Dragonholder (12 page)

 

W
e loved that house so much that we moved in the night before the carpeting was put in and slept in front of the fireplace — Gigi, myself, Anto, Rick Farmer, and Eamonn Hanrahan, all huddled in blankets.

Dragonhold
came together quickly as a warm, friendly household. Anne's master
carpenter friend, Wayne Sheader, made a present of some driftwood he had found on the
seashore which he'd embellished just slightly to become a dragon's head, which we placed in
the bushes outside to frighten the unwary.

Anne had realized that she could build stables on the side of
Dragonhold
. Soon Ed
was installed, along with Gigi's horse, Ben. Ed got to play in a field not far from the
house and got happily fat eating grass and frolicking whenever he felt like it. He'd always
come when Anne called, “Horseface!”

Settled in, Anne picked up where A Time When left off and finished
The White Dragon
. Judy-Lynn del Rey and everyone at Ballantine/Del Rey loved it. They were glad to get their first new dragon book in seven years. They got Michael Whelan, whose magnificent art was always eye-catching, to do a matching set of covers and re-released
Dragonflight
and
Dragonquest
in their new covers at the same time as they published
The White Dragon
in hardback.

When it came out in 1978,
The White Dragon
flew high – to become the first science fiction hardcover book to reach the New York Times Bestseller list.

The success of
The White Dragon
gave Anne, who had made the dragons fly, a secure perch on the ground.

In all her years of writing about dragons, Anne had always been amazed to find people who
belonged
in her books — like Jan Regan and Bernard Shattuck. And she had
often used characteristics of the people she knew in her people on Pern. In all those years,
Anne had never directly put someone in her books. “They've got their own lives, I don't need
to give them more,” she said. But when tragedy struck, she changed her rule.

 

 

W
ith her greater economic freedom, Anne found herself able to
afford the “little” things in life — like a new car, good saddles and tack for her
horse. She bought a Toyota Corolla and has been a firm Toyota fan ever since.

The new tack and the Corolla brought Anne some unwanted attention. One night they were startled by noises out back – but as the wind often brought strange sounds, no one thought much of it. It was not until the next morning that they discovered that the tack room had been burgled. Immediately afterward, Anne applied for and got a license for a shotgun. The daughter of a Kernel, Anne knew full how to load and fire a shotgun.

Gigi was now the only one at home — I was doing a stint in the U.S. Army — and
old enough to throw the occasional party. Gigi and I had been throwing parties since 1971,
and had always been good about behaving and cleaning up afterwards. However this one night
the party was crashed by some rowdies who would not listen to common sense. Fortunately,
another of the party-goers had a bit of a “reputation” himself and was outraged that anyone
would abuse Anne's hospitality. John Greene threw the rowdies out.

John Greene was then just finishing off an enlistment in the Irish Army. When I met him while on leave, we compared experiences: they ran five miles every day in full pack, we ran two miles in tennis shoes; we had the finest equipment in the world, they had whatever the French or British didn't want anymore; we had to be prepared to fight off the Soviets, they were prepared to fight off all comers. I decided that the Irish Army was a tougher outfit

Johnny's sense of humor and readiness to “try it on” meant that he had had many a rough-and-ready tumble. He was not someone to be trifled with.

He and Anne clicked. They understood and truly admired each other. Johnny once told me, “Your Mum is so fantastic. She really cares. I would do anything for her. I'd guard her door. I would die for her.”

I did not escape Johnny's sense of humor. When I got out of the Army, my mother realized that
I did not have a decent suit to wear. As she had just gotten membership in the very posh
Sloane Club in London, she was determined that her son would be presentable — my
mother gets a real kick out of “presenting” her boys (it's the only time she can get me in a
suit).

Johnny had just left the Irish Army himself and was, surprisingly, working in a haberdashery. So I was sent to him. He picked up a marvelous gray pin-stripe, with small stripes. When I complained to him that it was too loose, he looked me up and down and said, “When's the last time you exercised?” I mumbled something and Johnny said with a knowing look, “Trust me, Todd, it'll fit you.”

All too soon, it did. And now I'm far too large for it.

 

E
d got older and feebler. Finally, after a series of mini-strokes, Anne decided that Ed's pains were greater than his pleasures. The vet came and administered the drug and Anne with tears streaming, said goodbye to Mr. Ed.

The rest of the day was hard for her.

At 11:20 PM, Irish Time, Anne was awakened by the phone. It was Alec — announcing the birth of Eliza Oriana Johnson, Anne's first grandchild. The date was memorable, September 9th, 1981 — the last square date of the century, 9/9/81.

 

I
t was about that same year that Johnny started getting into more
trouble. “I just can't make it in the real world,” he told me not long after I finished my
term in the Army.

“Well, what are you going to do, re-enlist in the Irish Army?” I asked.

“Do you think the Americans would take me?” he countered. I didn't realize that he was half-serious.

Not long after, Johnny told us how he had stopped his little brother from entering the French Foreign Legion. And then — I get this letter:

“Hello Todd,

I suppose you'll laugh yourself silly to learn that

I've joined the French Foreign Legion.”

He was right.

For the next several years Johnny would regale us with letters from such far-off places as
Djubouti.
“It's 40ºC here in the desert and they're dropping like flies. You get used to
attending a funeral every week but I think it's too much when the medical officer drops
dead halfway through a 40-kilometer march.”

And he was a good soldier. Soon Johnny was sporting Corporal's chevrons. And then he was promoted again, to the lofty
Marechal de logique
which is equivalent to Sergeant. He worked as a radio tech and had to become fluent in French — although we never heard him speak the language.

He knew that Anne did her shopping in Bray on Thursdays and would often surprise her there when home on leave.

In November of 1988, John Greene was murdered, for no apparent reason, while out for the
evening in Orange, France. Anne felt his loss keenly — we all did — and decided
that she would make him Jayge (for “J. G.”, one of his nicknames) in
Renegades of
Pern
. She dedicated the book to him. Since then, Anne has put him in every book she
writes, in hopes of giving him alternate lives for the one he lost.

In this book, she asked me especially to remember him. If you want to get a taste of the Anne's admiration for John Greene, you should read the short story,
The Ship Who Sang
.