"Harley," I muttered. I lifted him to embrace him to me and I rocked with him, calling him.
I listened hard, but heard nothing from above. They surely heard me. I thought, They surely heard me but didn't care or didn't believe me.
What would I do?
I didn't want to leave him lying here so I scooped my arms under his and lifted him as best I could. Then I started to drag him back. With my ankle still very sensitive, it was hard, painstaking work. I kept hoping he would wake and be all right, but even after all this, he still had his eyes closed, his lips just slightly open.
The most difficult part was getting him through the opening without hurting him. I don't know where I found the strength. but I lifted him and then dropped him gently to the floor. I brought him to the bed and managed to get him up and on it, putting his head on the pillow. Then I hurried to get a cold cloth to put on his forehead.
"Harley, please wake up. Harley," I cried. I shook him and his eyelids fluttered again, but didn't open.
I crawled up beside him and held him and rocked with him on the bed.
"Mommy," I muttered. "Daddy. Please, help us. Someone, help us,"
The cuckoo clock struck the hour and the dancers emerged. They twirled about and retreated.
Then all was silent again.
All I heard was my own moans, my own soft prayers.
15
Darkness Rushes In
.
A Groan slipped through Harley's lips. I shook
him gently and repeated his name. His eyelids fluttered harder, but he didn't open them, though his eyeballs were moving frantically beneath. It was as if his lids had been glued shut and he couldn't open them no matter how he tried.
When I brought my lips to his cheek. I felt how warm his skin had become. He was running a high fever. I thought for a moment and then quickly went to get him a glass of cold water. Lifting his head gently. I brought the glass to his lips and poured a little into his mouth. Some ran out and down his chin, but I got enough in so he could swallow. He groaned again and I poured some more water until he coughed and his eyelids began to open.
He had such a dazed look. It was as if he didn't know who I was or where he was. He just lazed at me.
"Harley, what's wrong? Harley?"
"Momma," he muttered. "Momma. I don't feel so good." "Harley, it's me, Summer. What's wrong?"
"Mamma, my stomach feels like I swallowed a barbecue coal. I didn't mean it. I ate my hotdog too fast again. Roy's mad. I bet."
He was hallucinating. Was it the fever or something Suze had put into the food that was doing this to him? I wondered,
"Momma, hold me. hold me," he begged. 'Don't be mad. Please. I won't do it again. I promise."
I crawled beside him on the bed and put my arm around his shoulders, pressing his face gently against my breast. He was so hot, I could feel the heat through my blouse and bra.
"It's all right. Harley," I said kissing his forehead. It was like pressing my lips to a car window after it had been left a while in the noonday sun. I rocked him gently. No one's mad at you."
"Momma... Momma..." he muttered, his eyes closing. "Don't be mad at me for being sick."
I knew that after Latisha had died. Aunt Glenda was always very nervous whenever Harley got sick, even if it was just a cold. That was understandable, no matter how frantic she would become. However, his high fever was making me just as nervous right now.
I remembered how many times my mother had suffered fevers in her life, sometimes hallucinating, too. Daddy told me her condition made her more susceptible to certain infections. The doctors tried not to pump her so fill of antibiotics in fear of her body developing resistant strains, because they would then be forced to use stronger and stronger medications to cure her each time and eventually, they wouldn't work. Often. Daddy would try to break her fevers by lowering her into an ice-cold bath and sponging her down.
Recalling that. I returned to the kitchenette, found a large pot and filled it with water, running it until I got it as cold as it could be. Then I cleaned a sponge and returned to the bed. Harley looked like he was in a deep sleep again. I carefully peeled off the sweater and took off his pants. He didn't open his eves or moan. He seemed more like someone in a coma now. I started to sponge him, talking softly to comfort him as I did so. I was frightened. I needed to hear his voice.
His eyes finally opened again and he cried out for more cold water. I helped him sip some, and he fell back to sleep almost instantly. He called repeatedly for his mother in his sleep and surprised me by even calling out for Roy. I continued to sponge him and replaced the water in the pot with fresh, colder water and did it again. His breathing finally seemed to get less labored so I stopped and watched him sleep peacefully for a while.
How often. I thought. had I tiptoed into Mommy's room when she was sick and watched her sleep. I was always so afraid I would lose her. Her being in a wheelchair always made her seem so vulnerable to every illness, every kind of pain, no matter how brave a face she wore for my benefit.
If she woke and saw me sitting there, she would smile and struggle to sit up. I'd run to her bed and she would embrace me and hold me and assure me she was going to be all right.
"I'm fine," she would tell me. "This is nothing. Summer. I just need a little rest."
No matter how many times she did that or how well and confident she sounded. I couldn't erase the memories of waking in the middle of the night and hearing Daddy with a note of panic in his voice call the doctor. Lights would go on. Mrs. Geary would be running up and down the stairs. Sometimes, the doctor would arrive and sometimes. Mommy would be taken to the hospital in an ambulance. I was too afraid to come out of my room. I'd stand by my door and peek out. When I saw her being carried out of her room and down the stairs on a stretcher, my heart would turn to ice.
After a day or so. Daddy would bring me to the hospital to see her. Even there, even under the milk white sheets, surrounded by all sorts of intimidating medical machinery, she was able to put on a bright, happy smile for me. Nothing was as important to her as my being relieved of fear.
"With your father looking over me as he does," she told me once as she held me to her. "I'll always be all right. Summer, so don't you worry. He watches me so closely, he knows exactly how many breaths I take a minute," she said.
It was almost not an exaggeration. Daddy often looked like he was a doctor examining her, watching her move, studying her eyes, listening very closely to her voice. His devotion to her and her well-being was the greatest testimony to his love for her and it did comfort me. No one was as strong and as capable of doing these things as Daddy was in my eyes. He never panicked in front of me, if he ever panicked at all. He was always as in control as he was that day he saved Aunt Alison from drowning. There was no one better in a crisis.
I tried to think of what else he would do for Harley, but most of all. I tried to be as strong as he would be if he was trapped down here. too. If I panicked and cried and ranted. I would be less likely to be able to help Harley. I told myself.
I dozed for a few minutes and woke to the sound of his groaning again, only now it was accompanied by the chattering of his teeth.
"Cold," he said. "Mommy. I'm cold."
I quickly put the sweater back on him and put his pants on as well. Then I located another blanket in the trunk at the foot of the bed and spread it over him as well. Still, he trembled and moaned. so I crawled under the blankets with him and held him to my body, hoping my heat would ease his terrible turmoil. I kissed him and stroked his face and held him as tightly as I could against me. It seemed to help. His trembling got less and less and he fell asleep again.
But what was happening to him? I wondered, by was he going from being hot to cold to hot so quickly? Had he caught a terrible flu or did it have something to do with what he had eaten? I had eaten a little of that roll. but I didn't feel any worse for it.
I slipped out of the bed and returned to the stairway. At
the door. I began to plead.
"Please help us. Harley is very sick. He's running a high fever and I'm afraid. We need to get him to the doctor and get him medicine. Please," I begged.
I waited and listened and then suddenly, I heard Suze chanting. She sounded like she was just on the other side of the door.
"Help us!" I screamed. I pounded on the door with my open hand until my hand grew red and stung.
Her chanting grew louder and louder as I raised my own voice to scream for help, and then I had to jump back quickly because some black liquid slime oozed through the small space between the bottom of the door and the floor. More and more of it poured through.
"Stop it!" I shouted. "Stop doing this. Help us. You'll be in big trouble if you don't. Our parents know where we art. They're going to come looking for us," I cried, hoping to bluff them. I waited, They did nothing. The door remained shut tight. "Help us! Please! Harley's not well He has trouble breathing. He could die!"
The chanting stopped and the murky liquid stopped flowing. I held my breath hopefully, but minutes went by and still the door was not opened. I closed my hand and pounded on it and cajoled and pleaded until my voice grew hoarse. Then I retreated to our room and sat beside the bed. watching Harley moan and turn in his sleep. His fever seemed to have gone down. but I put a cold wet cloth over his forehead anyway. He looked so sick, his skin turning the color of old newspaper.
The cuckoo clock ticked on. Feeling exhausted myself from the struggle and the tension. I lowered my head to the bed and closed my eyes. In moments I was asleep. I had a terrible nightmare about a rat scurrying through my hair, sniffing my scalp and scratching at me. It became more and more vivid until I woke with a cry.
Harley's eyes were wide open. He had put his hand on my head, moving his fingers trying to get me to wake. too.
"Harley, how do you feel?"
"Hurts," he said.
"What hurts?"
"Every muscle in my body aches. My throat is very dry, too.
I'm so nauseous. My stomach keeps cramping up."
"Ill get you some water," I said and hurried to do so.
Why were his muscles aching? Was that a flu? If only I had something to give him besides water. I thought,
He drank it slowly, but I could see that even swallowing was painful.
"Thanks," he said and closed his eyes,
"Harley, we've got to get you out of here. We've got to," I moaned. "Please help me think of something. I've been screaming at the door, but she's performing some other ritual and she won't listen."
I waited to see if he had heard and understood, but he didn't open his eves. His body had become so still and his skin so clammy in fact that it put a terrible panic in me, despite my grand effort to be like my father.
"Harley!" I shook him. "Harley, stay awake. Harley! Please try to think of something. Harley!"
He didn't open his eyes. I felt for his pulse. It was light. slow.
He's going to die. Harley's really going to die! I concluded and finally, the dam I had built to stay in control shattered. I screamed at the top of my lungs. Hurrying as quickly as I could to get back to the stairway, I put too much pressure on my bad foot as I charged across the room and my ankle sent needles into my heart. I had to stop to gasp for breath. When I reached the stairway, I smelled a terrible stench. Climbing up slowly toward the door. I could see where the slime had been poured until it had reached the top step. The area looked charred. Whatever it was it had been ignited and it filled the area with a stink that made me choke and dry heave. The stench was that putrid. Despite my panic and urgency. I had to retreat.
She's even keeping me from begging for help. I thought. Enraged. I stepped back and then picked up the piece of lumber Harley had used to rip through the wall to the back room. and I heaved it with all my strength at the door to the stairway. It slammed with a loud clunk and then bounced back down the steps and fell to the floor.
I waited and listened, but no one upstairs acknowledged it. There was just a heavy silence, so deep and so complete, the beating of my own heart sounded like parade drums.
They won't help us. I thought. They just don't care. We'll surely die down here.
Defeated and lost. I made my way back and returned to Harley's bedside. His face looked flushed again. I touched his cheek. His fever had returned, only it was worse. Desperate. I got the cold water and started to sponge him down, working as quickly as I could. I felt like someone trying to bail water out of the Manic. Tragedy was rushing in on us. Soon, we would drown in it.
Mommy. I thought. I made such a terrible mistake. You can forgive me for anything, but you can't forgive me for leaving you and Daddy like this.
You can't forgive me because I can't forgive myself. Maybe if I hadn't agreed to go. Harley wouldn't have gone. We wouldn't be here. This wouldn't be happening to us, to all of us.
Exhausted myself, my arms and shoulders now joining my ankle in a chorus of aches and pains. I crawled beside Harley and brought his head to my bosom.
"Harley, what are we going to do? Oh Harley," I cried. My tears were so hot. They were coming fast and furious. I wiped them away and closed my eyes.
We lay there, quiet, like two souls waiting to be called home.
I didn't know whether it was just my
imagination or sympathy pains, but suddenly. I felt the tiniest string of needlelike pain shooting through my lower stomach. It grew stronger and stronger until I had to gasp for a breath and sit up. The moment I did so. I doubled up and groaned. The pain began to rise in waves toward my chest. As it climbed, my legs began to grow numb. It was like being lowered into the lake back home when a sheet of ice covered it. My arms became limp. I fell back on the bed beside Harley and turned my face toward his. His evys fluttered, his lips parted just a little.
"Harley," I thought I shouted. It was merely a weak whisper. I edged closer to him until my lips touched his cheek. And then I closed my eyes.
We were children again. All of us were on the lawn behind my house. Daddy had set up a croquet game. We had picnicked and there was a soft Chopin melody flowing from a speaker near the rear windows. Harley and I were trying to hammer our red and green balls through the hoops, and our attempts brought ribbons of laughter from the adults. Harley paid no attention to them. He was intent, his concentration determined. He took a swing and sent his ball through beautifully. There was applause.
Roy was laughing loudly. Daddy was patting Harley on the back. I tried harder now and managed finally to get my ball through, and there was applause again. I looked at Mommy. She seemed to have sunshine coming from her face. Her smile glowed so warmly. I felt like I could rise and float to her.
We were all angels then, a family of angels on a warm spring afternoon with a sky as blue as
Mommy's precious teacups, forgetting everything but our own joy in each other. Latisha was still alive, but Aunt Glenda held her tightly against her breasts. holding her just like someone who knew there were evil demons out there anxious to pluck her out of her arms the moment they had the opportunity.
The memory of all of us so happy brought a smile to my face. I could feel it settling on my lips. How easy it was to just let go and float back to joyful times. This way there would be no more pain, no more tears.
Can't we start again, all of us? Can't we have a second chance? Can't we keep the doors of the cuckoo clock closed and stop time from moving us forward, the hands on the face frozen? The hardest thing about leaving the ones you love was knowing how terrible they would feel, how crushed they would be. Please don't drag us another second into the future that waited hungrily to gulp us down. I prayed.
A very deep and heavy groan rumbled through Harley's body. He, too, was struggling to come back, to pull himself up from the dark pool that waited below. I pressed my fingers against his and curled them around his so we were holding on to each other now, holding on like two shipwrecked travelers desperately clinging to a life raft.
I fell a
sleep again. I don't know how long we both slept. My eyes were so full of haze that whenever I opened them and looked around the room, it seemed we were floating in the center of some cloud and trying to see the world around us. I couldn't even make out the numbers on my watch. but I suddenly didn't care. What difference did time make? Time was only a reminder that soon we would be saying goodbye. I thought.
Sleep. I told myself. Sleep and forget.
And then suddenly there was a great explosion of sound. It was as if the entire house was crashing down around us. I lifted my head and gazed toward the doorway. Everything was out of focus. but I could see someone tall and big was coming at us, moving in slow motion and crawling like a bear. His long, thick arms slipped around us. He lifted me with only his left arm and seconds later lifted Harley with only his right. He held the two of us with such ease it was as if we were infants. Then he lumbered back toward the door, his growl rolling like a stream of smoke trailing behind us.
I closed my eyes and felt myself being carried. I could hear his footsteps beneath us slamming down with each step so hard he surely shattered the very floor. In moments we were going up the stairway. I saw light and when I looked to the right. I saw the door had been driven in and hung from its bottom hinge. Without a pause, we were turned and carried down the hallway toward the front door. There was more crawling.
It wasn't until we were outside and the fresh air washed over me that I could open my eyes
completely. The lids felt like they had been sewn together and I was tearing threads to get them to pull apart. but I did and then I turned my head and I looked at the giant.
It was Uncle Roy.
He had come full of his famous rage and power.
And I was never so happy to see him and feel it as I was at that moment.
Comforted, relieved and once again filled with a sense of security, I allowed my eyes to close. I wasn't afraid to fall asleep now.
Even though I didn't remember any of it, he got us both to the hospital. I woke first and saw him sitting by my bedside, his head bowed, his thick, powerful neck bulging,
The End of the Rainbow Page 28
