The voice stopped and Mrs. Klevity rolled over. Her next words camethickly, as though a gray film were over them as over her eyes. "Are youawake, Anna? Go to sleep, child. Morning isn"t yet."
I heard the heavy sigh of her breathing as she slept. And finally I slepttoo, trying to visualize what Mrs. Klevity would look like if she looked likethe silvery voice in the dark.
I sat savoring my egg the next morning, letting thoughts slip in and out ofmy mind to the rhythm of my jaws. What a funny dream to have, to talk with asilver-voiced someone. To talk about the way blowing clouds and windymoonlight felt. But it wasn"t a dream! I paused with my fork raised. At leastnot my dream. But how can you tell? If you"re part of someone else"s dream,can it still be real for you?
"Is something wrong with the egg?" Mrs. Klevity peered at me.
"No-no-" I said, hastily s.n.a.t.c.hing the bite on my fork. "Mrs. Klevity-"
"Yes." Her voice was thick and heavy-footed.
"Why did you ask me about being in prison?"
"Prison?" Mrs. Klevity blinked blindly. "Did I ask you about prison?"
"Someone did-I thought-" I faltered, shyness shutting down on me again.
"Dreams." Mrs. Klevity stacked her knife and fork on her plate. "Dreams."
I wasn"t quite sure I was to be at Klevity"s the next evening. Mr. Klevitywas supposed to get back sometime during the evening. But Mrs. Klevitywelcomed me.
"Don"t know when he"ll get home," she said. "Maybe not until morning. If hecomes early, you can go home to sleep and I"ll give you your dime anyway."
"Oh, no," I said, Mom"s teachings solidly behind me. "I couldn"t take it ifI didn"t stay."
"A gift," said Mrs. Klevity.
We sat opposite one another until the silence stretched too thin for me tobear.
"In olden times," I said, s.n.a.t.c.hing at the magic that drew stories fromMom, "when you were a little girl-"
"When I was a girl-" Mrs. Klevity rubbed her knees with reflective hands."The other Where. The other When."
"In olden times," I persisted, "things were different then."
"Yes." I settled down comfortably, recognizing the reminiscent tone ofvoice. "You do crazy things when you are young." Mrs. Klevity leaned heavilyon the table. "Things you have no business doing. You volunteer when you"re young." I jerked as she lunged across the table and grabbed both my arms. "ButI am young! Three years isn"t an eternity. I am young!"
I twisted one arm free and pried at her steely fingers that clamped theother one.
"Oh." She let go. "I"m sorry. I didn"t mean to hurt you."
She pushed back the tousled brush of her hair.
"Look," she said, her voice almost silver again. "Under all this-thisgrossness, I"m still me. I thought I could adjust to anything, but I had noidea that they"d put me in such-" She tugged at her sagging dress. "Not theclothes!" she cried. "Clothes you can take off. But this-" Her fingers duginto her heavy shoulder and I could see the bulge of flesh between them.
"If I knew anything about the setup maybe I could locate it. Maybe I couldcall. Maybe-"
Her shoulders sagged and her eyelids dropped down over her dull eyes.
"It doesn"t make any sense to you," she said, her voice heavy and thickagain. "To you I"d be old even There. At the time it seemed like a perfect wayto have an odd holiday and help out with research, too. But we got caught."
She began to count her fingers, mumbling to herself. "Three years There,but Here that"s-eight threes are-" She traced on the table with a bluntforefinger, her eyes close to the old, worn-out cloth.
"Mrs. Klevity." My voice scared me in the silence, but I was feeling thesame sort of upsurge that catches you sometimes when you"re playing-like andit gets so real. "Mrs. Klevity, if you"ve lost something, maybe I could lookfor it for you."
"You didn"t find it last night," she said.
"Find what?"
She lumbered to her feet. "Let"s look again. Everywhere. They"d surely beable to locate the house."
"What are we looking for?" I asked, searching the portable oven.
"You"ll know it when we see it," she said.
And we searched the whole house. Oh, such nice things! Blankets, nottattered and worn, and even an extra one they didn"t need. And towels withwashrags that matched-and weren"t rags. And uncracked dishes that matched! Andgla.s.ses that weren"t jars. And books. And money. Crisp new-looking bills inthe little box in the bottom drawer-pushed back under some extra pillowcases.And clothes-lots and lots of clothes. All too big for any of us, of course,but my practiced eye had already visualized this, that, and the other cut downto dress us all like rich people.
I sighed as we sat wearily looking at one another. Imagine having so muchand still looking for something else! It was bedtime and all we had for ourpains were dirty hands and tired backs.
I scooted out to the bath house before I undressed. I gingerly washed thedirt off my hands under the cold of the shower and shook them dry on the wayback to the house. Well, we had moved everything in the place, but nothing waswhat Mrs. Klevity looked for.
Back in the bedroom, I groped under the bed for my jamas and again had tolie flat and burrow under the bed for the tattered bag. Our moving around hadwedged it back between two cardboard cartons. I squirmed under farther andtried to ease it out after shoving the two cartons a little farther apart. Thebag tore, spilling out my jamas, so I grasped them in the bend of my elbow andstarted to back out.
Then the whole world seemed to explode into brightness that pulsated anddazzled, that splashed brilliance into my astonished eyes until I winced themshut to rest their seeing and saw the dark inversions of the radiance behindmy eyelids.
I forced my eyes open again and looked sideways so the edge of my seeingwas all I used until I got more accustomed to the glory.
Between the two cartons was an opening like a window would be, but little,little, into a wonderland of things I could never tell. Colors that had no names. Feelings that made windy moonlight a puddle of dust. I felt tears burnout of my eyes and start down my cheeks, whether from brightness or wonder, Idon"t know. I blinked them away and looked again.
Someone was in the brightness, several someones. They were leaning out ofthe squareness, beckoning and calling-silver signals and silver sounds.
"Mrs. Klevity," I thought. "Something bright."
I took another good look at the shining people and the tree things thatwere like music bordering a road, and gra.s.s that was the song my evening gra.s.shummed in the wind-a last, last look, and began to back out.
I scrambled to my feet, clutching my jamas. "Mrs. Klevity." She was stillsitting at the table, as solid as a pile of bricks, the sketched face underthe wild hair a sad, sad one.
"Yes, child." She hardly heard herself.
"Something bright-" I said.
Her heavy head lifted slowly, her blind face turned to me. "What, child?"
I felt my fingers bite into my jamas and the cords in my neck getting tightand my stomach clenching itself. "Something bright!" I thought I screamed. Shedidn"t move. I grabbed her arm and dragged her off balance in her chair."Something bright!"
"Anna." She righted herself on the chair. "Don"t be mean."
I grabbed the bedspread and yanked it up. The light sprayed out like asprinkler on a lawn.
Then she screamed. She put both hands up her heavy face and screamed,"Leolienn! It"s here! Hurry, hurry!"
"Mr. Klevity isn"t here," I said. "He hasn"t got back."
"I can"t go without him! Leolienn!"
"Leave a note!" I cried. "If you"re there, you can make them come backagain and I can show him the right place!" The upsurge had pa.s.sed make-believeand everything was realer than real.
Then, quicker than I thought she ever could move, she got paper and apencil. She was scribbling away at the table as I stood there holding thespread. So I dropped to my knees and then to my stomach and crawled under thebed again. I filled my eyes with the brightness and beauty and saw, beyond it,serenity and orderliness and-and uncluttered cleanness. The miniaturelandscape was like a stage setting for a fairy tale- so small, so small-solovely.
And then Mrs. Klevity tugged at my ankle and I slid out, reluctantly,stretching my sight of the bright square until the falling of the spread brokeit. Mrs. Klevity worked her way under the bed, her breath coming pantingly,her big, ungainly body inching along awkwardly.
She crawled and crawled and crawled until she should have come up shortagainst the wall, and I knew she must be funnelling down into the brightness,her face, head and shoulders, so small, so lovely, like her silvery voice. b.u.t.the rest of her, still gross and ugly, like a b.u.t.terfly trying to skin out ofits coc.o.o.n.
Finally only her feet were sticking out from under the bed and theythrashed and waved and didn"t go anywhere, so I got down on the floor and putmy feet against hers and braced myself against the dresser and pushed. Andpushed and pushed. Suddenly there was a going, a finishing, and my feetdropped to the floor.
There, almost under the bed, lay Mrs. Klevity"s shabby old-lady blackshoes, toes pointing away from each other. I picked them up in my hands,wanting, somehow, to cry. Her saggy lisle stockings were still in the shoes.
Slowly I pulled all the clothes of Mrs. Klevity out from under the bed.They were held together by a thin skin, a sloughed-off leftover of Mrs.Klevity that only showed, gray and lifeless, where her bare hands and facewould have been, and her dull gray filmed eyes.
I let it crumple to the floor and sat there, holding one of her old shoesin my hand.
The door rattled, and it was gray, old, wrinkled Mr. Klevity.
"h.e.l.lo, child," he said. "Where"s my wife?"
"She"s gone," I said, not looking at him. "She left you a note there on thetable."
"Gone-?" He left the word stranded in mid-air as he read Mrs. Klevity"snote.
The paper fluttered down. He yanked a dresser drawer open and s.n.a.t.c.hed outspool-looking things, both hands full. Then he practically dived under thebed, his elbows thudding on the floor, to hurt hard. And there was only awiggle or two, and his shoes slumped away from each other.
I pulled his cast aside from under the bed and crawled under it myself. Isaw the tiny picture frame- bright, bright, but so small.
I crept close to it, knowing I couldn"t go in. I saw the tiny perfection ofthe road, the landscape, the people-the laughing people who crowded around thetwo new rejoicing figures-the two silvery, lovely young creatures who criedout in tiny voices as they danced. The girl one threw a kiss outward beforethey all turned away and ran up the winding white road together.
The frame began to shrink, faster, faster, until it squeezed to a singlebright bead and then blinked out All at once the house was empty and cold. The upsurge was gone. Nothing wasreal any more. All at once the faint ghost of the smell of eggs wasfrightening. All at once I whimpered, "My lunch money!"
I scrambled to my feet, tumbling Mrs. Klevity"s clothes into a disconnectedpile. I gathered up my jamas and leaned across the table to get my sweater. Isaw my name on a piece of paper. I picked it up and read it.
Everything that is ours in this house now belongs to Anna-across-the-court,the little girl that"s been staying with me at night.
Ahvlaree Klevity.
I looked from the paper around the room. All for me? All for us? All thisrichness and wonder of good things? All this and the box in the bottom drawer,too? And a paper that said so, so that n.o.body could take them away from us.
A fluttering wonder filled my chest and I walked stiffly around the threerooms, visualizing everything without opening a drawer or door. I stood by thestove and looked at the frying pan hanging above it. I opened the cupboarddoor. The paper bag of eggs was on the shelf. I reached for it, looking backover my shoulder almost guiltily.
The wonder drained out of me with a gulp. I ran back over to the bed andyanked up the spread. I knelt and hammered on the edge of the bed with myclenched fists. Then I leaned my forehead on my tight hands and felt myknuckles bruise me. My hands went limply to my lap, my head drooping.
I got up slowly and took the paper from the table, bundled my jamas undermy arm and got the eggs from the cupboard. I turned the lights out and left.
I felt tears wash down from my eyes as I stumbled across the familiar yardin the dark. I don"t know why I was crying-unless it was because I washomesick for something bright that I knew I would never have, and because Iknew I could never tell Mom what really had happened.
Then the pale trail of light from our door caught me and I swept in on anastonished Mom, calling softly, because of the sleeping kids, "Mom! Mom! Guesswhat!"
Yes, I remember Mrs. Klevity because she had eggs for breakfast! Every day!That"s one of the reasons I remember her.
Hush!
June sighed and brushed her hair back from her eyes automatically as she marked her place in her geometry book with one finger and looked through thedining-room door at Dubby lying on the front-room couch.
"Dubby, please," she pleaded. "You promised your mother that you"d be quiettonight. How can you get over your cold if you bounce around making so muchnoise?"
Dubby"s fever-bright eyes peered from behind his tented knees where he washolding a tin truck which he hammered with a toy guitar.
"I am quiet, June. It"s the truck that made the noise. See?" And he bangedon it again. The guitar splintered explosively and Dubby blinked in surprise.He was wavering between tears at the destruction and pleased laughter for theawful noise it made. Before he could decide, he began to cough, a deep-chestedpounding cough that shook his small body unmercifully.
"That"s just about enough out of you, Dubby," said June firmly, clearingthe couch of toys and twitching the covers straight with a practiced hand."You have to go to your room in just fifteen minutes anyway-or right now ifyou don"t settle down. Your mother will be calling at seven to see if you"reokay. I don"t want to have to tell her you"re worse because you wouldn"t begood. Now read your book and keep quiet. I"ve got work to do."
There was a brief silence broken by Dubby"s sniffling and June"s scurryingpencil. Then Dubby began to chant: "Shrimp boatses running a dancer tonight Shrimp boatses running a dancer tonight Shrimp boatses running a dancer tonight SHRIMP BOATses RUNning a DANcer to-NIGHT-"
"Dub-by!" called June, frowning over her paper at him.
"That"s not noise," protested Dubby. "It"s singing. Shrimp boatses-" Thecough caught him in mid-phrase and June busied herself providing Kleenexes andcomfort until the spasm spent itself.
"See?" she said. "Your cough thinks it"s noise."
"Well, what can I do then?" fretted Dubby, bored by four days in bed andworn out by the racking cough that still shook him. "I can"t sing and I can"tplay. I want something to do."
"Well," June searched the fertile pigeonholes of her baby sitter"srepertoire and came up with an idea that Dubby had once originated himself anddearly loved.
"Why not play-like? Play-like a zoo. I think a green giraffe with a mop fora tail and roller skates for feet would be nice, don"t you?"
Dubby considered the suggestion solemnly. "If he had egg beaters for ears,"he said, overly conscious as always of ears, because of the trouble be sooften had with his own.
"Of course he does," said June. "Now you play-like one."
"Mine"s a lion," said Dubby, after mock consideration. "Only he has a flagfor a tail-a pirate flag-and he wears yellow pajamas and airplane wingssticking out of his back and his ears turn like propellers."
"That"s a good one," applauded June. "Now mine is an eagle with rainbowwings and roses growing around his neck. And the only thing he ever eats isthe song of birds, but the birds are scared of him and so he"s hungry nearlyall the time-pore ol" iggle!"
Dubby giggled. "Play-like some more," he said, settling back against thepillows.
"No, it"s your turn. Why don"t you play-like by yourself now? I"ve just gotto get my geometry done."