Part 5 (1/2)

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 s.h.i.+ning 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.