Gossamer (8 page)

"And you know what, Thin Elderly? Sad parts are important. If I ever get to train a new young dream-giver, that's one of the things I'll teach: that you must include the sad parts, because they are part of the story, and they have to be part of the dreams."

"You'll be a good teacher one day," he told her.

"Thank you," she said demurely.

"But you must stop sucking your thumb."

She sighed. "I know. Soon I will."

***

"Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "I felt as if I knew Hee-Haw a little, somehow, before she brought him from the attic. Then there he was! In the boy's room! And you know what, Thin Elderly?"

"What?" He smiled at her earnestness.

"I think maybe we gave her some fragments in a dream, some bits of her childhood, happy things, and there was Hee-Haw! She'd forgotten him until the dream! But then she remembered, and she went up to an old trunk, and found him again, and brought him to the boy.

"And somehow, when I saw him there, I understood about the trunk, and how the donkey had waited all those years to be given to a boy."

"And now the boy sleeps."

"We all helped him. You and I, and the woman, and the dog, and the donkey," Littlest pointed out, with a happy sigh. "We strengthened him." She giggled. "
Strengthen
is a hard word to say," she confided sleepily.

"Still," Thin Elderly reminded her, "we must be very watchful."

"Will—" She hesitated, not wanting to say the terrible name. "Will the S-things try to come back?"

"Oh, yes. I'm afraid so. They're always out there. I just hope—" He paused, not wanting to worry her.

"Hope what?"

"Oh, it's nothing."

"Please tell me. I'm brave. And I hardly ever do that with my thumb anymore, really."

"Well," he admitted, "Most Ancient still feels the Horde gathering. I'm fearful that they're frustrated by the boy's resistance.

"I'm afraid there is a Horde attack coming."

She looked at him, wide-eyed. He helped her to her feet and took her hand. "But not tonight, Littlest One," he said. "Tonight the boy is safe."

22

The young woman's dream-giver, Strapping, had had several different assignments in the past; he had bestowed many dreams. But his work had always, until now, been somewhat ordinary. It had even been boring, he occasionally thought (though he knew it was necessary work, important work; he knew that people could not exist without dreams). He had worked in the home of a famous actor once, and another time he had followed a circus as it traveled, assigned to give dreams (imagine this!) to a clown.

He had bestowed colorful dreams upon drab, dull people, and he had given grim, colorless dreams to people whose lives were vibrant and exciting. There seemed no real logic or order to the kinds of people and the kinds of dreams they received. It was all in the gathering; it was all dependent on the memories and the fragments and how they fit together in the jigsaw-puzzle world of dreaming. Strapping paid little attention to any of it. He did his job. He did it energetically and according to the rules, but he did it without enthusiasm or interest.

Then he had been assigned to the young woman. The assignment had been a mild punishment for his disinterest. His Heap's leader had simply grown tired of Strapping's casual attitude. She had decided to place him where meticulous attention was badly needed.

Strapping was an orderly sort of fellow, the kind who kept track of things, liked labels and lists and appreciated cleanliness. In his own Heap he was sometimes referred to as a nitpicker because he insisted on designated sleeping places, whereas some other dream-givers preferred to doze simply wherever they flopped down at the end of a busy night.

At first, because of his basic nature, he had been extraordinarily exasperated by the slovenly apartment to which he'd been assigned, and by the sleeping woman who, when he encountered her for the first time, was curled on the couch wearing pajamas with top and bottom unmatched—how irritating that was, to Strapping! He had sighed with despair that first night, looking around, realizing that he was faced with gathering his dream fragments from chipped china, coffee-ringed tables, dirty carpets studded with crumbs, and clothing that had lain unwashed on the floor for days.

But he was a caring fellow. It hadn't taken long before he had realized, through the collected fragments, how sad and needy this young woman's life was, and—because he was keenly intelligent, as well—how great the possibility was that he could help her.

(This was what Dowager had hoped when she assigned the punishment, because she knew her Heap well, and perceived what talents Strapping had to offer, if she could give him the opportunity. It was part of the Old Ones' tasks, to find the right dream-giver for each job. It was why Most Ancient had assigned Fastidious to instruct Littlest One at first, and why, after the transfer of instructors, he was keeping a sharp eye on Fastidious to see if it was time to retire her altogether.)

Now Strapping was doing what Dowager had hoped he would do, becoming what she had wanted him to become. He looked around the shabby dwelling place attentively each night, assessing the changes in the young woman's life. He saw her attempts to create a little order. He saw how she had arranged the toys in the second, unoccupied bedroom, lining up the Matchbox cars on a shelf, placing the baseball cap on the bedpost after she had picked it up from the floor, where it had lain untouched for days.

He noticed that she had bought, though not opened, a package of nicotine patches, and that she had begun to smoke on the back porch and had opened the windows to air the place, and he could smell the difference.

The mail was no longer stacked unopened on the kitchen table beside the dirty coffee cups. The cups were washed and put away, and now the envelopes were in the wastebasket, and the opened bills lay on the table beside her small calculator and her checkbook.

He found himself beginning to hope for her future and to care for her in a way he had not before cared. As she slept restlessly on the couch with the TV a late-night blur across the room, he chose carefully what to touch and gather: the broken seashell once again, the little baseball cap, the bronzed baby shoes that she used for bookends. He wanted to give her dreams of a future with her son.

23

"It's almost Labor Day, John. Do you know what that means?" The woman was washing the few breakfast dishes while the little boy measured dog food from a bag into Toby's bowl.

"World Series?" he asked. "Eat it," he added, speaking firmly to the dog, who was sniffing the blue ceramic bowl, "because you're not getting any more of my bacon ever again."

The woman, standing at the sink, laughed. "You should never leave your plate where he can reach it," she reminded him. "He's shameful."

John scowled. "I was going to sit on the floor and read the funnies while I finished eating. How was I supposed to know he was going to be so grabby?"

"That's why they say 'Live and learn,'" she told him.

They both watched while Toby finally leaned toward his bowl and began to eat the dry dog food.

"You know that dog food that comes in cans?" John asked suddenly. "It smells horrible. And it looks like throw-up."

"Well, it probably smells delicious to dogs. But Toby can't eat that kind. It upsets his stomach."

"I know a guy who ate it."

"A human? Goodness." The woman wrinkled her nose. She hung up the dishtowel and sat down at the table where her mug of tea was waiting. "Why would a person do that?"

"It was a kid. He was just little."

"Oh. Poor little thing. He didn't realize it was dog food, I suppose. Parents have to be so careful. They have to keep a close eye on very little ones. I saw in a catalogue that there is a special latch that you can put on the cupboard under the sink. You know where I keep the cleaning things?" She pointed. "If a toddler got into that cupboard, he might try to take a nibble of Comet, or a sip of ammonia!"

"That's dumb. It would taste terrible."

She chuckled. "But you said you knew of a little one who tasted dog food! I wouldn't think that would be so delicious!"

John didn't laugh. "His father made him do it," he said.

"His father? I don't understand."

"He was bad."

"Who was bad, the father?"

"No, the boy, stupid!" John glared at her.

"But—?"

"He was running around the house naked, see. He was just out of the bathtub. He was only little. Three, maybe."

The woman smiled. "That doesn't sound bad. It sounds very sweet."

"Shut up!"

"John," she said to him, "what's wrong?"

"He was running around with no clothes on and he peed on the floor! Like a dog! Like a stupid dog! It was bad! And so the father rubbed his face in it, because that's what you do with dogs!"

"John?"

"I said SHUT UP!"

The boy's face was contorted. "It hurt him. When the father rubbed his face on the floor, it really hurt him. But he didn't cry. He never cries. Cry and you get hit."

The woman nodded, watching him.

"And then the father said that if he was acting like a dog, he had to eat dog food. And that's what they gave him for dinner. That canned stuff. They put it in a bowl on the floor and told him to eat like a dog."

"Who is
they,
John? I thought you were talking about a father."

"Well, there was a mother too, stupid! She put the bowl on the floor. He told her to! The father told her to, and she did!"

The woman nodded. "The poor little boy," she said.

"No, the
dumb
little boy! And bad! It was his own fault! And then he wouldn't eat the dog food."

"Of course he wouldn't."

"So he didn't get anything to eat that night. And in the morning, when it was time for breakfast, think there were Cheerios or anything?"

"No. I think I know what happened."

"He was so stupid he thought there would be Cheerios! But it was the same dog food. And for lunch, same dog food, and for dinner, same dog food, and he was only little, and hungry, and finally he
ate
it! And his father laughed at him!

"'Ha ha ha!'" The little boy imitated harsh laughter. He rocked back and forth in his chair and kicked his legs against it.

"And his mother? I bet his mother didn't laugh, did she?"

His rocking subsided and he leaned forward. "No. She cried, and got hit," he said in a low voice. "She always got hit."

Finished with his breakfast, Toby padded over to the table where the two were sitting. He gazed up at John.

"WHAT ARE
YOU
LOOKING AT, STUPID?" The boy jumped from his chair, overturning it so that it fell against the wall and knocked a small potted geranium from the windowsill onto the floor. Then he ran from the room.

The woman sat silently at the table. She thought about the coming holiday weekend, Labor Day, and what she had planned to tell the boy: that school was about to start.

24

"It's coming back tonight. I can feel it." Littlest shuddered and looked up at Thin Elderly. They had just slid in under the door.

Thin Elderly stood poised, listening and feeling. "Yes," he told her. "The air is tainted. They're on the way."

"They?" Littlest asked in a worried voice.

"Yes. More than one. Shhh." Thin Elderly tilted his head and she could feel that he was holding his breath. After a moment he turned to her. "Smell that?" he asked.

Nervously she sniffed. "Yes," she whispered. "Like garbage, and something burning. Something awful."

He nodded. "We've smelled it before, when we huddled and he inflicted on the boy. But this is worse because they're coming together. It's the Horde. Everything is multiplied, even the stench."

"Should we hide?" she asked him, wide-eyed.

"No. They don't want us. They're after him." He gestured up the stairs toward the boy's bedroom door.

"But why the Horde this time?" Littlest One was very frightened. The memory of the hot breath, the pawing hooves, the rank odor, and the dreadful hiss was terrifying to her. But it was true that the Sinisteed had not shown any interest in the dream-givers as they huddled together in the hallway. So she was not frightened for herself. It was because of the boy. The Sinisteed had done such damage to him already! She was frightened on his behalf.

"They know we've strengthened him. It's made them angry. That's why they've gathered the Horde," Thin Elderly told her.

"I fear for the woman tonight, as well," he added. "I think they're coming to inflict on both, tonight."

"The dog, too?" Littlest asked in a small voice. She sucked her thumb briefly.

"No. They don't bother with pets. Shhh." He tilted his head and listened again. "They're still some distance away. It seems they're holding back. Waiting. Maybe for the sleep to deepen. That gives us a little time."

"Time for what?"

Thin Elderly sighed. "More strengthening. It's all we can do, really."

He looked at her and she hastily put her hand, with its damp thumb, behind her back. "Do you have any fragments stored?" he asked her.

"A few. Not many. I always like to give him big, complicated dreams, so I use a lot of my fragments. I did one the other night that had the beach, and a kite, and I combined it with food things: ice cream, and something called a hot dog"—she grinned—"and then I added in Toby and Hee-Haw, both, so they all got mixed up in a big convoluted happiness dream.

"Do you like that word,
convoluted?
" she asked shyly. "I just learned it."

"Good for you. You can add words to dreams, you know."

She nodded. "I'm working on it."

Thin Elderly sat on the lowest stairstep. His knee jiggled nervously. He was thinking.

"We don't have time to gather new things," he said finally. "So take what you have left. Are they pretty good fragments?"

She nodded. "A baseball game. He got a hit and felt proud. I have that, still. And a time his mother sang him a funny song."