There Are Doors

by Gene Wolfe

  He was not often subject to sudden insights, but he had one then; it was that he was arguing with a doll about a magic root. He nodded his surrender and hung the charm around his neck.

  “Joseph looked, and to his astonishment saw a fine sleigh drawn by four white ponies. ‘What do you see?’ Jacob asked him.

  “‘I see a magnificent sleigh,’ Joseph answered. ‘It’s bright with gilt and dancing golden bells.’

  “‘Ah! Continue, please,’ said Jacob. ‘Give me more, dear brother.’

  “‘A big coachman in a high fur hat and a big brown fur coat cracks his long, black whip above the ponies. Beside him sits a tiny groom in a scarlet jacket, so that they look like a bear and a monkey in the circus. Riding in the sleigh is a woman wrapped in white furs.’

  “‘Wonderful!’ Jacob exclaimed, and his pen danced over the paper so busily that he seemed not to hear the tinkle of sleigh bells as the sleigh stopped before their little house.”

  “Open this other drawer,” Tina instructed him. “And when I jump across, you can shut this one. I think she’s the editor of the Schwarzwald Gazette.”

  He pulled out the drawer that held his socks. “Maybe,” he said.

  “Joseph saw that the woman was a princess, and he bowed to the ground. ‘Are you Jacob?’ she inquired. ‘The publisher of our little paper has sent all your stories to me, knowing that they are just the sort of thing I like. I forbade him to tell you of it until I had rewarded you.’

  “‘No, Highness,’ Joseph said honestly, ‘it’s my brother who writes the stories. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll bring him out to pay his respects to you.’

  “‘That’s certainly not necessary,’ said the princess. ‘I shall go in to pay my respects to him.’

  “But when Joseph hastened to open the door, he found that Jacob was already in the doorway. ‘Your Highness,’ Jacob said, ‘what my brother has told you is not wholly true. It is indeed he who writes my stories—I, as you see, am blind. I merely write them down.’”

  “That was a sad story,” Tina said. “Sometimes fairy tales are too much like real life. But I liked it.”

  He nodded and closed the book. “So did I.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Magic!

  There was another knock. A voice muffled by the door announced, “UPS.”

  “All right,” he said, and opened it.

  The UPS driver was short and dark, and looked angry. “This Seven C?”

  He nodded.

  “Here it is. You want it out here or in there?” It was a big, solid-looking crate on a handcart.

  “Is that for me?” he asked.

  “This is Seven C? It’s for Seven C.”

  “I wasn’t expecting—”

  The driver snarled. “Your name Green?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Want me to take it off my buggy and leave it in the hall?”

  He shook his head. “I guess you’d better bring it inside.”

  The driver grasped the handles of the handcart and gave a mighty heave, tilting the cart back enough to put the center of gravity of the crate over its axle. “You should have seen me getting this bastard in that elevator. You’d have laughed your head off. Usually a thing like this goes to a loading dock.”

  He asked, “Who sent it?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. It says on the side someplace.”

  He bent to look. “It’s just an address.”

  “If you read it, you know everything I do. Here, I’ll move it over so it don’t block your TV.”

  “Leave it in front of the TV,” he said. “If you put it over there, I won’t be able to get into the dinette.” He got a bill from his wallet and extended it to the driver, who accepted it in silence.

  Tina called, “You should say thank you.” She was standing in the bedroom doorway, apparently having climbed from his sock drawer.

  The driver glanced around uneasily. “You say that?”

  “No,” he said.

  “I guess it was something on TV.” The driver studied the black screen. “Maybe from the next apartment.”

  He was looking at the thick, rough boards of the crate and the shiny heads of their four-penny nails. “How am I—?”

  His question was cut off by the shutting of the door as the driver went out.

  Tina came over to examine the crate. “You should say thank you,” she repeated.

  “I thought you were talking to the UPS man,” he told her.

  “I was talking to you. I was the one who found the charm and got you to wear it. You should say thank you.”

  He pulled it from the neck of his shirt; it had not changed color or become larger or smaller. “Maybe we ought to wait till we see what’s in the box,” he said.

  “Something nice,” she told him. “It’s almost Christmas, and Christmas presents are always nice.”

  He smiled faintly. “I don’t think you’d like it if I got a puppy.”

  “Or another doll—I’d be jealous. Lift me onto the couch if we’re going to talk. I was born on Christmas—have I told you about that?”

  He took her tiny waist between his thumb and forefinger and stood her on the cushion beside him. “No, you’ve never told me much about your past.”

  “Now you’re jealous.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are. I can tell. You’re a jealous god, like the one they talk about.”

  “I’m not jealous, and I’m not a god,” he told her absently. Another part of his mind was wrestling with the problem of the crate. The custodian would be in the musty basement apartment that came with the job, perhaps. But the custodian did not like being disturbed so late, and might already be asleep.

  Tina said, “Not to you, you’re not. And not to other big people. But to me.”

  “I see.”

  “I used to have a goddess.”

  That got his full attention. “What was her name?”

  Tina shook her head. “That’s the part I can’t remember. I remember a tree—so pretty—and the kitten, because the goddess got a kitten too. I didn’t like it, and when you said about the puppy, that made me think of it.”

  “I’ll bet your goddess went to school.”

  “Uh huh. After Twelfth Night she did.”

  “Do you remember what grade?” He tried to guess Lara’s age; twenty-eight, perhaps. No, she would be older now.

  Tina shook her head again. “But she could walk by herself, I remember that, and she used to show me things she made out of paper. Once she made a paper crown, and when she came home she made a little crown for me.”

  “And then?” he prompted.

  “And then something happened. I don’t know what—something bad. Then you were holding me and crying.”

  He nodded. “I remember. Do you know how long you were in the doll hospital?”

  “Was I in a hospital? I don’t remember that.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I know how it is.” He got up and walked around the crate. It seemed to him that there should have been directions of some kind: PULL HERE. There was only his name and address on the UPS label, with a return address in the northern suburbs.

  “Is that where you got me? From the hospital?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  The telephone rang. He stared at it. It rang again.

  “I’d like to answer—I really would. Only I’m not strong enough to pick up the thing you talk with.”

  It rang a third time. He said, “Sure, no problem,” and picked it up. “Hello?”

  “It’s you. That’s wonderful. You’ve moved.”

  It was Lara, as he had somehow known from the ring; as he had known all along. “That’s right,” he said. He wanted to say more, but the words stuck in his throat.

  “How are you? Everything all right?”

  “I’m fine. Where are you, Lara?”

  “It’s Lora. I’m at home, Mr. Green, and I’m flattered you remember my voice. Naturally you’re surpr
ised that I’m calling you from home, but I knew you worked days and didn’t want us to phone you at work. Anyway, I looked you up and tried the number before I left the office; but no one answered. Did you tell Dr. Nilson you’d moved?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I did.”

  “I thought you probably had, but she’s awful about things like that. I mean, if you dream about a fish that waltzes like your aunt, she writes it down. But addresses and phone numbers are too mundane.”

  He said, “I still love you.”

  There was a pause, a silence so long it seemed apt to last forever.

  At last Lara said, “I was going to say I went out to dinner when I left the office. With somebody. Somebody took me out to dinner.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “The thing is, you’ve got your regular session with Dr. Nilson on Tuesday.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And she has a chance to pick up a little consulting job. You know she doesn’t make much at the Center.”

  “Yes,” he said again.

  “Do you feel you could skip this week? Would you want to, and would you be willing to do that as a favor to Dr. Nilson?”

  “No,” he said.

  “The other possibility would be if you were able to come in tomorrow. Pretty often someone cancels, and even if they don’t, I could probably squeeze you in.”

  “You’ll be there?” He found he was looking at Tina while thinking of Lara. That was why he had bought Tina, of course—because she reminded him of Lara; but she was not Lara. Lora was Lara.

  “I know you must be wondering why I’m back with Dr. Nilson after being gone for so long. I’ve been married and divorced. I get alimony and child support now, and I thought of this job. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it was the best job I’d ever had, the only one I ever had that I really liked, and I knew if I had to take Missy to the doctor or something, Dr. Nilson would let me off, there wouldn’t be any trouble about it.”

  He hesitated, irresolute among the thousands of things he wanted to say to her, the hundreds of questions he needed to ask. In some weak way he held power for the moment, and it was supremely important he not squander it. Slowly and carefully he said, “If I come tomorrow, I’ll be counting on you to get me in to see her. I want to know beyond a doubt that you’ll be there, Lara.”

  “I’ll definitely be there. Can you come after lunch? One o’clock?”

  He found that he was holding his handkerchief—that he had crushed it into a sodden ball. He said, “The best way for you to make certain I’ll be there at one would be to let me take you to lunch. I’d like very much to do that.”

  Another pause, shorter this time but still long. “Suppose I were to tell you I had to see Missy at the day-care center?”

  “I’d like to go with you. I’d like to see Missy, too.” He glanced at Tina. “I might even have a present for her.”

  “I don’t, not really.” A brief pause. “Not till I get off work tonight.”

  “You go to lunch at—”

  “Noon.”

  “I’ll be there at eleven forty-five,” he said.

  “Fine. Thank you, Mr. Green. Goodbye.”

  There was a gentle, final click.

  I should have found out where she’s living, he thought; and then, She wouldn’t have told the truth.

  Tina asked, “Are you going to give me to a little girl? Doesn’t she have a doll already?”

  “I don’t know,” he told her. “But don’t worry. I don’t think this little girl really exists. If she has a doll, it probably isn’t real either.”

  He hung up the phone, went to the crate, and took the edge of the middle board in both hands. It felt as though it were cutting his palms, then as though his shirt—no, the muscles of his back were tearing, ripping themselves to shreds of effort and pain. Nails started to give, protesting like mice as they were drawn from their holes, the last surrendering with a jerk that nearly sent him flying backward.

  Tina whistled like a tiny teakettle. “I didn’t know you were so strong.”

  “Neither did I,” he admitted. He peered through the wider opening he had made. The object within looked rough and nearly black.

  “Are you going to pull them all off?”

  He shook his head. “I had that one in me. I don’t think there are any more.”

  “Don’t lay it down like that,” Tina advised him. “You’ll step on a nail. Stand it up against the wall.”

  “You’re right,” he said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the kitchen. I’ve got a screwdriver in there.”

  “I want to show you something first. Will you come over here?”

  He sat down on the sofa beside her.

  “I’m going to do magic. Put your hand in here.” Here was the pocket of his overcoat. “What do you feel?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “It’s empty.”

  She raised one tiny arm dramatically. “Now watch as the Amazing Tina goes inside for a minute!” She crawled headfirst into the pocket as a full-sized girl might have dived beneath the covers of a bed. A moment after her feet had disappeared, she was climbing out again. “Now put your hand in.”

  He did, and drew out a thin packet of bills. Tina laughed and clapped.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Well, you couldn’t put me in another drawer because you were talking. And I knew after that you’d want to look at the magic mail. Me, too.”

  “Magic mail?”

  “Yes,” Tina told him firmly. “Magic mail. But never mind, there wasn’t a lot for me to do, and your coat was lying here on the sofa.”

  As patiently as he could, he asked, “But why was the pocket empty the first time I put my hand in it?”

  “Open it and look at it under the light, and you’ll see.”

  He did, sliding to the end of the sofa next to the table lamp, putting the coat on his lap, and turning the three-way bulb to its maximum brightness. A thin panel of fabric, of the same material as the lining of the pocket, divided it into two chambers.

  “It’s a double pocket,” Tina told him delightedly. “Only the middle thing had gotten pushed up underneath the flap. When I got in, I could feel the money on the other side, so I looked to see what it was.”

  He nodded slowly. “I should have felt it myself.”

  “You were looking for something at the bottom, probably, not off to one side.”

  He nodded again. “Thank you, Tina.”

  “Is that the money?”

  “It must be.” The packet was secured with a rubber band, now gone weak. He pulled it off and tossed it toward the waste basket before looking at the bills. There were five hundreds, three fifties, a ten, and two singles, all quite similar to the designs with which he was familiar, but all bearing the faces of women. He had a fifty in his wallet; he got it out and compared it to the ones from the packet. Neither the scrollwork nor the style of the lettering was precisely the same. The fifty with Grant’s picture read FEDERAL RESERVE NOTE. The fifties from the packet said GOLD CERTIFICATE REDEEMABLE FOR FACE VALUE.

  He laid the money down, struck by a thought. “Tina, you could go inside that crate just like you went into my pocket.”

  She looked at the crate dubiously. “I guess I could.”

  “Of course you could. It might have been a little tight before I pulled off that slat, but now there’s a big space.”

  “All right,” Tina said, suddenly decisive. “Lift me up.”

  He returned the Grant fifty to his wallet, put the rest of the bills on the end table, and stood Tina on the board beside the opening. She said, “It’s awfully dark in there. Have you got a little flashlight or something I could use?”

  “I don’t think so, but I can move the lamp so it shines into there.”

  She nodded. “I think you’d better.”

  He did, noting as she lowered herself into the opening that her skin was smooth plastic. She’s just a mechanical doll, he thoug
ht. I’ve been playing with a programmed doll.

  Yet he missed her as soon as she was out of sight.

  Tina’s Secret Fort

  Tina might tell him what was in the crate; but he would have to open it himself, unless he wanted to wait until tomorrow evening and have the custodian do it. That would be the sensible thing, certainly.

  He discovered that he had no wish to do the sensible thing, and it took only a moment of self-analysis for him to find the reason: he would see Lara tomorrow, and he wanted to be able to tell her all about this crate and whatever was in it. He most definitely did not want to have to tell her he had been unable to get it open. What would Lara think of a man who could not open a simple wooden crate?

  He went into the kitchen and equipped himself with the screwdriver he had mentioned to Tina and a big utility knife that had come with the set from Chef’s Shape-Up. Studying its cruel curve, he tried to remember whether he had ever used it before. Probably not; it seemed intended for butchering large hairy animals that were not quite dead. He could hardly start stabbing and slashing at the crate with it until Tina was safely out of the way.

  “Tina!” he called. “Are you okay in there?”

  There was no answer. He put his ear over the opening and listened, feeling sure that if Tina was moving around inside he would hear her. After a few seconds he could make out the whir of the electric clock and the faint noises of someone preparing for bed in the next apartment, but there was no sound from the opening; it was as silent as a grave.

  “Tina, are you playing a joke on me?”

  He grabbed another board and tried to pull it off. Whether because it was more tightly secured or because he had exhausted himself on the first, it yielded not the smallest fraction of an inch.

  Yet it was slightly cracked. He jammed the big blade into the crack and worked it back and forth. The crack enlarged in a satisfying way and soon reached the edge of the board, depriving one end of the strength of one nail. He drove the blade under that end and pried—he had heard that you were not supposed to pry with the blade of a knife, but he found that he did not give a damn. If the blade broke, he would pry with what was left.

  The remaining nail gave instead, shrieking and bending. He threw down the knife, grabbed the board, and tore it off.