“This is your land?” Tad said faintly.
“Indubitably. Irrefutably. Irreconcilably. Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know…I just felt this, uh, I got a little lost down in the marshes and I was trying to find my way off your property, except…I was just trying…”
“All right, all right, all right, all right! Hmm, hep. Well. No harm done, or at least not yet, anyway…why don’t we start at the beginning, we seem to have gotten ahead of ourselves, and indeed, let us try to behave as civilized people; I for one have always been a proponent for standing on ceremony, the old ways being best and all that rot, heretofore, and incidentally, as the case may be. What is your name?”
“I’m…”
“Wait. Come closer.”
Tad took three shuffling steps nearer. The man in white lowered the end of the cane so that its tip rested on the ground and closed both hands tightly over the brilliant stone at its head. With the sun shining through the branches above and finding the seams of his fingers, it appeared to Tad that he was clasping a dazzling orb of light in his palms. “My name is Tad Surrey,” he said, and extended a timid hand. The man in white immediately grasped it with his own and pulled him closer. He turned Tad’s hand over and scrutinized the back of it intently, making small muttering noises to himself. Tad was startled, but the man’s grip was gentle, and he suffered these attentions until he was released. The man made some more curious hemming and hawing noises to himself; his expression was one of intense satisfaction.
“You look familiar,” he said at last. “I know you from somewhere, hm, yes, perhaps we are related, it’s rather likely. The moment I saw you I thought to myself, self, isn’t this person the spitting image of your Aunt Mabel, yes, yes, as you might well remark, the same Aunt Mabel who died that most unfortunate and tragic death, ahem, of whom countless scribes and minstrels have composed such soulful ballads, ha, but as you’d say, and right you’d be again, bright lad that y’are, that Mabel was rather more fleshy about the bodice area (and here he gave way to an explosive fit of tittering before regaining his composure) and had considerably hairier extremities, and suffered from most advanced elephantiasis, otherwise you’re her spitting image, though I don’t encourage spitting, as a rule, not in polite company, ahem.”
Tad didn’t know what to say. He stood with his mouth hanging open while the man in white sat there squinting at him. Eventually he began to scowl so fiercely that Tad felt that he had to speak. What he came out with was, “I don’t think we’re related,” and then he remembered his hand and dropped it to his side. Then he began to rub his palms together again.
“No,” said the man in white. “No, you’re in the right, I expect, we aren’t relations after all. How very puzzling…but yes, no, wait for it…ah. Ah. Aha! Yes, yes, I have it now. You are one of my neighbors, yes, I think I might be right in saying, you’re one of Walt Surrey’s brood, that’s what it is, the product of one of his late night forays, ahem, into the dense and steamy jungles of love, aha, hrum, as one might say. I’ve seen you, yes, it is all returning now.”
“Seen me? Where?”
The man waved a gloved hand vaguely in a shooing gesture. “About, about…hither and thither…”
“But I’ve never seen you,” Tad said. You, I think I’d remember. “Well, seeing as we’re neighbors and all, maybe you could…that is, maybe you might want to…tell me your name,” he finished weakly, scrubbing his hands together more furiously than ever. Ma told me never to talk to strangers, mister, and you’re the strangest person I’ve ever met, but maybe if you tell me your name it won’t be so bad, just please stop staring at me with those creepy eyes, because you’re really freaking me out. For the truth was, having introduced himself and having not received a name in return, Tad felt more than ever at a disadvantage in the conversation.
The man laughed long and loud at this, a great peal of laughter that bounded and echoed about the clearing. “Ah me,” he said. “I’d plumb forgot. I’m so well known, you see, that I’m quite used to foregoing formal introductions, hem, one thousand humble apologies, each more humble than the last.” He uncrossed his legs and stepped off of the stump. Tad took a step backward. The man secured the cane under his right arm and doffed his hat, making a deep, sweeping bow. He had white hair of a nearly identical shade as that of his eyebrows, thinning at the temples but with a full thick shock brushed back from his forehead, sticking up in unlikely wisps like the plumage of an exotic bird. “I’m an aristocrat who travels in many circles, ha, but to my nearest, closest, and dearest companions, aha, among whom I insist that you be included from this day hence, toothsome young lad that y’are, I’m known as Daddy; dear old Daddy is my name, but I’ll gladly answer to that dashing rogue in white, or that handsome, mysterious stranger, or even his most royal high exalted, should you be so inclined, yes, or even hey you, or you there, or get your hand out of my pocket; any of these would be more than suitable…”
“Mr.…um…Daddy…”
“Oh, but you needn’t mind about the mister, young Surrey.”
“Yes, well…how long have you lived here? How long have you owned this land, I mean?”
“Oh, some time, some time.” Having introduced himself, Daddy had taken a seat on his stump again, and now he gestured grandly toward a leafless spot of ground in front of him, indicating that Tad should sit. Tad did so.
“But where is your house, if you don’t mind me asking? It’s just that I’ve lived here all my life, and I always thought there wasn’t any real habitation on this property. You can’t see any sign of a house from the Willow Road, is what I mean.”
“Oh no, you wouldn’t be able to see the house from the road, ahem, no indeed. It’s back…a ways…” and here he made another vague waving gesture, perhaps, Tad thought, indicating somewhere to the northwest of where they were sitting. Which would make a kind of sense, Tad thought, as this would be the part of the estate least accessible by the Willow Road and farthest from the border of the Surrey property.
“So you’ve met my parents before?”
“Well, yes and no, hem, that is to say, we’ve never been formally introduced…I seldom have the urge to leave the old homestead, and make many house calls, in my advanced age…and I’m not often in the mood for much fraternization these days, preferring mainly my own company, as a rule…”
“Am I bothering you, Daddy, by being here?”
“Yes, somewhat…no, not very much. Well, occasionally, by degrees, though it varies, you see, moment by moment. Though you’re fine just now…”
“Then maybe I’d better go.”
“Yes, yes, perhaps that would be best, young Surrey, as the night draws close, which is to say, it’s nearly here…and you wouldn’t want to cause dear Ma and Pa undue concern…” As Daddy spoke these words, Tad glanced about him, and miraculously, it did seem as though twilight was fast approaching, was nearly on them, in fact; it had crept up on the clearing like a thief. The night birds were calling in the trees, and the sky to the west was pierced of a sudden by a swath of deepest auburn, with the most radiant, celestial twinges of purple leaping up at its edges from the dark impassive curve of the earth. Tad jumped to his feet, feeling a sudden chill. It seemed that he and Daddy hadn’t been speaking more than five minutes at most, but the earth had been speeding along at an alarming rate. Seeing the look on his face, Daddy laughed again, and there was a sigh of the wind in the leaves. “Scamper swiftly back,” he said, polishing the stone at the tip of the cane with one of his sleeves. “To the comfort of hearth and home, kith and kin…you’re most welcome to come back and frolic in my domain whenever you care to, though…drop by for tea, if you’ve a mind, and if you can penetrate the woods surrounding my humble abode…”
“But I don’t know how to get off your property,” Tad said. “Can you show me the way back?”
“Indeed no,” Daddy said, in so serious of a tone that Tad looked at him sharply, alarmed for perhaps the fourth or fifth time s
ince their conversation had begun. “Many things I can show you, little Surrey, tiny Surrey, but never the way back. Never the way back.” He blinked his eyes rapidly, now smiling almost sweetly. “I wish you the best of luck though, best of luck…” And Tad, not knowing what else to do, walked quickly back the way he had come, feeling worse and more uncomfortable now than he had at any other time since first setting eyes on Daddy, hands down the oddest, most enigmatic person he had ever yet encountered in his life. He glanced back once, and he could still see the man in white, sitting with his hands folded, the cane laid once again across his lap. “Goodbye, impetuous spirit of irrepressible youth…” the lilting voice called to him faintly, and then both voice and man were swallowed up by the trees, and Tad Surrey was swallowed up along with them.
Someone Fooling Around
Tad hurried back the way he’d come, his hands stuffed in his pockets, book bag bouncing along with ever step. His mind reeling with a confused jumble of alternating emotions- mainly puzzlement, confusion. Anger. He just let me wander off again! He wouldn’t help me at all, not so much as to point me in the right direction! Of course he only had himself to blame, when you got right down to it. He was the one that had scaled the fence, on some crazy whim. He was the one that had gotten himself into this mess, it was only fair that he be the one to extricate himself. But if some fourteen year old kid had gotten lost on our property, my folks wouldn’t just send them back off into the night, through strange territory, without giving it a second thought. There had been a feeling of unreality about the entire afternoon. The pulling sensation that had led him on his unscheduled fieldtrip into the woods, the appearance of this person, this creature who called himself “Daddy,” and claimed to be his neighbor, then spouted nonsense while all the while looking like some sort of dandy transplanted from a wayward Mardi Gras parade, capped off by a strange time lapse that seemed to have stolen several hours from him while his back was turned. He wasn’t at all certain he hadn’t just fallen asleep under a tree and dreamed the whole business. But he was awake now, no doubts there, and he was many hours late; hopefully the old lady hasn’t sent the dogs out.
He met with the fence as the gloom continued settling in around him, turned right, and began traveling downhill. He hoped that he could pinpoint the approximate spot where he had climbed over, and from there could find his way to the familiar drive that led back to the Surrey house. He walked at a brisk trot, aided by the ground’s downward slope, and gradually he began to relax a little. The strangeness of the afternoon behind him. The night settling in around him, cool but not cold, and as long as he followed the fence, there was no more cause for concern. He even started feeling good enough that before he knew it he had lapsed into one of the games before even being conscious of it, as he was prone to do when no one was watching. The first and most important rule of the games was not when any of the family is around. Especially not Casey, for obvious reasons, but not around Daze, either. Even though I love her, that part of my life is private. That’s the whole point of it. It was the part that he never had to share with others. His left arm held against his chest and the other extended, as if he held an invisible rifle. He’d gone into first person mission mode. In his mind’s eye, activating one of the games was like flipping a switch and feeling instantly invulnerable. His eyesight became impossibly acute, his legs longer, his arms and chest Herculean, mammoth like those of a comic book superhero. His confidence a white hot light that pulsed from his chest like a heartbeat to blind his enemies. Though Tad could admit this only to himself, it was at these moments that he felt most comfortable, when he was enhancing his reality with his imagination. Because…because it’s all just a game. The games were many things. A security blanket. A defense against boredom. And yes, most of all, an escape. Spend a few minutes basking on the beaches or wandering the gardens of that most exotic vacation destination, your mind. An ordinary activity, getting to and from school, day to day life, was instantly something more and better. It was a treacherous hike, a mind boggling adventure fraught with danger and intrigue. Tonight’s mission clearly no exception, as this one was currently being selected from the light green advanced menu that appeared on the right hand side of the screen, that being his field of vision. Greetings once again, Private First Class Surrey. Your splinter cell has been activated and has penetrated the stronghold of the ever devious insurgence. Now behind enemy lines, in hostile territory, the rest of the unit has been wiped out. You are all that remains. Your mission is to get back to the barracks alive. Don’t panic. Breathe. Above all remember your training. The darkness is on your side. Stealth and silence are your allies. Capture not an option. He felt for the cyanide pill in his pocket. Good. It was still there. Like you’ve got anything to worry about from the kid. You know me better than that, Sarge. If all else fails, I won’t be taken alive.
The ground had leveled off, and underfoot it was becoming spongy again. He could hear the frogs, the crickets. I must have jumped over somewhere around here. Careful now. Indeed, it did seem that he recognized the lay of the land on the other side of the fence. He reached up, careful to place his hands in the spaces between the barbs, as before, then he forced the wire down and heaved his legs up, one at a time, struggling for a purchase as he used the strength in his arms and shoulders to propel himself upward. He swung one leg over the top strand of wire, then brought the other up alongside it to sit for a moment. Timing it carefully, he leaped for the shadowy ground on the other side, which unfortunately turned out to be much less solid than it appeared. There was a loud squelch and he sank up to his calves; worse still, he overbalanced and was forced to catch himself with his hands to avoid falling on his face. He ended up on all fours, his wrists sunk almost to the elbows in thick black mud. “Shit!” he said, and a moment later, when this seemed insufficient, “God damn it!” He stood as carefully as he was able, shaking slime from his hands. There hardly seemed to be a point in creeping along now, he couldn’t possibly get much filthier. He began slogging his way in what he thought was the right direction, his shoes making obscene sucking noises as he went. Inhospitable terrain, Sarge. For just a moment, as he’d landed on the familiar side of the fence, that same feeling had struck him that things on this side were different, ever so slightly. Just one degree, perhaps. A change in the air.
Seemingly from all sides the bullfrogs continued their throaty serenade, as he left a straggling line of footprints trailing behind him. After toiling along for a ways he found another solid embankment with ferns and trees growing along its edge. Using a thick sinewy root climbing one of the trunks he heaved himself out of the muck and stopped in the dense shadows beneath the trees, gathering himself. So this is what it’s like, to be an animal of the forest. How many pairs of eyes watching me right now, silent and unseen? How loud does my clumsy thrashing seem to them? How many life and death dramas taking place around me? Am I an intruder, to all these little nighttime creatures? Do they accept me as part of life’s chain? Maybe humans are somehow exempt. Are we different? Am I?
And where, indeed, did these thoughts come from, drifting through the drowsy ether of Tad Surrey’s mind? A twig snapped off to his right somewhere, and he twitched. He held his breath for what seemed like a long time, and when there was no further sound and he let it out his lungs felt hot and heavy, insufficient for collecting all the oxygen he needed. He felt he had an answer, and he thought it was no, you are no different, young one. The human race, of which you claim membership, is part of life’s chain indeed. But are you the top of that chain, right now, in this place, at this moment in time? He began now to make his way quickly along the embankment. He felt, perhaps through minute changes in the atmosphere, for he could see precious little around him now, that he was reaching the fringe of the swampy area. He continued moving to his right, in the direction that he felt was due south, which he felt fairly confident would lead him back to the edge of the woods near the long driveway to the Surrey’s house. This particular game came with a
fairly reliable internal sense of direction, which seldom steered him wrong. The ground was solid underfoot now, and the trees were becoming denser again; he was becoming aware of matted patches of thorns. He sidestepped these as best he could, his mud-caked shoes and pants weighing him down. He felt as though there were bags of wet cement strapped to his legs. Stopping again, he shook himself furiously and knocked the heels of his sneakers together several times, then he scuffed the bottoms of his shoes against the trunk of a nearby tree, trying to dislodge as much of the collected filth as he could. Clumps of half-dried mud flew in all directions. He moved on once more, thorns clawing at his lower body.
After what seemed an interminable amount of time he thought he could see an end to the woods a short distance ahead of him. A sliver of moon, newly risen, revealed glimpses through the trees of the open field that marched down to the Willow Road. Here the thorns were the thickest, and the trees grew closest together, as though the trunks were trying to hem him in. They don’t want me to leave, he thought, and immediately felt foolish for thinking it. He pushed forward, sidestepping tangles of roots like thorny balls of yarn, some reaching higher than his waist. With less than ten feet separating him from the open space he was stopped by a wall of trees without so much as a chink for him to squeeze through. Through a tiny gap between two trunks he could see down to the fence of the Surrey property and the beginning of the drive leading to the house. Beyond that, the dusty snake that was the Willow Road threaded its lazy way over the hillside toward town. His internal compass had served him well. He wasn’t more than a few yards from the spot where he had entered the trees some hours earlier. Now he moved to his left, hampered by his filthy pants, searching for a way into the open. He found a sort of hollow, full of weeds, with two fallen tree branches crisscrossing at his head level. They were thick boughs, each one as wide as Tad’s waist. By bending over and flattening himself almost to the ground, he was able to squeeze beneath them. Thorns tugged, ripped, scratching skin and clothes. With a final wrench of tearing cloth he scrambled forward and lurched onto his face in the cool grass. He lay there for a moment with his cheek resting on the ground, feeling, for reasons of which he was only partially aware, a deep sense of relief. Made it, Sarge. You’ve still got one soldier you can count on. Someone snickered. He rolled onto his side, and beheld a pair of red Converse sneakers a few inches away from him, fourteens, four sizes larger than his own. He closed his eyes. He knew the owner of those sneakers.
Woods Page 2
