“George, remember Antonya Corando’s notebooks? Remember the two images you said kept coming up over and over?”
Sucking in his lower lip, he raised a hand to make a point. Like he was raising it in class to be recognized by the teacher. But his hand slowed going up as the understanding of what I’d said hit home. His hand abruptly snatched at the air and turned into a tight fist. “The lizard and the shovel!” “Exactly. Start digging. Right here.”
“Yes!” He whipped around to Floon who was now looking at both of us as if we were the enemy. “It’s here, Caz. Frannie’s right—this is where we have to dig.”
“I’ll start! Let me.” The kid cried out happily, picking up the shovel but dropping it again in his excitement. He picked it right up again and began digging like a little machine.
“No, we’ll do it. It’ll go faster. You just stand back.” I gestured for him to hand over the shovel.
He wouldn’t. He tried putting it behind his back. “No! That’s not fair! I found that lizard. I did. And I found these guys too when you couldn’t. So I should get to dig first.”
I tried to sound reasonable, like a good guy who was only on his side. “My man, we just gotta do this ourselves and as fast as possible. We gotta dig this hole and then get out of here.”
His face tried turning to stone but you know how little kids are—they haven’t learned how to be cool yet. They know passion cold and hot, but not cool. His next voice came out a sob. “That’s not fair! I helped you twice today and you know it! I helped you get out of the library too. I—”
“Give me the goddamned shovel. Now!” I stepped toward him. Whatever was on my face scared him. He held the tool behind his back, but when he saw me coming, he dropped it. Stumbling backward over it, he fell down. His eyes stayed scared on me. There was no more time to waste. I picked up the shovel and turned away from him.
“You’re the pisser! You’re the big fat pisser and you don’t have a penis!” His outrage turned to singsongy taunt. “You don’t have a penis, you don’t have a penis!”
Ignoring the boy, I gave Floon the shovel and pointed out the spot on the ground. I was dizzy and needed to sit down.
“Frannie, watch out—” George’s voice, then something hard hit the back of my knee. It buckled, but I didn’t fall. Turning, I saw the kid running away into the woods.
“He kicked you.”
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”
But it did matter. When we decided it would be better for George and Floon to first go back for the body, I stood alone thinking about the little boy. Where would he go? Would he be coming back?
I felt weak but clearer in my mind than I had all day. Some sort of plan had taken shape: Dig the hole, bury the body, return to town—The snap and click of twigs under their feet announced they were returning. The body in its bag on their shoulders looked smaller.
As if it was still alive and they were concerned for its comfort, they lowered it very gently to the ground. Floon picked up the shovel and began digging. He worked with precise gestures and no wasted effort. The hole grew quickly not least because there was nothing in the way—no roots, boulders, nothing unseen or unexpected. I was sure there wouldn’t be. The lizard had been the X to mark this spot and I knew that the minute I saw it.
When George took over digging he asked if I had ever heard of Kilioa. When I said no he explained it was a mythological creature—one of two lizard women who keep the soul of the deceased imprisoned. By then I didn’t give a damn whether the lizard we’d seen was Kilioa or a normal forest reptile catching a few rays on a sunny day.
“Yes, but lizards have always been very important in world mythology, Frannie. They can symbolize all sorts of profound things.”
“Fascinating, just keep digging—”
“You don’t care do you?”
“Not at all.”
The excavation went on. We talked some but not much. I didn’t feel up to joining in the work yet so I let them do it. Periodically I checked to see if the dead Floon was still with us.
They’d gotten pretty far down when I heard two sirens go by out on the road, one right after the other. It made me crazy not knowing what the reason was. Normally you didn’t have to use the siren in a Crane’s View police car. Assuming the worst, I decided the best thing was to get these two guys out of here now, finish the job myself and go home.
When I told them neither seemed unhappy about stopping. We stood above the hole looking down into it.
“George, I want you to leave town for a while. Just go and don’t come back for maybe a week or two. Have you got money on you?”
“Yes, but where should I go?”
“I don’t know. I want you and Floon here to just disappear for a while. Call me in a few days. I’ll tell you when the coast is clear to come back. I want to clean up every trace of anything we might have left back at your house. I’ll lock it up when I’m done. Who knows if anyone saw what went on back there.”
“Okay.”
Floon said, “We can go to my apartment in New York.”
“No, that’s a bad idea. Go away for a while. Take a road trip, go somewhere neither of you is known. Go to the ocean and talk about Floon’s plans.”
I remembered that hotel room in Vienna and seeing the dog on the bed. Astopel had said it was George Dalemwood. I remembered Susan Ginnety telling me George had simply disappeared from Crane’s View thirty years ago and was never seen again.
“Floon, you go ahead. I need to tell George a few more things.”
When the other was far enough away not to hear, I put both hands on my friend’s shoulders and moved toward him till we were almost nose to nose.
“Frannie, you don’t look good. You look very ill. Let’s finish this and then let me take you home.”
“No, I’m okay. George, listen to me: I know some things about the future. I know that you and Floon are going to work together on something very big. It may take years. Maybe it’s even this project he was telling you about. Do it but be very careful. Watch your ass at all times. Don’t trust him much, no matter how brilliant you think he is.
“Get out of town now and stay gone for a while. I don’t know how things are going to go down around here in the next few days. But I don’t want you anywhere in the vicinity if shit hits the fan. And, George?”
“Yes?” His face was all questions and worry. It broke my heart but there was nothing more I could do about it.
I was about to tell my friend that I loved him but something else came to mind. “Tancretic spredge. Can you remember that name?” I spelled it for him. “Do you know about cold fusion? You do? Great! Then this has something to do with it. And if you can’t find it yet, keep looking because that’s what cold fusion is all about. It’s going to change the world. Tancretic spredge, okay?”
“Okay. When should I call you?”
“In a few days. Wait till things calm down.” I knew he would never be back but I didn’t want to say that and scare him. “Take care of yourself. Take care of Chuck.” I kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a good pal. The best.”
“I’m frightened, Frannie.”
“So am I.”
“You? You’re never frightened of anything.”
“I’m frightened that one day I’m going to lose all this and I won’t have loved it enough. Remember that—love this all the time. Love it for me too when you remember.”
I gave him a slight push and he started away. Chuck danced around his feet, running this way and that; happy to be on the move again with the person he loved most. George turned once. I said only “tancretic spredge.” He repeated it, but by the time he got to the end, he was too far away for me to hear.
I waited for the Isuzu engine to start but heard nothing. A long wait, too long. But then there it was—faint, so faint, as if the sound came from half a mile away. I imagined them slowly driving out through the trees, avoiding ruts, stumps, stones.
George at the wheel or Floon? George—he knew the town
, knew to turn right when they reached the road and go that five winding miles till he hit the parkway.
I maneuvered my way awkwardly down into the hole and started digging. The earth was soft and damp—it gave up a lot to each shovelful. Digging, I busied my mind by imagining their car driving down the road toward the parkway. I tried to remember all of the landmarks along the way—the large copper beech tree that had been struck by lightning. The small white cross by the side of the road marking the spot where a fatal accident had happened years ago. The still pond nearby that was always covered by green scum and water lillies. We’d caught so many frogs there when we were kids. I once pushed Marvin Bruce into it and made sure his head went all the way under.
For no reason my heart began racing. Closing my eyes, I willed then begged it to calm down. After some more crazy uneven beats it eventually quieted. I waited to see if it would stay that way. My chin rested on my chest. Quiet down, heart– everything is going to be all right. I couldn’t trust my body anymore. How much time did I have left? Maybe I should have let them finish digging the grave and drive me back to town. Maybe that would have been a whole lot smarter than what I was attempting to do now.
Opening my eyes I saw the ground at the bottom of the hole. Slowly I lifted another shovelful. It uncovered something. My heart stayed calm but I could feel it beating throughout my body.
Something white down there. Something white covered by moist black dirt. Pushing the shovel up out of the hole, I went down on my knees for a closer look. Tentatively I brushed some dirt aside. More white appeared. It was cloth, cotton, some kind of clothing. A T-shirt? With cupped hands I dug way more dirt until yes, I saw it was a white T-shirt and oh Christ, it’s a body.
The lizard and the shovel said Dig here. There’s a body here. Find it. All the time I’d been moving toward this without knowing it. Dig here.
Dig here.
I carefully brushed away more dirt until the face showed. A child. I knew who it was. It was impossible. I knew who it was. No! Run away, get out of here. His small mouth, nose, the peacefully closed eyes.
It was the boy. The boy I had just sent away, Dreampilot, me. He was dead now and covered with dirt at the bottom of this hole. This hole we had just dug, this hole he had wanted to help dig. He lay dead in it now and I had unearthed him. His face was still warm when I touched it. His lips separated under the pressure of my hand. They were still wet. The bottom one shone.
“No!”
I found a way through it. I found a way through it by going crazy a little but that helped. He was dirty. He was lying under the dirt and needed to be brought out, cleaned. I set to work rescuing him. That wasn’t the correct word but it’s the one that stayed in my mind. Rescue him—get him back to us—back from where he shouldn’t have been in the first place.
I talked to him while I got him out. I talked to him when I lifted him up, had him in my arms, was brushing dirt off him, off his soft child’s skin, his clothes, any dirt I could see. I talked while I lifted his body gently up to the rim of the grave and lay him down next to the shovel.
I climbed out. I felt weak, sick, but strangely exhilarated at the same time. I had this job to do, this rescue mission: Bring the Dreampilot back. All of my own problems must wait till that is accomplished.
I had to stop and rest. I sat down next to his body. I had to hold him to make sure nothing else happened to him. We were too close to the hole. I didn’t like that. It was too close to us. We had to move farther away. The hole was dangerous and deep. No matter how careful you were you could still fall in.
I stood, picked him up, and walked away from there. I think I probably would have kept walking out of the forest if my body hadn’t said stop. It said stop now or I won’t give you anything more. So I did what it demanded—stopped where I was, waited, hoped that it would let me go on. I wasn’t talking to the boy anymore, wasn’t apologizing for not letting him help us dig. I only wanted everything to be silent then.
His body was light. Was that because he was a little boy or because death had taken his weight? Standing in the woods with my back to Floon’s grave, I waited for something to happen, not caring if anything did. I knew I should put the child down, go back to the hole and finish that job. I knew I should do that but I didn’t.
I guess I just stood with the child’s body in my arms, dreaming. Is that possible? I stood there without even thinking now what? Yes, I just stood there.
Until I heard maybe the third or fourth whump. There are sounds you know but don’t recognize till you see them happening. With my back to the hole I heard it one-two-three times– whump whump whump. Slowly, not fast in any way. I knew the sound but could not place it. It came from behind me in the forest where no one was. But I didn’t turn to see. Not yet. Whump whump.
Not until more of those heavy dull, familiar sounds came did I want to look. Pulling the child tighter to my chest, I turned.
There were five of them. They were all shoveling dirt back into the hole. Whump-whump. Although none spoke they all looked really happy, smiling, delighted to be doing this chore together. Their ages varied widely. The youngest looked around fourteen, the oldest forty-five. I am only guessing. Every one of them wore what the dead boy in my arms wore—khakis, a white T-shirt, black high-top canvas sneakers.
And all of them were me. They were finishing filling Floon’s grave. His body bag was gone. They must have lowered the black bag into the hole and now were filling the dirt back in. Together they had done the job for me.
I watched until they were finished. With five of them working it didn’t take long. The shovels were light in their hands. Giant loads of dirt flew back into the hole. All the time they worked they kept looking at each other and smiling. They were having a ball. It was as if this were a family outing—all the brothers together again and goofing around. Digging a hole, having fun. But they weren’t brothers, they were me.
When they were finished they stood back from the hole and, leaning on their shovels, surveyed the work. From where I stood there was no sign of anything on the ground. No one could have known that a deep wide hole had been dug and filled there. The forest floor looked as untouched as it had been when we first came to it.
The diggers looked at each other and the oldest nodded his approval. Another slapped the youngest on the shoulder and, winking, handed him his shovel. Was it the one I had used? All of them were identical. The boy took it, an adoring look on his face. They all loved each other—being together like this was the greatest thing in life.
And then as one they came toward me. When they were near, the one who had given over his shovel reached out his arms and gently took the dead child from me. I didn’t resist.
He said, “It’s okay. We’ll take care of him now.” Holding the bodv more carefully than I had, he looked at it with wonderful warmth. Of course he would know what to do with it.
“Come on,” another of them said but I didn’t know which. They started to walk out of the woods, and it felt like the most natural thing to follow. They walked on either side of me. I kept looking from one to the other. I knew them all, each one a different version of myself when I was younger.
My body felt calm and okay as we walked. I felt peaceful and at the same time deeply, deeply sad. Because seeing them all together like this, seeing them work together with such pleasure and concentration, seeing how much they liked each other, seeing the dead child lying in one’s arms, I finally understood.
How do you cross a wooden sea? I still did not know the answer to that question but seeing all that was around me, I now knew how to find the answer. Was this what Astopel and his kind wanted us to know? That nothing is more important than keeping every one of our individual selves alive. We must listen and be guided by them.
Not know thyself, know thy selves. All the yous, all the years, the days of Magda and Pauline, and orange cowboy boots, and when you believed penises grew back inside a man at forty years old.
We look at who we wer
e, once upon a time, and see that person as stupid or amusing, but never essential. Like flipping through old snapshots of ourselves wearing funny hats or big lapels. How silly I was back then, how naive.
And how wrong to think that! Because now when you are incapable of doing it, those yous still know how to fly, find the way into a forest or out of a library. Only they can see the lizards and fill holes that need to be filled.
Gee-Gee, Dreampilot, the diggers... Now I knew how much I needed all of them to really understand my life. How do you cross a wooden sea? Ask them and listen carefully to their different answers.
“I don’t think I can go any farther.” My head was throbbing and there was a strange prickly tingle in the tips of my fingers.
“We’ll help you.” One of them said and came up under my right arm to support me. Another took me up on the left. Held that way by them I felt almost okay again.
“The road isn’t far. We’re almost there.”
Mayor Susan Ginnety found the body of Frannie McCabe. Driving back from a trip to New York, she was musing about how nice it would have been to be returning to a home, a husband and a life rather than just her job now. She was as lost as she had ever been and terrified she would live the rest of her days alone.
She drove past the pond and the sad white cross by the side of the road. Then through the small forest that marked the beginning of the Crane’s View town limits. The road began to wind there and she slowed down. She was a careful driver. She was only going thirty when she saw the body lying by the side of the road. At first it looked like some bum had just decided to lay down there of all places and take a nap. Sunlight through the trees played a dancing havoc across the unmoving frame, lying on its back. Clearly it was a man. Susan didn’t want to stop because she was frightened, but she was also the mayor and felt it her duty. Anyway, by the time she pulled to the side of the road a few feet up from the corpse she could see the man’s face and instantly her mouth was open as far as it would go.
She was barely able to push the shift lever up to park before bursting into tears. The secret that no one ever knew was Mayor Ginnety sat in her car and wept so long and so loudly that her cries frightened birds from the trees directly above her. Minutes passed before she was even able to get out of her car and go to the body.
The Wooden Sea Page 26
