Pilgrimage

by Зенна Гендерсон

  I screamed again and the sky spun in a dizzy spiral rimmed with sharp pine tops, and suddenly unaccountably Severeid Swanson was there joining the treetops and the sky and spinning with them as he said, "Teesher! Teesher!"

  The world steadied as though a hand had been put upon it. I scrambled to my feet.

  "Severeid!" I cried. "They're in there! Help me get them out! Help me!"

  "Teesher," Severeid shrugged helplessly, "no comprendo. I bring a flying one. I go get him. You say you gotta find. I find him. What you do out here with tears?"

  Before I was conscious of another person standing beside Severeid I felt another person in my mind. Before I could bring my gasping into articulation the words were taken from me. Before I could move I heard the rending of rocks, and turning I sank to my knees and watched, in terrified wonder, the whole of the hillside lift itself and arch away like a furrow of turned earth before a plowshare. I saw silt rise like a yellow-red fountain above the furrow. I saw Low and Lucine rise with the silt. I saw the hillside flow back upon itself. I saw Low and Lucine lowered to the ground before me and saw all the light fading as I fell forward, my fingertips grazing the curve of Low's cheek just before I drank deeply of blackness.

  The sun was all. Through the thin blanket I could feel the cushioning of the fine sand under my cheek. I could hear the cold blowing overhead through the sighing trees, but where we were the warmth of the late-fall sun was gathered between granite palms and poured down into our tiny pocket against the mountain. Without moving I could reach Low and Valancy and Jemmy. Without opening my eyes I could see them around me, strengthening me. The moment grew too dear to hold. I rolled over and sat up. "Tell me again," I said. "How did Severeid ever find you the second time?"

  I didn't mind the indulgent smile Valancy and Jemmy exchanged. I didn't mind feeling like a child-if they were the measure of adults.

  "The first time he ever saw us," Jemmy said, "was when he those to sleep off his vino around a boulder from where we chose to picnic. He was so drunk, or so childlike, or both, that he wasn't amazed or outraged by our lifting and tumbling all over the sky. He was intrigued and delighted. He thought he had died and by-passed purgatory, and we had to restrain him to keep him from taking off after us. Of course, before we let him go we blocked his memory of us so he couldn't talk of us to anyone except others of the People." He smiled at me.

  "That's why we got real shook when we found that he'd told you and that you're not of the People. At least not of the Home. You're the third blow to our provincialism. Peter and Bethie were the first, but at least they were half of the People, but you-" he waggled his head mournfully, "you just didn't track."

  "Yes," I shivered, remembering the long years I hadn't tracked with anyone. "I just didn't track-" And I relaxed under the triple reassurance that flooded in from Low and Jemmy and his wife Valancy.

  "Well, when you told Severeid yon wanted to find us he stumbled as straight as a wino string back to our old picnic grounds. He must have huddled over that tiny fire of his for several days before we found him-parched with thirst and far past his last memory of food." Jemmy drew a long breath.

  "Well, when we found out that Severeid knew of what we thought were two more of us-we've been in-gathering ever since the ships first arrived-well! We slept him all the way back. He would have been most unhappy with the speed and altitude of that return trip, especially without a car or plane.

  "I caught your struggle to save Lucine when we were still miles away, and, praise the Power, I got there in time."

  "Yes," I breathed; taking warmth from Low's hand to thaw my memory of that moment.

  "That's the quickest I ever platted anything," Jemmy said.

  "And the first time I ever did it on a scale like that. I wasn't sure that the late sunlight, without the moonlight, was strong enough, so I was openmouthed myself at the way the mountain ripped open." He smiled weakly. "Maybe it's just as well that we curb our practice of some of our Persuasions. It was really shake-making!"

  "That's for sure!" I shivered. "I wonder what Severeid thought of the deal?"

  "'We gave Severeid forgetfulness of the whole mine episode," Valancy said. "But, as Jemmy would say, the sheriff was considerably shook when he got back with the crew. His only articulate pronouncement was, 'Gaw-dang! Cleo II's finally gone!' "

  "And Lucine?" I asked, savoring the answer I already knew.

  "And Lucine is learning," Valancy said. "'Bethie, our Sensitive, found what was wrong and it is mended now. She'll be normal very shortly."

  "And-me?" I breathed, hoping I knew.

  "One of us!" the three cried to me down under. "Earth born or not-one of us!"

  "But what a problem!" Jemmy said. "We thought we had us all catalogued. There were those of us completely of the People and those who were half of the People and half of Earth like Bethie and Peter. And then you came along. Not one bit of the People!"

  "No," I said, comfortably leaning against my ancestral stone wall again. "Not

  one bit of the People."

  "You look like confirmation of something we've been wondering about, though," Valancy said. "Perhaps after all this long time of detour the people of Earth are beginning to reach the Persuasions, too. We've had hints of such developments but in such little bits and snippets in these research deals. We had no idea that anyone was so far along the way. No telling how many others there are all over the world waiting to be found."

  "Hiding, you mean," I said. "You don't go around asking to be found. Not after the first few reactions you get. Oh, maybe in the first fine flush of discovery you hurry to share the wonder, but you learn quickly enough to hide."

  "But so like us!" Valancy cried. "Two worlds and yet you're so like us." "But she can't inanimate-lift," Low teased. "And you can't glow," I retorted. "And you can't sun-and-moonlight-platt," Jemmy said. "Nor you cloud-herd," I said. "'And if you don't stop picking on me I'll do just that right now and snatch that shower away from-from Morenci and drench you all!" "And she could do it!" Valancy laughed. "And we can't, so let's leave her alone." We all fell silent, relaxing on the sun-warmed sand until Jemmy rolled over and opened one eye. "You know, Valancy, Dita and Low can communicate more freely than you and I. With them it's sometimes almost involuntary." Valancy rolled over, too. "Yes," she said. "And Dita can block me out, too. Only a Sorter is supposed to be able to block a Sorter and she's not a Sorter." Jemmy waggled his head. "Just like Earthlings! Always out of step. What a problem this gal's going to be!" "Yep," Low cut in underneath. "A problem and a half, but I think I'I1 keep her anyway." I could feel his tender laughter. I closed my eyes against the sun, feeling it golden across my lids. "I'm un-lost," I thought incredulously, aching with the sudden joy of it. "I'm really un-lost!" I took tight hold of the hem of my dream, knowing finally and surely that someday I would be able to wrap the whole fabric of it not just around me but around others who were lost and bewildered, too. Someday we would all be what was only a dream now. Softly I drowsed, Low's hand warm upon my cheek-drowsed finally, without dreading an awakening. V

  "OH, BUT! Oh, but!" Lea thought excitedly. "Maybe, maybe-!" She turned at the pressure of a hand on her shoulder and met Melodye's understanding eyes.

  "No," she said, "we're still Outsiders. It's like the color of your eyes. You're either brown-eyed or you're not. We're not the People. Welcome to my bakery window."

  "Seems to me you're fattening on just the sight and smell then." It was Dr.

  Curtis. "Fattening!" Melodye wailed. "'Oh, no! Not after all my efforts-" "Well, perhaps being nourished would be a more tactful way of saying it, as

  well as being more nearly exact. You don't seem to be wasting away."

  "Maybe," Melodye said, sobering, "maybe it's because knowing there can be this kind of communication between the People, and trying to reach it for myself, I have made myself more receptive to communication from a source that knows no Outsiders-no East or West-no bond or free-"

  "Hmm," Dr. Curtis s
aid. "There you have a point for pondering." Karen and Lea separated from the happily chattering groups as they passed the house. The two girls lingered, huddling in their jackets, until the sound of

  the other voices died in shadowy echoes down-canyon. Lea lifted her chin to a

  sudden cool breeze.

  "Karen, do you think I'll ever get straightened out?" she asked.

  "If you're not too enamored of your difficulties," Karen said, her hand on the doorknob. "If you're not too firmly set on remodeling 'nearer to your heart's desire.' We may think this is a 'sorry scheme of things' but we have to learn that our own judgment is neither completely valid nor the polestar for charting our voyage. Too often we operate on the premise that what we think just has to be the norm for all things. Really, you'd find it most comforting to admit that you aren't running the universe-that you can't be responsible for everything, that there are lots of things you can and must relinquish into other hands-"

  "To let go-" Lea looked down at her clenched hands. "I've held them like this so much it's a wonder my nails haven't grown through my palms."

  "Sneaky way to keep from having to use nail polish!" Karen laughed. "But come-to bed, to bed. Oh, I'll be so glad when I can take you over the hill!" She opened the door and went in, tugging at her jacket. "I just ache to talk it over with you, good old Outsider-type talking. I acquired quite a taste for it that year I spent Outside-" Her voice faded down the hall. Lea looked up at the brilliant stars that punctuated the near horizon.

  "The stars come down," she thought, "down to the hills and the darkness. The darkness lifts up to the hills and the stars. And here on the porch is a me-sized empty place trying to Become. It's so hard to reconcile darkness and the stars-but what else are we but an attempt at reconciliation?"

  Night came again. It seemed to Lea that time was like a fan. The evenings were the carefully carved, tangible bones of the fan that held their identity firmly. The days folded themselves meekly away between the nights-days containing patterns only in that they were bounded on each side by evenings-folded days scribbled on unintelligibly. She held herself carefully away from any attempt to read the scrawling scribbles. If they meant anything she didn't want to know it. Only so long as she could keep from reading meanings into anything or trying to relate one thing to another-only that long could she maintain the precarious peace of the folded days and active evenings.

  She settled down almost gladly into the desk that had become pleasantly familiar. "It's rather like drugging myself on movies or books or TV," she thought. "I bring my mind empty to the Gatherings, let the stories flow through and take my mind empty home again." Home? Home? She felt the fist clench in her chest and twist sharply, but she stubbornly concentrated on the lights that swung from the ceiling. Her attention sharpened on them. "Those aren't electric lights," she whispered to Karen. "Nor Coleman lanterns. What are they?"

  "Lights," Karen smiled. "They cost a dime apiece. A dime and Dita. She glowed them for us. I've been practicing like mad and I almost glowed one the other day." She laughed ruefully.

  "And she an Outsider! Oh, I tell you, Lea, you never know how much you use pride to keep yourself warm in this cold world until someone tears a hole in it and you shiver in the draft. Dita was a much-needed rip to a lot of us, bless her pointed little ears!"

  "Greetings." Dr. Curtis slid into his seat next to Lea. "You'll like the story tonight," he nodded at Lea. "You share a great deal with Miss Carolle. I find it very interesting-the story, that is-well, and your similarity, too. Well, anyway, I find the story interesting because my own fine Italian hand-" He subsided as Miss Carolle came down the aisle.

  "Why, she's crippled!" Lea thought in amazement. "Or has been," she amended. Then wondered what there was about Miss Carolle that made her think of handicaps.

  "Handicaps?" Lea flushed. "I share a great deal with her?" She twisted the corner of her Kleenex. "Of course," she admitted humbly, ducking her head. "Handicapped-crippled-" She caught her breath as the darkness swelled-ripping

  to get in-or out-or just ripping. Before the tiny beads of cold sweat had time to finish forming on her upper lip and at her hairline she felt Karen touch her with a healing strength.

  "Thank you, my soothing syrup," she thought wryly. "Don't be silly!" she heard Karen think sharply. "Laugh at your Band-Aids after the scabs are off!"

  Miss Carolle murmured into the sudden silence, "We are met together in Thy Name."

  Lea let the world flow away from her.

  "I have a theme song instead of just a theme," Miss Carolle said. "Ready?'"

  Music strummed softly, coming from nowhere and from

  everywhere. Lea felt wrapped about by its soft fullness. Then a clear voice took up the melody, so softly, so untrespassingly, that it seemed to Lea that the music itself had modulated to words, voicing some cry of her own that had never found words before.

  "By the rivers of Babylon,

  There we sat down and wept,

  When we remembered Zion.

  We hanged our harps

  Upon the willows in the midst thereof.

  For there they that carried us away captive

  Required of us a song

  And they that wasted us

  Required of us mirth

  Saying, 'Sing us one of the songs of Zion.'

  How shall we sing the Lord's song

  In a strange land?"

  Lea closed her eyes and felt weak tears slip from under the lids. She put her head down on her arms on the desk top to hide her face. Her heart, torn by the anguish of the music, was sore for all the captives who had ever been, of whatever captivity, but most especially for those who drove themselves into exile, who locked themselves into themselves and lost the key.

  The crowd had become a listening person as Miss Carolle twisted her palms together, fingers spread and tense for a moment and then began ….

  CAPTIVITY

  I SUPPOSE many lonely souls have sat at their windows many nights looking out into the flood of moonlight, sad with a sadness that knows no comfort, a sadness underlined by a beauty that is in itself a pleasant kind of sorrow-but very few ever have seen what I saw that night.

  I leaned against the window frame, close enough to the inflooding light so that it washed across my bare feet and the hem of my gown and splashed whitely against the foot of my bed, but picked up none of my features to identify me as a person, separate from the night. I was enjoying hastily, briefly, the magic of the loveliness before the moon would lose itself behind the heavy grove of cottonwoods that lined the creek below the curve of the back-yard garden. The first cluster of leaves had patterned itself against the edge of the moon when I saw him-the Francher kid. I felt a momentary surge of disappointment and annoyance that this perfect beauty should be marred by any person at all, let alone the Francher kid, but my annoyance passed as my interest sharpened.

  What was he doing-half black and half white in the edge of the moonlight? In the higgledy-piggledy haphazardness of the town Groman's Grocery sidled in at an angle to the back yard of the Somansons' house, where I boarded-not farther than twenty feet away. The tiny high-up windows under the eaves of the store blinked in the full light. The Francher kid was standing, back to the moon, staring up at the windows. I leaned closer to watch. There was a waitingness

  about his shoulders, a prelude to movement, a beginning of something. Then there he was-up at the windows, pushing softly against the panes, opening a dark rectangle against the white side of the store. And then he was gone. I blinked and looked again. Store. Windows. One opened blankly. No Francher kid. Little windows. High up under the eaves. One opened blankly. No Francher kid.

  Then the blank opening had movement inside it, and the Francher kid emerged with both hands full of something and slid down the moonlight to the ground outside.

  "Now looky here!" I said to myself. "Hey! Lookit now!"

  The Francher kid sat down on one end of a twelve-by-twelve that lay half in our garden and half
behind the store. Carefully and neatly he arranged his booty along the timber. Three Cokes, a box of candy bars, and a huge harmonica that had been in the store for years. He sat and studied the items, touching each one with a fingertip. Then he picked up a Coke and studied the cap on it. He opened the box of candy and closed it again. He ran a finger down the harmonica and then lifted it between the pointer fingers of his two hands. Holding it away from him in the moonlight he looked at it, his head swinging slowly down its length. And, as his head swung, faintly, faintly, I heard a musical scale run up, then down. Careful note by careful note singing softly but clearly in the quiet night.

  The moon was burning holes through the cottonwood tops by now and the yard was slipping into shadow. I heard notes riff rapidly up and cascade back down, gleefully, happily, and I saw the glint and chromium glitter of the harmonica, dancing from shadow to light and back again, singing untouched in the air. Then the moon reached an opening in the trees and spotlighted the Francher kid almost violently. He was sitting on the plank, looking up at the harmonica, a small smile on his usually sullen face. And the harmonica sang its quiet song to him as he watched it. His face shadowed suddenly as he looked down at the things laid out on the plank. He gathered them up abruptly and walked up the moonlight to the little window and slid through, head first. Behind him, alone, unattended, the harmonica danced and played, hovering and darting like a dragonfly. Then the kid reappeared, sliding head first out of the window. He sat crosslegged in the air beside the harmonica and watched and listened. The gay dance slowed and changed. The harmonica cried softly in the moonlight, an aching asking cry as it spiraled up and around until it slid through the open window and lost its voice in the darkness. The window clicked shut and the Francher kid thudded to the ground. He slouched off through the shadows, his elbows winging sharply backward as he jammed his fists in his pockets.