreds of feet up with nothing to prevent a fall. The wind, which occasionally gusted with unexpected force, made her feel like they were being tracked by some malevolent being.
She began to hurry. In her haste, she jammed the toe of her boot on the edge of a step, and stumbled. Struggling for balance, her arms flailed the empty air, the silver bracelet banging back and forth against her wrist bone. With great effort, she regained her balance, and then stood still, breathing fast. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself plummeting to her death, what had once been her living body dead, smashed into pieces on the hard grey rocks far below. It had nearly happened; it still could.
No, this won’t do. I need a different picture than this in my mind if we’re going to make it.
Eyes closed, swaying slightly with the force of the wind, she visualized herself tall, strong, confident. She was making her way up the steep climb, not stumbling. In her imagination, she was actually smiling at the challenge. With this image fixed in her mind, she opened her eyes. She found she was smiling. Her belly expanded with her breath and new energy blossomed in her. She liked this new image. I’m really not afraid – that’s amazing! She couldn’t wait to begin climbing again.
It was his fetid smell that warned her. She spun quickly on the spot and nearly lost her footing. Fifty feet below, Trance was climbing, with cold, swift arrogance. His eyes met hers; they were ice-blue with disdain.
“You silly, stupid, little girl,” he said. As if you could get away from me.”
Laughing, he devoured four more steps with his long stride. His laughter was humorless and harsh, a grating sound like rock on rock. The white braided snake of hair swung side to side. His arms looked thick, his torso muscular.
Halley stood firm. “Who are you calling ‘little girl?’”
“You, Sparrow.” He kept coming. “I want you. I want you and the baby.” He paused. “I want you dead.”
“Never,” she said. She cocked her head like a bird of prey.
“You say never. Yet I’ve nearly had it, many times. The knife on your arm…cutting…cutting. Three long lines…”
His feet looked enormous on the steps. Halley forced her eyes from them.
“Nearly doesn’t count. I didn’t do it. And it wasn’t me cutting my arm with that knife. It was Nick. You said it was me. You’ve been lying.”
Trance’s stride faltered.
“Nick?” he said.
She rubbed her right arm as if it pained her. “That’s right. Nick.”
Trance’s eyes moved quickly back and forth. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, climbing fast again. “The other time with the knife – that was all you. You wanted to die.”
“I didn’t do it. That’s what matters,” she said. “I chose life. I choose life.”
“You don’t get to make that choice!” he snarled, through gritted teeth.
“You’ve tried to kill me many times,” she said, softening her voice in response to him raising his. “But you’ve never succeeded.” She spoke a bit louder. “Why do you think that is?”
“I’ve just been biding my time, Sparrow.”
Bullshit, she thought.
“Let me take you down the mountain.” The sun was behind him now, making his expression harder to read. He had injected a note of kindness into the words. “It isn’t safe to climb any further.”
Take me down. Yes, you’ve taken me down many times. His words penetrated at a point just below her heart. I was going to do this, she thought, suddenly weakening, climb this mountain, save the baby…
He went for the jugular. “No, Halley. You weren’t. You were never going to do this. Save the baby! You’ve just been running from me. You, on some great quest…” He laughed his mirthless laugh, and took a step closer. “Look at you,” he said, like a patronizing teacher to a rather dim student. “So messy, so dirty. How could you look after a baby when you can’t even keep yourself clean?”
Who will save the baby if I give up?
“The baby will not be saved!” Trance roared. “You are not strong enough! You will never be strong enough!” He quieted
his voice. There was no need to shout. “I’ll show you the way down. Forget about the baby. Trust me. I won’t hurt you. Follow me…”
“Save the baby, save the baby, save the baby,” Eden chanted from a few steps above Halley.
Halley only heard the buzzing in her ears.
They might have stood there an eternity, Trance and Halley and Eden, the wind swirling around them, the gritty dust biting at their ankles.
Halley thought of Gail, of Hope, of the small child she had saved. Their energy was whirling inside her, pulsing through her bloodstream, pounding from her heart to her extremities and back. There was life there. They had imbued her with life, where before there had been death. The warmth of life; old life; new life; her face grew hot with it. Suddenly, her voice shattered the silence between them like breaking glass.
“No. I won’t follow you. Never again will I follow you.”
“You will do as I say!”
“I will not.”
He smiled mirthlessly. “You’re a big talker for someone who’s scared to death.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Look around. Look down. Feel the wind? It’s pushing at you. You’d better hold on.” He jerked towards her, as if to strike, to throw her off balance. “Better come down with me. You’re not competent to do this.”
“That’s funny. I feel competent. I’ve been competent. I think you’re wrong.”
“Ah, but you’re the one who’s been wrong before, aren’t you? Wrong so many times. Why should you be right this time?”
“Who are you?” It was the question she’d never asked.
“I think you know.”
“You’re insane.”
He laughed. “You looked down! I saw you! You’re scared now, aren’t you? It’s time to turn around, Sparrow. Time to let me lead again. I’ll lead you right.” He took a step towards her.
“No.”
“Yes.” Another step.
“NO! I’ll kill you first.”
“Go ahead.” He stopped. “Kill me.” He might have been made of ice. “What’s the matter? Do something. Kill me.” His teeth glowed. “I’m waiting.”
Halley looked down, deflated; she couldn’t even kill a spider.
Akilina: Out of the Woods Page 24
