Nameless

by Sam Starbuck

  "Isn't it true!" she laughed. "And we're not all born to it. Do you know Don's granddaughter?"

  "Irene, right?" I asked.

  "Well, what do you think but she went to the University two years ago and now she's marrying a land-owner and keeping his house."

  "Irene didn't really like caravaning, though, did she?"

  "It's not for those who can't do with their hands," Tommy grumbled. "And there's no excuse for mooching around with your head on crooked."

  "Which just goes to show," Gwen reflected, "that the Friendly are chosen people and it's nothing to do with blood or mothers."

  "Chosen by whom?" I inquired.

  "Well-asked," Tommy said. "Your wit's as sharp as ever."

  The first of the caravan passed the turn for the main road then. Tommy pulled out of the string, making for my shop.

  "Hear there's a man out at The Pines," he said, as we drove up the road. It was quiet, not many people on the street, and those who were stopped and watched with equal amounts of pleasure and anxiety as the truck came past. The relationship of the Friendly to Low Ferry is...complicated.

  "I suppose you have this kid to thank for that," I said, tilting my head to the side and knocking the boy with it. He took the hint and leaned back. "Why, are you headed out there to camp?"

  "Thought we might. Think he's liable to chase us off?"

  "Just a renter," I replied. "Name's Lucas. He's not likely to try and talk to you, let alone make trouble."

  "Very good," Tommy decided. "We're not in a way to offer much of a bribe."

  "Bad year?"

  "Not so bad as some," Gwen said.

  "Well, wait around here a while, I'm sure you'll do decent business," I said. "Pull up – come in for a little while? Make you a hot drink and let you put your feet up."

  "Won't say no," Tommy said, parking the camper in front of the shop. The boy and his friend jumped out of the truck and ran off to the cafe, probably to spread the word of the Friendly's arrival. I held the door for Tommy and Gwen, then led the way up the stairs and into my kitchen. Tommy sat at the table, stretching out his legs and leaning back comfortably. Gwen, entirely unself-conscious, sat cross-legged on the bed after shedding her muddy shoes on the kitchen mat.

  "So you aren't in good health," Tommy said, as I rummaged in the cupboards.

  "Tea or coffee? No, I'm fine," I replied.

  "Tea please."

  "English Breakfast or Jasmine?"

  "Jasmine, and don't change the subject," Gwen interrupted. "A trip to city and a tired look and the boy said you'd been ill. Doesn't look like influenza to me, or gout or – one of Cupid's diseases, maybe?"

  I laughed and shook my head while I ran the water. "Just a matter of the heart."

  "Oh," Tommy said, raising his eyebrows. "My father had matters of the heart. He took the nitroglycerine. Died in bed, though."

  "Well, that's a peaceful way to go, eh?" I asked, putting the kettle on the stove.

  "Not according to his third wife," Gwen said with a giggle.

  Tommy coughed. "Tell us more about this man at The Pines."

  I hesitated, feeling oddly unwilling to discuss Lucas with them. He'd be terrified of a band of strangers camping on his doorstep and I didn't want to arm them any more than they already were by dint of his shyness and silence.

  "He won't run you off, but you're best settled not too close to the cottage," I said finally. "He's shy and from city. He doesn't take easily to strange people."

  "Low Ferry like him?"

  "Oh, I suppose so. Don't dislike him, anyway." It occurred to me that more people spoke to me about Lucas than spoke to Lucas himself. "But if you take my advice you'll leave him in peace."

  "Scared for us or for him?" Gwen asked.

  "I'm not scared for anyone," I protested.

  "What's he do?" Tommy asked.

  "He's an artist."

  "Oho!" Gwen laughed. "Painter? Photographer?"

  "More of a sculptor," I said. "He makes masks. He was Fire Man at the Halloween celebration this year."

  "We were sorry to miss that," Tommy said. "Like to meet this fellow, I think."

  "You can come with us," Gwen offered. "To make sure nobody needs your services as a knight."

  "Well, wait a little while, at least," I said. The kettle began to whistle. "I'm dead on my feet."

  "Oh, we'll be setting up camp tonight at any rate," Tommy said. I passed him a mug and held one out for Gwen, who got off the bed and came to the table.

  Talk turned from The Pines to news of the village, as I poured the tea, and then to news of the Friendly. Their family connections are wide and varied, traveling as much as they do: itinerant craftsman and migrant workers, they make their living buying and selling goods or doing odd-jobs. These days nomads in America often get in trouble for theft or fraud, by the Friendly are good people and don't deserve the reputation they get.

  In Low Ferry, they usually settled in the field out by The Pines and came in to sell their goods: cold-weather clothing sewn by hand, chickens and rabbits raised on the move, sometimes knicknacks picked up from other small villages. They have a man who sharpens knives and scissors, and a couple of leather-workers who are good at fixing tack or shoes. And they had the most remarkable storyteller I'd ever met.

  "We should go," Gwen said, when their tea was done and mine was getting cold. "Others'll complain if we aren't there to help set up camp. You will come tomorrow, Saint Christopher?"

  "Of course," I said, and hugged her again. "Looking forward to it. I'll bring my wallet," I added with a wink.

  "Good man. We'll show ourselves out," Tommy said, and they clattered down the stairs. I watched from the window as they climbed into Tommy's truck and pulled away.

  When they were gone I poured out the remains of the tea, put the mugs in the sink, and lay down for a minute, just to stretch out before I unpacked my bag. I was asleep almost immediately.

  I woke, disoriented, to the telephone ringing. I hadn't turned any of my lamps on and it was already falling dark; the only light was coming through the window from the street. I fumbled towards my desk, almost knocked both the lamp and the phone over, got it lit, and answered just before my answering machine would have picked up.

  "H'lo," I mumbled, throwing myself into the chair.

  "Christopher?" a hesitant voice on the other end asked.

  "Lucas?" I asked. My breath was coming short and I felt a little bit like I was falling apart. I inhaled deeply, relieved when I found that I could.

  "Hi," Lucas said apologetically. "Bad time?"

  "No, sorry, I just woke up."

  "Is it...late – it's not late..."

  "No, I got back in from the city and fell asleep. Are you okay?"

  There was an awkward cough on the other end of the line. "Yeah, I – think so. I don't know."

  "You don't...know?" I prompted.

  "Christopher, there's a bunch of people here, they're outside my house. Down in the field, below the hill."

  I rubbed my face and laughed halfheartedly. "Is that all?"

  "It's not all, there are strange people in the field!" he said, and I caught a note of hysteria in my voice.

  "Calm down, they're just the Friendly."

  "How do you know that, they – "

  "Not friendly, the Friendly. I know them, they're okay."

  "Who are they, though? I was coming back from the village and they were all there, and I had to go around and there are fires and – "

  "Lucas, they're just travelers. They come through every winter."

  A long silence. "Oh."

  "They're harmless, they won't hurt you. I spoke to them this afternoon, they know you're there."

  "What did you tell them?"

  "Nothing, it's all right. I just told them you were there, asked them to leave you alone. They seemed interested in you. I told them you make masks."

  "Why'd you tell them that?"

  "Well, they asked, and I didn't think it was a
secret," I replied. "Take a deep breath or two. They won't bother you tonight, they just needed someplace to camp and they usually camp out there."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm positive. Two of them gave me a ride in to town from the train station."

  "Oh – god, Christopher, I'm sorry, how are you? Are you okay?"

  I laughed again. "Relax, Lucas."

  "But I – "

  "I'm fine. You're safe tonight. I'll come out tomorrow, say hello, introduce you to them."

  "Well, I – I'd like to see you and hear about it. I would. But maybe you shouldn't, you should rest -- and anyway you don't have to introduce me. You don't, do you?"

  "Kiddo, either I introduce you to them or they're going to come introduce themselves."

  He was silent for so long that I asked, "Lucas? Still there?"

  "Yes," he answered.

  "You'll like them. I'll be out tomorrow to visit, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Good. Now. I'm going to go back to bed."

  "Okay," he repeated. "Uh. Bye..."

  "Goodnight, Lucas," I said, and hung up the phone.

  ***

  When I woke, late the next morning, some of the Friendly were already in town. They were working their way down the street, knocking on shop doors, asking to put handcrafts on display for sale or barter goods for things they couldn't make themselves, like hammers and rubber boots.

  I opened the shop and was immediately swamped – not by Friendly, but by townspeople who had seen me return the day before or heard about it from others.

  "So," Paula said, as she browsed. "How was the big city? Get mugged?"

  "No," I laughed. "It's not that dangerous."

  "You can't be too careful," Nolan said, laying down a stack of magazines to purchase.

  "Well, that's true, about being careful," I allowed. "But I grew up in Chicago, you know."

  "What was that like?" Nolan asked.

  "Busy," I said absently.

  "Why'd you go for so long, anyway?" Paula asked. "You didn't even bring any books back."

  "How do you know that?" I asked.

  "Ron saw you last night, said all you had with you was your bag," Charles answered shamelessly. "Getting out of a Friendly truck, she said."

  "Nothing wrong with that. They saw me at the station, thought I'd save you the drive."

  "They camped out at The Pines?" Paula asked. "Lucas won't like that."

  "Lucas is fine," I said, shoving Nolan's magazines into a paper bag and handing them to him.

  "All right, no need to bite my head off, I'm just saying. If he has any trouble he should call me."

  "He can look after himself."

  "Doubt that," Charles remarked. "He checked your store every day while you were gone."

  "Flattering, but not an indication of his dependence on me."

  "Oooh, see, he goes to Chicago, comes back with a lot of big words," Nolan teased.

  "You, scram, before I use some of them on you," I replied.

  "Yes sir, city boy," he called, as he left.

  "So," Paula came up to the counter and leaned against it, crossing her arms. "You went to Chicago. And...?"

  I glanced from her to Charles to the three other townspeople in the shop, all of whom were listening intently. I sighed.

  "I saw some doctors," I said.

  "And?" Charles asked.

  "They're still waiting on some tests, but apparently I'm fine," I said, not quite meeting his eyes. "And if we could all pretend," I drawled, catching a few guilty looks, "that Halloween never happened, I'd appreciate that."

  Paula grabbed my chin and pulled me around to face her. She looked serious for a moment, but eventually a smile spread across her face.

  "People talk," she said. "Don't dish it out if you can't take it, gorgeous."

  "Duly noted," I replied. "Now, everyone, pay up or move on – I have errands to run. Go on, out."

  The eavesdroppers sheepishly set down the books they'd been pretending to read. As they left, Charles handed me a mystery novel and took out his wallet.

  "You're not telling us something," he said.

  "Remind me to tell you about the hideous beast my ex-girlfriend married," I answered lightly. "Go on, Charles. Go ye and spread the good news of my continuing health."

  He shook his head, but he put his hat on and stepped back out into the cold, briskly windy morning.

  It wasn't long before I was walking out into the chill myself. It was a clear day, and clear days that late in the year were becoming rare. I could have kept the shop open and probably done brisk business, but people would still need books that afternoon, and I'd made a promise to Lucas. He probably hadn't slept very well.

  On the way out of town I happened to see the boy; for whatever arcane reason children have, he was up in the branches of a snow-covered tree. I stopped underneath it and stared upwards while his progress down from the weaker limbs shook snow onto the street.

  "What on earth are you doing up there?" I asked, shading my eyes against the glare off the overcast sky.

  "Looking for you," he said. "Coming down!"

  "Well, I'm not usually up trees."

  "It's a lookout post," he said, unconcerned. He slid off the branch, landed on another one below, swung out to grasp a low branch over the sidewalk, and dropped the last eight feet into a pile of powdery snow.

  "What did you want me for?" I asked.

  "Thought you might be going to see the Friendly. Can I come?"

  "Did your parents say you could?"

  "I'm safe with you, aren't I?"

  "That's not an answer," I said, but I shrugged and walked on. "Your funeral if you get grounded for it."

  "I won't be," he said confidently, as we strolled down the narrow sunken path in the snow. "Will you see Lucas too?"

  "I'm going out there to see him – have to open formal diplomatic negotiations between him and the Friendly, or he'll hide in his little den and they'll poke well-meaning sticks through the bars."

  "Gwen's really nice."

  "She is. He'll like them once he gets to know them."

  "Everyone at school says their parents won't let them go out to the camp because they think they'll be stolen."

  "I doubt it," I answered. "When I was a kid my mom threatened to sell me to the gypsies if I was bad. I always thought it sounded pretty exciting."