The Mask That Sang (2 page)

chapter three

Cass kept sneaking looks at Mom in the car as Dan Jacobs drove. Mom looked like wildebeests were marauding through her mind. Cass couldn't begin to imagine what Mom could be feeling. What would it be like for Cass to go to see a house that Mom had left to her after abandoning Cass as a baby?

But Mom hadn't abandoned Cass, never would. Mom had raised Cass alone, without help, without finishing school, without money, working horrible jobs with bullying bosses. And you hardly ever saw anything but a smile on Mom's face. Except today.

Mom reached over and took Cass's hand. She squeezed it and did the I-love-you eyes. Cass squeezed back hard, relief flooding her. They would be okay after this weird day. No matter what happened, no matter where they ended up. If Mom was there with Cass, it would all work out.

Dan's voice broke in on them. “There it is. The developers wanted her to sell, but she refused.”

Cass looked out the window at last. They were driving along an avenue with green lawns on each side. Green lawns leading up to homes made of bricks. Porches wide and ornate and the same from house to house. Garages that were all the same, but with differently colored doors.

The people here were rich. Mom was right: they did not belong here.

But Dan was pointing ahead, toward a cul-de-sac at the end. There stood a much older house. It was a single story, crouching as if it were the most stubborn thing ever. Practically buzzing with attitude, a green and white spitfire with a dirt driveway, a maple tree, and bedraggled pink and white flowers. It didn't care that it was nothing like the others. It would hold its ground against them, and they could just back off.

Dan pulled into the dirt driveway, up to the white gate that was in the center of a tough little fence. A minute later he was opening the car door for them, and Cass and Mom were climbing out.

“Take your time, Ms. Foster.”

“Oh, we won't be long,” Mom said. She put her arm around Cass, and Cass put her arm around Mom. Together they walked up the dirt driveway, past the garden of pink and white flowers.

Mom undid the latch on the gate and swung it wide. It squealed, hinges badly in need of some oil.

Cass followed Mom through the gate and found herself in a backyard that was not really a backyard. It was more like an explosion of colors, most of them wild and out of control. There was something about the confusion of weeds and waving wildflowers that made Cass feel suddenly happy, almost in the way that her daydream about the lake did. It was just a wilder, crazier happiness.

“Come on!” Mom completely surprised Cass by taking off down the hill, purse bouncing off her shoulder. Cass raced after.

At the end of the yard was a small river. After that was the fence marking the end of the property.

And beyond that was—garbage.

There was a sea of it: plastic bags lying on top of each other, along with broken chairs, thrown-away toys, diapers. It was a dumping ground, a no-man's-land at the bottom of the ravine, where people had obviously been tossing stuff they didn't want anymore.

Mom started laughing, kind of hysterically. She laughed harder and harder, until she was snorting and wiping moisture away from her eyes. “She left me a dump!”

Then Mom crumpled the envelope she was holding, the sealed letter Ms. Maracle had given her. She pulled her arm back and threw the envelope as far as she could. The envelope soared in an arc against the blue sky, against the wheeling birds above. Finally, it curved down and landed in the heart of the garbage, out of sight.

“Mom!”

Mom's laughing turned into another sound, kind of strangled. “That's where garbage belongs—in the dump.”

“What if it isn't garbage?” Cass cried.

“There is nothing she could say,” said Mom, “that I need to hear.” She started back up the hill, turned, and stretched out her hand. “Coming?”

Cass hurried after, sighing.

™

The key turned surprisingly easily in the lock. Mom pushed the door open as if it were the entrance to a tomb. Cass followed, keeping close, half-thinking something might jump out, or Mom might faint or something.

But it was a quite ordinary blue and white kitchen that waited for them, tidy and matter-of-fact. It fit that self-reliant little house. Cass liked it right away. She could see herself doing homework at the table while Mom heated stuff up on the stove. And maybe a radio would be playing, while darkness began to fall outside and the kitchen glowed bright and warm. They'd eat at the table with placemats, while Cass told Mom about school, and Mom told Cass about work. School had no bullies in it, and Mom's work was teaching—the thing she'd always wanted to do.

One doorway opened into a small living room. It held a couch and chairs that seemed to have been waiting for someone to sit there. There was a shelf with books, and a fireplace. Suddenly Cass could imagine that it was raining or snowing outside, and she was curled up on that couch with a book while logs crackled and sizzled in the fireplace.

The other doorway led into a hallway. Cass stopped right away, head raised.

What was that?

It was more like a vibration than a sound, either so high or low that her ears couldn't quite catch it. Like a hum, kind of. A mischievous purr.

Cass shook her head, but the cheeky non-sound was still there. She took a tentative step into the hallway. The hum grew a tiny bit. It was like that game when people said “warmer” or “colder.” Cass was warmer.

She took another step, and the hum called her to come closer. So she inched along the hallway past other doors, till she was in front of a room.

Ha! The hum was more like a song now, but nothing she could put her finger on. Maybe it was a voice on the wind, maybe it was several voices, but it was as if they were singing somewhere else and Cass was hearing only the shadow of it. Or the memory.

She pushed open the door, and those cheeky non-voices buzzed out a welcome, as if it were a surprise party and she was the main guest. There was trickery in those voices, but something old too, somehow, and trustworthy. Could you be tricky and trustworthy at the same time?

Cass shook her head again. The bullies were right. She was crazy!

Stupid bullies, the mischievous voices seemed to sing. They don't know anything!

“That's the first sign you're crazy,” Cass said out loud to the room before her. “You don't think you are.”

She stepped in, and those voices chorused triumphantly, telling her she had made it, she had found the treasure.

It was a bedroom. Cass ran her hand over the bed with the multicolored quilt, touched the dresser and mirror tentatively. Cass had never had a bedroom before, and never a bed by herself. Not that she minded sleeping with Mom. It was comforting to have Mom beside her after another day at school, warm proof there was one other person in the world who knew and loved her.

There was a closet too, where you could hang up things. And it even had hangers in it!

The voices swirled around those hangers, singing about how sturdy they were, how good they were at hanging things.

Cass rubbed her forehead.

Part of her loved it so much already that she felt she already lived here.

But rooms were not supposed to sing at you!

The non-voices curled around her, like a hug from friends who knew they could be annoying but were sure you'd be on their side all the same. Friends who knew you'd see past all of their weirdness.

“You wouldn't be lonely here,”
they hummed cheerfully.

Cass rolled her eyes. That was for sure. It would be downright crowded.

™

When she walked back along the hall, she went slowly again. This time, though, it was because she was trying to think of what she could possibly say to Mom that would convince her they needed to live here.

Mom was looking in the little storage cupboard beside the fireplace, where logs were piled neatly.

She stood up, saw Cass's face.

“Don't fall in love.”

“You could go back to school,” Cass said softly. “You could become a teacher. For real.”

“I can't take her house.”

“But she's not here.” Cass waved around. “This could be our house, not hers.”

“No. We have lives. People don't just give up their lives.”

Cass debated inside her head. Then she decided to say it, in the most loving voice she could.

“We don't actually have lives.”

Mom was still.

“You're in between jobs, you said it yourself. I'm running away from bullies every day. I don't know about you, but I won't be too sorry to say good-bye to that apartment. This place has a living room and bedrooms and a fireplace.”

Cass's voice got stronger because Mom wasn't arguing. She was just standing there.

“And there might be a dump at the end of the yard, but there's green back there too, and flowers, and—and trees and birds. It's a lot better than garbage cans and sidewalks and cars all the time, everywhere you go. And I bet the school's nicer here, and I bet there's better jobs.”

She raised her chin, feeling just as scrappy as the little house, buoyed by the encouraging non-voices that urged her on.

“And I want to live here.”

chapter four

The cube van inched along, while Mom leaned forward and squinted through the windshield, gripping the wheel as though their lives depended on it. Cass figured she could probably run beside the van and hardly be out of breath. Still, since Mom hadn't driven at any time during Cass's life, maybe it was best for her to take it slowly. Cass had been surprised to learn she had a license at all.

“You turn right up there.”

Mom frowned at the windshield, her nose practically an inch away from it. “Are you sure?”

“And then you turn left on that fancy street, and the house is at the end.”

“I thought—” said Mom. And then she couldn't talk anymore because she had to concentrate.

Mom had agreed to use just enough of the money left to her in the will to rent the van. The rest had gone into a trust fund for Cass. The house was Cass's too, or at least Ms. Maracle said she'd set it up so it would be when Cass was old enough. Cass still couldn't believe any of it was happening.

Soon they were creeping along the street with the big houses, and the stubborn little white and green house was ahead of them. But now, Cass thought, it was saying “Finally!” as if it had been waiting forever for them to get there.

Mom managed to turn the cube van into the driveway and crawled toward the house before jerking on the brakes, sending them both forward as if they were bowing to the house.

Cass snorted with laughter.

Mom shot her a look, exhaled loudly, and turned off the engine.

A minute later, Cass unlocked the door to the little blue kitchen.

“Our kitchen,” she said out loud. “Our sink, our cupboards, our countertops. Our fridge.”

“Our kitchen stuff,” Mom said, puffing and dumping a box on the floor. “Come on, there's lots more to go!”

Cass helped Mom lift out bags and suitcases. They piled them on the lawn next to the flower garden. Although it wasn't a hot day, sweat was soon pouring down Cass's forehead.

“Hello! I've brought you some water.”

It was a man's voice, cheerful and hearty. He was striding across the lawn from the house next door, wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt that said
Super Teacher
. He was carrying two glasses and grinning widely. “Thought I'd be the first to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

Mom looked at him somewhat distrustfully, then smiled slightly and took a glass of water. Cass eagerly reached for the other one.

“Thanks,” Mom said, not looking him in the eye.

“Don't mention it.” He pointed to himself. “Dave Gregor.”

Mom cleared her throat as if her voice suddenly wasn't working right. “Denise Foster,” she mumbled, still looking past him. Then she was silent, gripping the glass of water and staring into it.

“I'm Cass.”

“Welcome!” If Mr. Gregor was taken aback at the unfriendliness of Mom's behavior, he didn't show it at all. “I just moved in right over there a couple of weeks ago, me and my bulldog, Bessie. She's a mush head, but I thought I'd keep her inside till I found out if you liked dogs or not. She won't bother you, I promise. Doesn't bark much. Loves kids…” His voice ground down as he watched Mom's face. “You don't like dogs, do you?”

“I don't mind them,” Mom lied. Cass knew all about it. In one of the foster homes, there had been a German shepherd that used to corner Mom on the stairs and scared the living daylights out of her.

“I'll keep her out of your way,” Mr. Gregor promised. “Though she's a really good girl. Honestly, she wouldn't hurt a fly.”

He looked around somewhat helplessly, as Mom was not really communicating back at all, although she was nodding at his words. His eyes hit on the pile of boxes and bags. “Here, let me help you with these.”

“Oh, no, we don't need—” Mom was saying. But Mr. Gregor hoisted up a suitcase. He grinned down at Cass, who couldn't help but like him. “Where do I put this?”

“Kitchen,” Cass said.

“Show me the way, kid.”

Mr. Gregor came back out to the van after he had dumped the first load. Mom was continuing to put things on the lawn and seemed to be very preoccupied with doing that.

“So, what do you do?” Mr. Gregor asked her, clearly determined to push ahead with a conversation even though—by the way Mom was acting—she had apparently forgotten that he was there. “Me, I teach at the elementary school down the street.” He indicated his shirt. “See? Super Teacher. The kids got me that a couple of years ago.”

“Mom's—in between jobs,” Cass said.

“Just for now,” Mom said to the box she was carrying. “Not for long.”

“Any idea what kind of work you're looking for? Maybe I can help, if you want to give me your résumé. I've taught a lot of kids and know a lot of families.”

Mr. Gregor was smiling at Mom with nothing but goodwill on his face. Mom shot him a look that could have meant anything. “Okay, maybe,” she said.

Cass picked up the suitcase with her clothes in it and headed back inside, leaving them there to work it out.

It was time to see her room again. And now it really was hers.

Just like last time, she started to hear that buzzing hum as soon as she set foot in the hallway. Like those voices were trying not to laugh, like they had a surprise in store.

“I know the surprise,” Cass told them. “I saw the room already, remember?”

The voices did gymnastics around her, mischievous echoes from far away.

She hauled the suitcase onto the bed and unlatched it. She would find just the right place for every piece of clothing. Which ones would she hang up? Which ones would she put in drawers? And which drawers for which kinds of clothes? Cass had never had all the drawers to herself before.

She turned toward the dresser, and the voices suddenly surged.

“Okay, okay!” Cass told them. Apparently those voices were as excited about putting her clothes away as she was. “Which drawer do you want first?”

She held her hand in front of a drawer. The voices hummed enthusiastically. She hovered by the next one, and they buzzed just a bit more. And Cass was playing right along, getting crazier by the minute, like this was normal.

They practically turned themselves inside out when her hand stopped next to the first drawer on the right-hand side.

“You like this one?” Cass asked the voices.

She slid the drawer open.

There was something in tissue paper. Cass pushed the paper back to reveal what was inside.

Then she screamed.

™

They came running, Mom and Mr. Gregor.

Mom hugged her hard. “What's wrong, my darling? What happened?”

Cass was feeling stupid now, sitting on the floor, heart still beating fast. “In the drawer. Sorry. It scared me.”

She didn't mention how the voices had swelled almost to a triumphant yell in her head, and how she'd realized they were coming out of the thing that was in the drawer. That thing had been singing to her all along.

Mr. Gregor was peering into the drawer with some kind of awe on his face.

“I think it's a false face.”

Cass slowly got to her feet and approached the drawer again. The voices had backed off a little now, as if they realized they had scared her. They were friends, not enemies.

Mom was staring at it. “It's an
ugly
face.”

“False face. An Iroquois healing mask,” Mr. Gregor said. “There's a large Aboriginal population around here. I don't mean to be personal—are you of Aboriginal descent?”

“No.”

Cass was inching closer, and she reached out her hand to the mask. She couldn't quite touch it yet.

The face was carved from some kind of wood, misshapen, its mouth curving up into a kind of distorted, knowing half-smile as if it held all of the strange jokes of the universe inside. Its eyes were not quite circles, not quite ovals, not even quite the same size. What they were, though, was brilliant, uncanny white against the red of the face. If they could move, Cass thought, they would be rolling, looking at everything at once. The forehead was all wrinkles, like that mask was planning something huge. And framing that otherworldly face was a mass of crazed black hair, piled inside the tissue paper that had been cradling the mask.

Cass stared at it, hardly able to tear her eyes away. She had the strangest feeling that she almost recognized it. The mask grinned back knowingly as if it could see inside her too.

“Hot, hot, hot!”
sang the voices. She had found where they were hiding. She had won the game.