Part 20 (2/2)

”You remember I came on the boat to New York in 1906? Well, about a year later I got a job working on the New York subway system, which was being built then. I had a friend who'd come with me from Norway-Nels Hanson. We worked in the tunnels because, well, we needed the money to pay rent and buy food; so we stayed. We had to work, Hanson and I and the rodmen- Worklan, Turnbull, and Murphy. A fellow named Benson was an engineer-and there was some odd slumping of the ground he didn't expect. A few of the men were afraid because they didn't know how safe we were down there. I was afraid, too, but we were there to do a job-the sand hoggers, drillers, and the bosses, bless their black hearts.”

”Sand hoggers?”

”That's what they were called.” He paused. ”Building a tunnel is a big job, David. Things happen, people die, people leave, people go through a lot of trouble. Working underground is like working in a city with no sky-a big, dark, dreary place. It was down near the Hudson Terminal, in one of the two lower tubes, that the bad thing happened.

”Benson, the engineer, was ahead down the line, checking out the ground problem. This was before the concrete had been poured. There was a lot of water down there, freezing cold, so we all had our heavy clothes and rubber boots on . . . .We heard this terrible scream coming from down the line, but we couldn't get there very fast. Something had happened to Benson . . . .You know, when some people are frightened really bad, they just aren't themselves anymore. That's what happened to Benson. He kind of fell asleep in his mind.”

”Why?” I asked.

”We didn't know. But later, when he recovered from shock, he said there were strange things in the deepest parts of the tunnel. He said they had been crawling down there and affecting his mind.

”A month later we were down there again, in the lower tunnel, just a few of us: Lars Johnson, our boss-Murphy, McShay, and Sorensen, the man who'd taken over for Benson-and some others, some of the people who live right here in our apartments, David, and who've stuck together for over forty years. I guess there were a half-dozen of us down there on that day.

”It was like a bad dream, David, like the dream you've been having. McShay and Bailey came running back from below. They said that huge white things were in the ground-worms, they said-and Farley, he was a non-union man but tough-minded; he had a pick ax, McShay said, and he tried to kill one of them but couldn't, and they took hold of Farley with big sucking jaws and dragged him down under the ground. It was horrible. No one could help Farley, and we ran back through the tunnel-and in the days following we had horrible thoughts-thoughts we were told by Benson came from underground, thoughts we couldn't understand because the underground things were blind, yet they lived in a world of sound and vibration, and they could hear us.

”For days, no one would go back down there, and construction was held up until a new crew could be found. There were some transfers to other parts of the project. There were rumors that a large hole had been filled in, but there were no more strange stories. The men I worked with scattered from job to job until the subway was finished. But none of them who were in the tunnel that that day have ever been able to live in one place for long-because of the dreams. Dreams that may not be dreams at all. Or memories either. Some said McShay and Bailey killed Farley themselves because he was a non-union man. But Mr. Worklan, he thinks maybe those blind creatures under the ground permanently locked into our minds because they can't see or talk, and they got to know where we are. We've come up with all kinds of ideas, but the one that sticks is that those things under the ground are trying to find us again. We don't know why. day have ever been able to live in one place for long-because of the dreams. Dreams that may not be dreams at all. Or memories either. Some said McShay and Bailey killed Farley themselves because he was a non-union man. But Mr. Worklan, he thinks maybe those blind creatures under the ground permanently locked into our minds because they can't see or talk, and they got to know where we are. We've come up with all kinds of ideas, but the one that sticks is that those things under the ground are trying to find us again. We don't know why.

”But that's sometimes the way the world is, David. Our idea is that they share our planet but don't know what we we are, and maybe no one but us knows about them. So we've been moving around the country, because after each move the dreams stop. We think the dreams mean they are getting close to finding us again, and we don't know what will happen if they do. Most of us decided to band together. We began to study books about a hollow earth, UFOs, and things like that, and we formed a kind of club to delve into these matters. None of it was the truth. I set up the lumber business, first in Minnesota, so we could work and stay together.” are, and maybe no one but us knows about them. So we've been moving around the country, because after each move the dreams stop. We think the dreams mean they are getting close to finding us again, and we don't know what will happen if they do. Most of us decided to band together. We began to study books about a hollow earth, UFOs, and things like that, and we formed a kind of club to delve into these matters. None of it was the truth. I set up the lumber business, first in Minnesota, so we could work and stay together.”

”How can the underground things stay secret?”

”We don't know-but sometimes you can be near something for a long time and not know it's there. We've been trying to find other people who know about them. Once, we thought we'd found someone. He wrote in a magazine that he'd been exploring a deep cave and had seen moving white things in a grotto, but he wouldn't respond to our letters asking if he'd had strange dreams. We tried to tell him about how the underground world is inhabited by these creatures and how they may threaten us. The world is a confusing place, David, and we alone had discovered the strangest thing about it. The man who wrote the article teaches at a university, and in the article he said he believes that there may be many discoveries yet to come about life underground. But we gave up writing to him.”

Grandfather's voice wavered slightly. ”Most of us are tired now, David, like Turnbull's wife, but still afraid. Now and then one of us tried to tell someone else about the creatures, but no one believed-because none of their experiences included what was seen in the tunnel that day. They are right not to believe, David, because what was seen doesn't jibe with what's known. When we began to dream about them again, there was usually time to move, pack up, and run. But we're getting old, and we can't run anymore.”

His voice weakened. ”We kept the secret from our children for a long time. Your Aunt Evelyn found out because she came back to live with us. Your mother was lucky because she'd grown up during a time when there weren't any bad dreams. We think the dreams come when the things are near, and they affect those close to us. When the children were growing up, we had to move only once, from Minnesota to Montana. When all our children were old enough, we told them the story, but they didn't know what to think about it. We told your father, too, but he thought we were crazy. He said maybe we had been given drugs in our water supply down in the tunnel.”

”Where's Mother?” I asked. ”Why didn't she take me with her?”

His hands shook slightly. ”We haven't heard from her. She was very upset after her divorce from your father. She talked about getting an apartment and finding a job before sending for you. She knew you'd be safe for a while. We couldn't understand why she didn't tell anyone before she left. It was very cruel, David, and we didn't know what to say or do. We're sure she'll come back for you, David. Perhaps she started to have dreams, too.”

Aunt Evelyn came into the kitchen.

”Most of us decided to stay,” Grandfather continued, ”to keep watch, and see what happens, though the dreams are strong now.” He smiled grimly. ”It's early, but I'm going to take your grandmother's watch now. Mr. Sorensen will take my place in two hours. We are going to take turns listening in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Our only chance now is to wait for them.”

”Maybe it's just dreams, dreams, Grandfather!” Grandfather!”

Grandfather eased me off his lap. He bent forward and hugged me with his lumberman's strength.

Then he brushed by Aunt Evelyn and went out through the living room. I started to run after him, but my aunt grabbed me and held onto me.

Grandfather left to go downstairs.

My mind, half numb, groped for whatever reality I could cling to in my now disa.s.sembled universe: the horrible creatures, Grandfather's story. Might there not have been some other explanation for the dreams?

I went into the living room and sat on the sofa. Finally I said, ”We have to get help!”

”Yes,” said my aunt, ”when the time comes.” She reached out and gripped me gently by the shoulder.

I got up, broke angrily free of her grip, and ran out of the apartment into the hall. I hurried down the main stairs and to the cellar door.

I went down into the bas.e.m.e.nt. Grandfather rocked peacefully in the chair. He was holding a book, and looked up at me slowly. Grandmother turned to leave, then also saw me.

”David. My G.o.d, what are you . . . down here again! Listen to me! Get upstairs right now!” Her voice echoed among the foundation posts.

”I . . . can't,” I said. ”Not until you come.”

Grandfather got up from the chair, took me firmly by the hand, and they both led me up the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs.

”Come on, David!” said Grandmother.

”I'd better stay,” said Grandfather.

”No!” I yelled.

”Better help me get him upstairs,” said Grandmother. ”It won't take but a few seconds.”

We three came out of the bas.e.m.e.nt and rounded the landing halfway to the second floor while I slid my hand miserably along the railing.

I was put to bed. The room was black except for a bit of light that shafted under the door, illuminating a few floorboards. I listened intently for my grandparents, wis.h.i.+ng the time forward. I fought to keep from calling out, and the window shade next to my bureau seemed to symbolize what had been kept from me. After a time, I fell asleep.

Our ability to confirm the memories of childhood is often based upon cruel or doubtful reconstructions, but it was in the confusion that followed that I learned how tenuous our grip on reality can be.

I was awakened by a frightening noise.

A thunder sound, coming up from far below, tore at my senses. I'd never heard a sound like it-or was I dreaming?-the sound of thick concrete cracking deep down in the bas.e.m.e.nt. The building shook slightly, as if in an earthquake.

I jumped out of bed and rushed into the living room, where my aunt grabbed onto me. Ripping my pajama top, I wrenched free of her and ran out into the upper hall. I had to find Grandfather. I heard his familiar voice coming up from the stairwell.

”Timing!” he yelled angrily, his voice distinguishable amid the noises of people shouting and running in the hallways.

I ran barefoot down the stairs, my aunt yelling after me. I got to the first floor. My grandfather was standing at the entrance to the cellar door. Huge cracking sounds, as of thick concrete snapping, wooden supports breaking, came from below. Mr. Sorensen was handing Grandfather cans of gasoline that he then poured down the cellar stairs. The other people in the entry hall, including my grandmother, began to run back up the stairs or out through the front door. People were yelling ”Fire!” They ran through near or far exits of the building. Mrs. Schulte stayed behind. She was holding two unlit torches. One of these she pa.s.sed to Grandfather, who tensely lit it with a cigarette lighter and then threw it down into the cellar. Flames quickly roared up through the cellar door as Grandfather and Mrs. Schulte backed away. Grandfather turned, saw me standing there, ran toward me, picked me up in his huge hands, and, without seeming to think, bounded back up the stairs with me in his arms.

He set me down on the second-floor landing.

”Stay here!” he yelled at me. ”I was supposed to be on the first floor!”

I grabbed onto him. ”No!”

He got loose from me and stumbled back down the stairs to the entry hall. The hot flames burst across the downstairs ceiling and licked up into the stairwell. I heard a commotion. I looked up, and there were other tenants, the familiar faces I knew, peering down from the various landings toward Grandfather, who yelled up at them from below. ”Get to the fire escapes!” Then he turned his attention to a red-framed gla.s.s box on the wall. I'd seen it many times before. He grabbed the little hammer and smashed the gla.s.s. The alarm, which was attached to our apartment house, rang fiendishly in the alley out by the garbage cans. Now Mr. Sorensen, holding two more cans of gasoline, rushed by me on the landing. Grandfather came up the stairs to meet him, and together they poured the gasoline, which sloshed down the stairs, splas.h.i.+ng onto the walls and railing.

The cans were almost empty when we heard what sounded like the floor below breaking all along the length of the building. We heard people yelling ”Fire!” and banging on doors in the distance. Mrs. Schulte, from a few steps up, handed Mr. Sorensen the second handmade torch, this time already lit. Grandfather tossed it down onto the stairs where the gasoline pooled and dripped into the soaking carpet. The stairwell exploded in a tempest of heat and flames. The walls, carpet, and woodwork caught fire all at once. While I was dragged up to the fourth floor, I looked down into the roaring conflagration. People die in fires, I thought. Die!

An acrid smell filled the air. In the flames and smoke I saw In the flames and smoke I saw something alive. something alive. Something monstrously white was writhing in or behind the waves of heat, fire, and smoke roaring up the stairwell. A second one appeared. Then up into the mid-air blackness, screaming, I was lifted and carried into our apartment. Grandmother, Grandfather, Aunt Evelyn, and I made our exit through the big double-hung kitchen window and out onto the fire escape. We descended amid the sounds of the fire station alarm and the apartment alarm. Other tenants did the same. A fire engine roared around to the front of the apartment building while we huddled on the lower escape landing. Grandfather lowered a metal ladder-an object I'd always failed to see because it had been part of the metal grid. We climbed down to the pavement. Something monstrously white was writhing in or behind the waves of heat, fire, and smoke roaring up the stairwell. A second one appeared. Then up into the mid-air blackness, screaming, I was lifted and carried into our apartment. Grandmother, Grandfather, Aunt Evelyn, and I made our exit through the big double-hung kitchen window and out onto the fire escape. We descended amid the sounds of the fire station alarm and the apartment alarm. Other tenants did the same. A fire engine roared around to the front of the apartment building while we huddled on the lower escape landing. Grandfather lowered a metal ladder-an object I'd always failed to see because it had been part of the metal grid. We climbed down to the pavement.

The old people gathered near the fire station wall. They whispered to each other in the darkness; then, in a group, they moved down the alley and out to the street in front of the old apartment building.

<script>