The Sorcerer's House (6 page)

I would have fed the poor creature if I had any food, but I have none; after thinking things over, I found that my only recourse was to free her outside. There she could certainly drink from the river and feed herself, catching field mice, rabbits, and so forth. After climbing down, I carried her into the wood between my house and the river and opened the cage.

Winkle remained inside, huddled opposite the door--I suppose because she was afraid of me. I walked some distance away and waited; when I returned, the cage was empty. Why did I bring it back into the house? I confess I have no immediate use for it; but when one is desperately poor, one conserves everything.

Since then, I have seen her half a dozen times at the windows. Most of them are closed or boarded up, but I have opened a few for ventilation. They are screened, and the screens keep her out. She must believe that there is food inside, poor creature. I only wish she were correct.

You dislike me, George, I know; and I cannot blame you for it. You are in the majority, after all. I know, too, that you believe all my misfortunes to be my own doing. In that you are at least partially correct--nor shall I argue about the rest.

Honesty compels me to say that I am not fond of you, either. Perhaps I have less reason.
I am your brother even so.
The face you see in the mirror is mine. Have you thought of that? I have never sought to do you harm, and have done my best to keep my misfortunes from reflecting upon you. I would help you, if I could, any time that you needed help.

Can you say the same?

Yours sincerely,

Bax

Hey, Prof!

Got this paper from the chaplain. You know, I never thought I would be writing anybody from here except my old lady. Feels funny. But good. I liked getting your letters.

I got another hearing coming up in Sept. If God's on my side I might get to this haunted house you got before Halloween.

It is not that I hate being in here a whole lot. I know it bothered you a lot more than it ever bothered me. It is that it is not what I want. I want to be able to do whatever I want to do, and what I want to do is get away someplace where there is no sidewalks or streets or phone wires or any of that crap. A place where you listen and what you hear is the wind and birds singing.

When I was a kid I got sent to this summer camp one year. I do not know how long I stayed, but it seemed like a long time back then. We played ball and went canoeing, and it was all right, especially the baseball which I was pretty good at.

But the best part was getting lost when we went on hikes. I would drop back and drop back until I could hardly hear them, then go off to one side and hide because I knew they were going to send a couple of guys back for me. I would watch them going down the trail. Then I would watch them coming back. After that I was free. I would be back in time for supper most times, but one time I spent the night in the woods. That was the greatest night of my life. You are the only one I would tell this to, Bax. With the other guys I say it was the night I screwed some bitch, and sometimes it is a bitch I really screwed and sometimes just one I wanted to. But I have told you the truth.

Please keep this. Or else burn it.

Sheldon Hawes

Dear George:

Why does Bax torment me with his letters? I can hear it even as I write. You know the answer, and know equally that I might ask questions of my own.

Last night I had the strangest dream of my life. Tell poor Millie, please. I feel quite certain that you have no interest in dreams; but Millie may, and if she does she deserves to hear about this one.

Before I begin, I ought to say something about Winkle. (I intend my Winkle, not Mother's.) Yesterday I implied--or think I did--that Winkle was not truly a fox, although that was what I had first thought her. My implication was based upon glimpses I had gotten of her as she tried to enter the house by various windows. At the time I hoped
she would tire and go to another house, where she might find food. I knew, however, that she would find her way inside eventually if she persisted. The house is large and old. There are many windows, odd corners, and nooks, and Winkle is an expert climber.

Now that I know her better, I think her midway between a fox and a monkey. She is red, with glossy black markings and a white tip to her tail. Her green eyes seem to me rather feline; but there are fingers behind her tiny claws, and her delicate paws are more monkeylike than doglike. She has long canines, but both foxes and monkeys have those, I believe. She seems to me, in short, a rare animal of some kind, most probably from Africa or Asia.

In my dream I lay asleep until Winkle came and woke me, wanting me to look out the window. I rose readily enough, followed her to a window, and looked out. The lawn behind the house was bathed in moonlight, and the oddest possible figures were dancing in a ring there. Some were grotesque, some quite attractive.

Most impressive was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a full beard. He was crowned like a king, and his crown gleamed in the moonlight. He danced stiffly, but with great dignity, keeping time (as I saw) to music I could not hear. Beside him danced a Junoesque woman nearly as tall as he. She wore a long gown and many jewels, and there was something beautiful and mysterious in her dance; I longed to see her more closely, and to follow the intricacies of it. With them danced a lean, capering fellow who seemed all arms and legs, a dwarf with the face of an ape, a half-naked girl with flying hair, and others I find I cannot recall distinctly.

I do remember this, however. The nearly naked girl seemed to be aware that I was watching them. She met my eyes once, and danced so wildly afterward that it seemed she might lose the animal skin that served her for a dress.

Having no food, I had no breakfast to bother about. I drank water from the tap in the bathroom, washed, and shaved. Returning to the living room to dress, I found three dead birds on the hearth--birds I know were not there when I woke. Two were pigeons, and the third a quail. I hurried out to collect wood and discovered that a ring of mushrooms had sprouted on my lawn.

And that is really all I have to say, George. I cleaned and gutted the birds as well as I could, removed some skin, and stewed them with dandelion greens in an old pot I discovered in one of the kitchen cabinets.

Winkle appeared when my stew was nearly ready. She was clearly apprehensive at first, but I spoke gently to her and offered her a bone with a good deal of meat on it. Soon she was sitting beside me, eager for her share of the stew.

Now she watches as I write, fascinated it seems by the movements of my pen. I am glad that you are not here to despise her.

But what am I to make of her?

Rereading this letter, I see there was one point about my dream that I neglected to mention. I sleep in my living room, as you may have gathered. Nights can be cool here at this season, and the living room has a fireplace. I cook over the fire there and sleep in front of it, waking when I am cold to put more wood on.

The window to which Winkle led me in my dream was in the living room; but when I looked through it, I was seeing the lawn behind the house. None of the living-room windows offers a view of the backyard.

Possibly I should say they do not normally show it.

There is something about the windows in this house that perturbs me, George. When I am intent upon something else and see a window from the corner of my eye, it seems to me--sometimes--that what I see through it is quite different. Once I saw a pale face; but when I looked directly at it, it was the moon. Perhaps I am too much alone.

I went out this morning after breakfast. Before I left, I asked Winkle, "Will you protect the place in my absence?"

It seemed to me that she shook her head, so I said, "In that case, will you hide from intruders?" I looked away for a moment; when I looked back, she was gone. I have not seen her since.

If I had closed my letter above, it would have been better, perhaps. But what would I do now? My eye is swollen . . . almost shut, but I am in
too much pain to sleep. I shall tell you about it. It is best, I am sure, if I have some occupation.

It would be better still if I had food.

Well, then. About midmorning I hiked into town. It is only too likely that my allowance, when it comes, will come to the post-office box I rented when I realized that Mutazz had tried to forge my signature to my allowance check. I have written to Mother's attorneys and provided them with the address of this house, but letters can be slow and attorneys even slower. It is too soon, but it seems it must come too soon or I shall starve. Which would not trouble you.

A man in the post office stopped me and asked to see my ring. I did not recognize him at first, and said simply that both the rings I wore were mine.

"Oh, I know that! Are there two? The gold ring with the large stone."

"And why do you want to see it?"

He smiled. "You don't remember me, do you? You brought in a ring--costume jewelry--for me to look at yesterday. I'd like to see the one you're wearing now."

I remembered him then and held up my left hand.

He bent over it. "I won't ask you to take it off."

"I wouldn't," I said.