“But if you’re sick. . . . D’you think you can do it?”
“If you want something bad enough, you just go for it,” says Niner, coughing.
And Cosmos responds, “Man, Niner, think about it. The sea’s not going anywhere!”
“The sea isn’t,” Niner answers. “But you just might!”
AND THEN THE BIG trip really does begin, although Cosmos is against it because Niner keeps coughing. So they go slowly and stop to rest often.
The big trip to the sea really does begin. Down the gravel path and past the slaughterhouse, where the animals squeal and it stinks of blood and piss. Through the old city toward the new, along the street lined with the guardian angel posters, and past the neon signs. Through the quiet streets of the suburbs, past the high hedgerows, past the wrought-iron gates, behind which lie the white mansions with the red-eyed alarm systems above the terraces.
Although they have to walk slowly and take many long rests, Cosmos and Niner make progress.
Cosmos walks in front because he knows the way. Or at least he says he does.
“All rivers flow into the sea,” says Cosmos. “You just have to follow them long enough. You remember that,” says Cosmos.
Niner trots after him, stopping only to cough. Then he resumes the journey only to stop and cough again.
The coughing is far more strenuous than the walking.
When Niner coughs, little red fireworks explode in his head and make him dizzy.
But he doesn’t tell Cosmos about it. He doesn’t say much at all. He tries to think of the sea, of the big blue sea. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t really see it, not like he did the day before yesterday, by the river. A shadow has come between him and the sea, and Niner can tell that this day isn’t going to be a good one.
He can’t stop thinking about Mama. He wonders how she’s doing and where she might be.
Perhaps she’s well again.
Perhaps the window is open again at night.
Perhaps Mama’s waiting at home for Niner.
Perhaps the new guy has left at last, gone away for good.
No, this isn’t going to be one of the good days. Niner can tell for sure.
No Mama. No guardian angel. No blue sea. The only thing he sees are the little red explosions in his head when he coughs.
Cosmos climbs down the embankment.
Near the retaining wall lies the blackened remains of the driftwood fire.
Niner can barely keep up. His brow is covered with sweat and his knees seem to be made of jello.
“You all right?” asks Cosmos.
“Yeah, sure,” gasps Niner.
Mama used to play “follow the leader” whenever Niner couldn’t walk anymore. She’d say, “Close your eyes, Little Hobbin, and give me your hand.” And then, Niner would walk along blindly next to Mama, not feeling tired anymore.
In this way, the long paths became shorter, and the clatter of Mama’s clogs on the pavement sounded like magical music to him.
If I could just close my eyes like before, thinks Niner, for just a little while, it will all be okay.
As he thinks this, his knees buckle and he falls gently into a deep black hole lined with soft, warm cotton batting.
Then everything goes still in Niner’s head, and everything is dark.
AS NINER COMES TO, it is still dark. Or perhaps even dark again, Niner can’t tell exactly. Next to him, a driftwood fire flickers. Cosmos kneels next to the fire, and next to Cosmos is Red Elsa.
Red Elsa is ripping up a shirt that she has just dipped in the river.
Then she wraps the wet rags around Niner’s legs.
“Ow,” moans Niner. “That’s cold!”
“Don’t fuss. You gotta keep those on! It helps. Those are compresses. My grandma always used to do that.”
Niner’s teeth are chattering. He holds Cosmos’s hand real tight.
“Stay with me,” he whispers. “Please stay with me.”
“Sure thing buddy,” says Cosmos. “I’ll stay with you, it’s gonna be just fine.”
But it won’t be. Cosmos can see that by the flickering firelight. Red Elsa sees it too. Bald Pete just mumbles incoherently, not understanding a thing.
“You gotta give the little guy some firewater,” he blurts out. “Firewater cures everything!”
Bald Pete tries to squeeze in between Cosmos and Niner with his bottle of booze. But Cosmos shoves him in the chest, so that Bald Pete falls over backward, and there he stays, seemingly untroubled, drinking his booze by himself.
“No, it won’t be just fine.” Niner is waning. He gasps and coughs and struggles for breath.
“Hey there buddy, don’t you mess around now,” says Cosmos. “You just hang in there. We’re going to the sea, remember? The stand, man, think about our stand!”
But Niner no longer hears or sees a thing. He just lies there like a glowing fireball, like the orange sun in the story told by the Queen.
Cosmos wraps compresses around Niner’s legs, puts wet rags on his sweaty brow, gives him water, and holds his hand. But nothing helps.
Niner whispers raving nonsense that Cosmos can barely understand. There’s only one thing he understands quite clearly:
“Guardian angel,” whispers Niner. “Guardian angel.”
And then Cosmos can’t stand it anymore.
“You listen to me, bud,” he says. “I’m going right now. Going to get help! Red Elsa’s gonna stay with you while I’m gone. I’m going back to the Queen, too. I’ll give her the money back. I’m gonna get your guardian angel for you, I swear! Do you hear me? I’m gonna get your angel right now. I’ll be right back. You just hang in there, buddy.”
“Okay,” whispers Niner.
THERE ARE TWO THINGS I have to do, thinks Cosmos. Get help and return the angel. But help comes first, that’s clear. It’s much too far to the Caracas from here, and besides, who knows for sure that Red Elsa’s to be trusted.
Better set things in motion quickly, thinks Cosmos. Better hustle.
And so up over the embankment he goes, down along the hedges, and then Cosmos arrives in the quiet street by the mansions. The quiet street by the mansions, where the soft light of the streetlamps glows not white, but yellow. In the quiet street by the mansions in front of a wrought-iron gate. And it is so exclusive here that people don’t even bother putting a nameplate next to the brass doorbell.
Oh man, thinks Cosmos, tugging at his red baseball cap. What on earth am I doing here? I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged here.
He thinks of old Sadie and the forbidden park, and of the fact that he never conquered those dogs at all. It was all just a story, a story for Niner. Hypnosis, my foot. It didn’t go down that way at all. They would have mauled him to death that time, the dogs from Fisher and Frost. If the old gardener hadn’t been there, Cosmos would have been done long ago. Truth is, the old gardener threw himself between Cosmos and the dogs and yelled: “Run, boy, run for your life!” And Cosmos ran like a deer and pulled himself up over the wrought-iron gate, only to fall down over the other side, thank god. That’s what the ugly scar was from. From falling down, not fighting.
Nah, thinks Cosmos. I’ve never belonged here. This place was always forbidden territory, and dangerous besides. Things like that never change. And when the boy is better, I’ll tell him the story again. I’ll tell him what really happened. I swear, I’ll do it when he’s all better again.
But now, you gotta buck it up, thinks Cosmos. The little guy needs help.
He sets the red baseball cap straight, and straightens up himself. Then Cosmos pushes the brass doorbell.
At first he hears only a soft humming. Then the wrought-iron gate opens by itself as if pushed by a ghostly hand. Very slowly, the right side of the gate swings out, followed by the left side. As if in slow motion. And then Cosmos walks, also as if in slow motion, up the white gravel path toward the villa. And as he walks, the little yellow lanterns that line the path flash on alongsi
de him. Five steps lead up to the front door, which is polished to a blinding sheen and flanked by two stone lions. And as Cosmos climbs the second step, a dog starts barking.
Oh no! thinks Cosmos. Not that again! From behind the closed door the bark sounds big and dangerous. A foaming-at-the-mouth bark. The dog must be huge.
Cosmos tenses all his muscles, ready for flight. He plans to jump behind the columns the instant he sees the hellhound.
“Quiet, Brutus!” calls out a woman’s voice inside the house. “No! Get back!”
Impossible, thinks Cosmos. It can’t be. But it is . . . it’s the voice of the Queen!
And then the door opens. . . .
There she is, all in light blue, standing there with the fine string of pearls around her neck. The Queen!
The Queen of Caracas!
And next to her stands a tiny white dog with a light-blue ribbon tied around its neck. It wags its tail and jumps up at Cosmos, licking his hand.
“Phooey, Brutus!” the Queen says sternly, smiling at Cosmos.
“That’s a big name for such a little dog,” says Cosmos, grinning foolishly. His sense of relief is painfully obvious.
“Depends on your point of view,” says the Queen. “Your name’s not much smaller, after all! But come on in.”
The Queen takes a couple steps forward and looks around.
“Where’s the little one?” she asks. She’s no longer smiling and her voice is as cold as steel. “You tell me right now, where’s the little one?”
“That’s why I’m here,” stutters Cosmos. “I gotta . . . I need . . . I need your help!”
So Joseph was right after all, thinks the Queen. The lad’s not going to make it. It was a mistake to buy that guardian angel. I never should have done it! And now there’s a problem.
“What happened?” she demands. “Why didn’t you look after him? You swore to me.”
“Yes, but Niner’s sick. He collapsed . . . down by the riverbank. He’s got a fever and he’s gone all weak . . . I can’t manage it by myself . . . he needs a bed. It’s urgent, and he needs medicine too,” stammers Cosmos.
The Queen is terrified.
“Is it that bad?” she asks.
“Worse,” says Cosmos.
“Then take me to him!”
COSMOS TAKES THE LEAD in his red baseball cap. The little white dog named Brutus scurries along beside him, and the Queen brings up the rear. Her heels clatter loudly in the silent night.
When they reach the embankment, they come to a stop and the Queen takes her shoes off. She can’t climb with those clattering heels.
I have to tell her now, thinks Cosmos. I promised.
He clears his throat.
“There’s something else, Queen. The boy, he’s been talking in his fever. Raving like, so I didn’t get most of it, but there’s one thing he said quite often and clearly: ‘guardian angel!’ And so I promised him I would give you the money back and bring his angel back again. . . .”
“That’s okay, Cosmos,” says the Queen. “You’ll get the angel back. He only helps his rightful owner anyway. So he’s got to stay with the person he belongs to. That’s the way it is with guardian angels. I never should have taken him. But it’s okay. Niner will get him back.”
“But,” Cosmos says, hesitating. “There’s another problem, too.”
“And what would that be?”
“I ain’t got it all. I had to spend some of that money.”
Cosmos breaks off, not daring to look the Queen in the face.
The little white dog has sat down and looks at Cosmos with its head cocked.
The Queen is silent. She can’t say anything because her eyes are filling with tears.
“I’m sorry about the money,” says Cosmos after a while.
“Forget about it,” answers the Queen. “Now take me to Niner. He needs his guardian angel. And as for the rest of it . . . we’ll take care of that later.”
The driftwood fire burns bright and high, lighting up the riverbank. Bald Pete lies snoozing on the retaining wall.
The others are sitting in a circle around Niner as the Queen approaches.
“Niner! Niner! Look who I brought along!” calls Cosmos.
But Niner doesn’t answer. He stares up at the sky, his eyes glazed over with fever. His breathing is labored.
“We’ve tried everything,” says Red Elsa.
Harmonica Johnny took off his sweater to cushion the little one’s head, and Buddy Sloop stood in front of him, making funny faces and even taking out his glass eye and tossing it in the air in an attempt to make Niner laugh.
“But Niner never laughed,” says Red Elsa.
“I put compresses on his legs. That was right, wasn’t it, Madam Queen?”
“And I played harmonica for him. Music heals all wounds, not compresses,” growls Johnny.
“You can’t possibly believe that!” says Buddy Sloop. “Your playing’s so out of tune, it’ll sooner make you sick. It’s laughter, isn’t that right Queen? Laughter is always the best medicine.”
But the Queen isn’t listening. She simply pushes Buddy Sloop and Harmonica Johnny to the side and kneels down before Niner. She bends over him, puts her cool hand on his forehead, and draws it back, startled.
“He needs a doctor,” says the Queen of Caracas. “This doesn’t look good at all.”
But Cosmos shakes his head.
“He needs his angel! The angel first!”
“Can you hear me, Niner?” asks the Queen.
At that, Niner turns his head, looks at her with his feverish eyes, and nods.
“I’ve brought your angel back, Niner,” says the Queen. “It was a mistake to buy him. I’m sorry! He belongs to you. And now he’ll look out for you again.”
At which point Niner smiles and whispers, “Now I can go to the sea.”
And then he closes his eyes.
IT IS A VERY strange procession that makes its way up the quiet street by the mansions in the middle of the night. At the head walks the Queen of Caracas, with no shoes on and her stockings torn. She’s carrying the little boy they call Niner. And he’s put his arms around her and buried his face in the hollow of her neck.
Right behind the Queen walks Cosmos, who’s got the name of a seaman, but doesn’t look at all like a sailor with his red baseball cap and the Queen’s light-blue shoes in his hand. And next to Cosmos scurries Brutus, the little white dog with the ribbon around his neck. He doesn’t leave Cosmos’s side for a moment.
Harmonica Johnny and Red Elsa follow at a respectful distance.
“Look, Johnny, the Queen’s got no shoes on,” whispers Red Elsa reverently. “D’you see that, Johnny? She’s just as barefoot as me!”
Behind them is Buddy Sloop with the glass eye. He walks a bit unsteady and bowlegged, like someone who’s always drinking cheap wine and never has enough to eat.
And behind Buddy Sloop staggers Bald Pete. Every now and then, he hangs onto a lamppost and mumbles and rails to himself, as though everything were the same as always. But he follows, for he needs his people and simply can’t imagine staying down by the river alone.
As the wrought-iron gate opens soundlessly, Buddy Sloop and Johnny and Elsa and Bald Pete come to a stop, as if there were a secret borderline beyond which they didn’t dare to cross.
But the Queen notices and says:
“Come inside, you’re all invited. You all helped, after all.”
At that, Buddy Sloop takes his hat in his hand, Harmonica Johnny grabs his harp, and even Bald Pete quits his mumbling and appears to grasp that things like this don’t happen every day.
“And she’s barefoot just like me,” Red Elsa says again, the fine white gravel crunching under her step.
Inside the house, it’s completely still.
Everything is clean and white, and the thick rugs are as soft as clouds. Even Cosmos shrinks a little, pulls his head down between his shoulders and attempts to make himself as invisible as possible.
&
nbsp; A fire crackles in the open fireplace. A real log fire, not with driftwood. On the walls hang large paintings with houses by the sea and orange sunsets. And in one picture, Cosmos sees his stand on the beach. Only the name on the sign isn’t right. It says “Daisy’s.”
You’re out of your element here, says a voice in his head. Be careful! You’ve never had practice walking on clouds. Watch that you don’t fall off!
“Have a seat there,” says the Queen, pointing to a couch by the fireplace. “I’ll be right back.”
Then she goes out with Niner.
“Holy crap,” murmurs Buddy Sloop. “Holy crap.”
“And she’s barefoot like me,” says Red Elsa.
Harmonica Johnny and Bald Pete are speechless.
Cosmos sits stiffly on the edge of the couch and pets the little white dog, which has jumped up into his lap.
The fire crackles and they can hear the Queen talking on the telephone in the next room. Then it’s quiet for a long time.
“SO,” SAYS THE QUEEN. “The doctor was just here. The boy needs rest, but he will recover. And as for you, I must say, you took good care of him. I’d like to thank you. I won’t give you any money for it, but every one of you gets to make a wish.”
“A wish?” Red Elsa becomes quite excited. “I already have one: As long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted red shoes to dance in.”
The Queen nods.
“And you?” she asks.
Harmonica Johnny hesitates. “Well . . . I wish . . . I need . . . a new harmonica would be good. With two sides . . . if you know what I mean!”
The Queen nods.
“Now your turn, Buddy Sloop!”
“Going sailing,” says Buddy Sloop. “Just once . . . with the fishermen. I’ve dreamed about it forever, but they won’t take me.”
“No problem,” says the Queen. “And you, Bald Pete?”
“Free booze at the Caracas, with all the extras.”
The Queen swallows hard and raises her eyebrows.
“All right,” she sighs. “But no trouble! You got it?”
Bald Pete beams.
Beyond the Station Lies the Sea Page 5
