"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."
"Good. Combine those."
"And just yesterday his butterfly was born! It came out of the chrysalis. He's going to let it go tomorrow. But I touched it! The wings were still damp!"
"All right. That's a good one. Add the dog, maybe, and some words. Laughter would be a great choice, and courage. Bestow as quickly as you can. I'll do the same for the woman. I've saved some good ones from that afghan on the sofa.
"I'll add words to her bestowal as well. Peace, I think, for her. And maybe—" He stopped to think. "Family."
There was a noise outside, in the distance. A whinny. Littlest One and Thin Elderly held hands and listened.
"We must hurry," Thin Elderly said. "They're preparing to come."
Littlest One fluttered quietly to the stairs and they started up. "When you're done," Thin Elderly whispered, "meet me—"
"In the corner of the hall, where we always huddle?"
He shook his head. "No. We might get trampled there, when the whole Horde comes through."
"Where, then?" She could tell that he was very nervous, and it terrified her. He had always been so calm and reassuring before.
They were in the upstairs hallway now, between the bedrooms. Outside, in the near distance, the noise was increasing. Hoofbeats. Shrill, agitated whinnies.
"The attic," Thin Elderly said. "Meet me in the attic. Now go. Hurry. Help the boy!"
They separated and Littlest One fluttered quickly to the place where the boy slept, still unaware of the impending danger.
25
John turned over in the bed without waking. One arm clutched the ragged donkey, and the other was curled around his pillow. He slept with his mouth open, but his breathing was quiet and his sleep was sound.
He heard nothing. He never heard the tiny nightly flutters as Littlest One arranged herself carefully by his ear and sent shimmers of sparkles into his consciousness. Ordinarily it was a quick bestowal, a tiny moment when she sent him a dream, wished him well, and fluttered away. But tonight she had much harder work to do.
She tried to put the Horde sounds out of her consciousness, not to be distracted by the danger or by her own fear. She recited to herself the sequence of directions:
Flutter.
Hover (she was already there, hovering).
Center.
Looking down at the sleeping boy, she centered herself, taking deep breaths, ignoring her own terror, blocking out the horrifying sounds of the fast-approaching enemy. Breathe, she thought. Breathe deeply. After a moment she felt calm and composed. Then:
Gather! she commanded herself.
From all her resources she sought the fragments she had been holding. She wrenched them forward, reaching far into herself, pulling them from the deepest corners, unfolding things that had been tucked away, arranging them in sequence. She gathered them and held them, and the volume of them almost suffocated her; she felt as if she might explode. But she held on. Then, one by one, she began the bestowals.
The baseball game: the curved line of stitches on the ball and then the high thwacking sound of the hit; the smell of an oiled leather glove; the rough feel of the fabric of a uniform with its dirt-encrusted knees; the thick pad of first base under his hand; the mingled shouts and cheers of the neighborhood crowd.
She leaned forward and with a shimmer of sparkles bestowed it on the boy. Next, the song. She had found it in the boy's treasured photograph of the young woman: a memory of her singing to the boy curled in her lap. A funny song. Littlest couldn't make out the words, really, but she could the melody, and she heard the sound of the boy laughing, and she felt the rhythmic rocking of the chair.
She leaned forward again, and the tiny sparkling bestowal entered the boy. She saw his mouth move slightly into the curved shape of a smile.
She found that she was breathing hard and it was becoming difficult to hover. She had combined fragments before, to create the complicated dreams that she thought he would like. But she had never done more than one bestowal at a time. Now, after two, she was tired, and still, within her, there was so much more to give. And so little time left.
