AS THE SPARKS FLY UPWARD (2 page)

“I’m sure we have. I think that was it, about three miles back.”

“Snooky didn’t give very good directions.”

“Snooky never gives good directions. He’s probably not even up here. He probably called from California to send us here for a laugh.”

“Shut up and let me think,” Maya said with some asperity. She smoothed the map on her lap and regarded it thoughtfully. Perhaps Bernard was right. It
did
seem that they had come too far …

“Are these the Green Mountains?”

Bernard scanned the sere, blasted winter landscape doubtfully. “I don’t know. I’ve never been this far north before.”

“We’ve passed Brattleboro, haven’t we?”

“I think so. About five hours ago. Do you think we’re in Canada yet?”

“Don’t panic.” Maya ran her finger along the thick green line of I-91. “At least we know what road we’re on. We can
always turn around and get back home if we want to. Have you seen any signs for Lebanon?”

“No.”

“Maybe we should stop for directions.”

“All right. I’ll get off at the next exit.”

They got off of the highway and consulted with a small, wizened man at a Mobil gas station. There was much gesticulating and gesturing. Their guide pointed north, then west. Apparently they were still far from their destination. Bernard stood shivering in the freezing cold air, listening patiently for several minutes, at the end of which time the old man shook his hand in fond farewell and disappeared into his heated booth. Bernard got back into the car.

“We’re doomed,” he said.

“That bad?”

“Doomed,” said Bernard, breathing heavily through his nose. “We’re still far away, dark is coming on, and I have already begun to forget everything that man just told me.”

“Repeat it to me right away.”

Bernard repeated it.

“All right,” said Maya, grabbing the map. “I see where we are. Let’s go.”

They headed north, crawling with what seemed like painful slowness along the thick green map line of I-91. At last Maya cried out, “There’s our exit!” and they left the highway and drove for a long time along a small two-lane road. The area was mountainous and wooded and very beautiful, but the two travelers were not in the mood to appreciate natural beauty. Bernard ate his way steadily through the contents of the picnic hamper (“Knowing Snooky, he won’t have dinner ready—or worse, he’ll have expected
us
to bring it”), and Misty whimpered softly in the growing darkness.

At last a few lights glowed ahead, and they found themselves on a small main street encircling a village green.

“This must be Lyle,” said Maya, switching on the reading lamp in the car ceiling. “Go straight. Snooky’s cabin is outside the village. Go straight until the road forks, then
take the far right-hand turn. He said it’s a little rocky, so be careful.”

They drove through the village, passing houses with lights shining from their windows, seeming (Bernard thought miserably) very warm and civilized and comforting. He imagined everyone in Lyle sitting down to a hot dinner. After about ten minutes the road forked, and Bernard slowed to a halt. He turned on his brights and peered dubiously at the small dirt road to the right.

“There?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Your brother lives up there?”

“Yes.”

“Up that little dirt path?”

“Yes.”

Bernard made the turn with difficulty. The road meandered through a thick forest. All was strangely silent and ghostly. The car headlights careened violently between the trees as Bernard cursed and bumped over the rocky path. Finally Maya said with relief,
“There.”

Bernard forced the unwilling car up the final stretch (Misty, in the back seat, had given up her spirit by this time and lay with her tongue lolling out, drooling miserably), and Snooky’s cabin came into sight. It stood in a small clearing among the trees. It was brightly lit from within and looked large and comfortable. There was a white picket fence surrounding it, with a little yard. Bernard came to a halt next to a small red Honda that was parked by the fence.

“Not bad,” he said, peering through the window at the cabin. “You’re sure this is it? That’s your brother’s car?”

“His rented car. You know Snooky doesn’t own anything. He’s like a monk—no possessions.”

“What do you think—is Misty still alive?”

“You get the luggage out, and I’ll deal with Misty. Here comes Snooky.”

“Welcome to the wilderness!” cried her brother, bounding down the front steps.

“Go to hell,” Bernard greeted him.

“Bernard, so good to see you. And you, Maya. Miserable trip? That’s what I thought. Bernard hates to travel, I know that. How about the dog? Still with us? Good. Let me help you with the luggage. I hate to tell you this, Maya, but the back seat is not as clean as I presume it was when Misty got into it.”

“Don’t talk about it, Snooks. We’ll think about it in the morning. Did you prepare supper?”

“Supper? I thought you were bringing supper? Just kidding,” he said at the sight of Bernard’s stricken face. “I have everything all ready. Come on in and get warm.”

He led the way indoors. There was a spacious living room, with a fire burning in the hearth and two comfortable-looking sofas. Part of the living room was taken up by a long wooden table which was set for three people, complete with place mats, stoneware dishes, and polished silverware. Crystal goblets glittered in the firelight, and Snooky had uncorked a bottle of red wine that stood in the center of the table, reflecting a dull crimson from its depths. The kitchen was small but modern, and two bedrooms led off from the main room, both with antique bedsteads and plump quilts piled high on thick mattresses. All was crisp, fresh and clean, and a heavenly scent drifted through the air.

“Dinner,” Snooky said, putting their luggage into one of the bedrooms. “I went all out. I knew Bernard would need something to console him after the trip.”

Maya picked up one of the crystal goblets and toyed with it absently. “I can see you’ve been roughing it.”

“None of it’s mine, of course. It belongs to the people I rented this place from. I have it for a couple of months, then they’re coming back from France and they’ll want to spend weekends here over the winter. Good skiing in this area. They have good taste, don’t they? Not bad for a weekend retreat. Have you seen the Cuisinart in the kitchen yet? All the most modern amenities.”

“So what’s all this babbling about life in the wilderness?”

“I can’t explain it, Maya. You have to live here a while and get a sense for it. It’s so
different
from the city.” Snooky sat down on one of the sofas and stretched out his long legs. “You have to be here and smell the air and get a feel for how things work. It’s like your whole metabolism slows down and relaxes. You’ll see. It’s wonderful. I’m never living in a city again.”

Bernard came out of the guest bedroom. “Misty’s getting her sea legs back,” he announced. “When’s dinner?”

“It’s almost ready, Bernard. Sit down by the fire and enjoy yourself. I made your favorite: beef stew.”

Bernard’s grim expression did not change. He sat down and stretched out his hands to the cheerful flames. “I take it there’s no central heating?”

“This is the wilderness, Bernard. Rural living. Life in the wild. Of course there’s no central heating. I take logs from the woodpile out back and I put them in the fireplace and I light a fire with them and then they burn. That’s how people stayed warm for thousands of years.”

“Primitive.”

“But effective. You have to admit it, don’t you? This cabin is a lot better than you thought it’d be.”

Bernard grunted.

Snooky turned to his sister and smiled. In the firelight, Bernard noted dourly how similar their faces were. Snooky was five years younger, which put him in his mid-twenties, but they had the same lean, elongated frame and the same intelligent, angular face. Maya had her light brown hair cut in a severe pageboy, and Snooky wore his combed back casually from his forehead, but there was no mistaking them for anything but sister and brother. Bernard sighed and hunkered forward toward the flames. With his massive bearlike build, he sometimes felt as if he had been raised on another planet.

“Is there electricity?” asked Maya.

Snooky looked pained. “Yes, there is electricity. This is
the wilderness, Maya. It’s not Guyana. There’s a light switch on the wall behind you.”

“Does the bathroom work?” asked Bernard.

“Yes, the bathroom works. There is hot and cold running water. This is Vermont, Bernard, not Mars. I think the stew is ready. Come to the table.”

The dinner (as most of Snooky’s meals were when he put his mind to it) was excellent. Even Bernard could find no fault. The beef stew was thick and meaty, filled with potatoes and carrots and onions and green peppers, swimming in a rich garlicky sauce. There was fresh-baked whole wheat bread (“Don’t look at me,” said Snooky. “I bought it in the village”), homemade apple sauce (“From fresh-picked apples, courtesy of the Cuisinart”), stewed pumpkin with cinnamon and raisins (“It’s nothing, I made it myself—delicious, isn’t it?”), and red wine. Snooky and Maya chatted, catching up on the past few months since they had seen each other. Bernard did not join in their conversation; they did not expect him to. He devoted himself to the food and ate his way steadily through every course offered to him. For dessert, Snooky brought out a huge cherry pie with mocha nut ice cream. Bernard’s eyes gleamed in the candlelight. Afterward, Snooky produced steaming mugs of apple cider with nutmeg and cloves, and they relaxed around the fire. Misty, having crept out from the bedroom to seek warmth by the hearth, had recovered enough to eat some of the food they had brought along for her. Now she lay collapsed, a pile of tangled red hair, at Bernard’s feet.

“Tomorrow we’ll get up early and go for a walk in the woods,” announced Snooky.

“No, thank you,” said Bernard.

“Why not?”

“I’m not getting up early.”

“Whenever. The peak of the foliage is past, of course, but it’s still very beautiful in its own way. I’ve become a day person, Maya. Can you believe that? I get up early and go roaming in the woods. You haven’t smelled anything until you’ve smelled the mist rising off those big golden fungus
things at the base of the trees.” He glanced at Bernard with a faint smile on his lips. “You’re not much of a naturalist, are you, Bernard?”

“I don’t care what you go out and snuffle early in the mornings, Snooky. I don’t care what you do. Just as long as you don’t put those big golden fungus things, as you put it so elegantly, into the stew, I could really care less.”

“Bernard hates the city,” remarked Maya with affection, “but he also hates the woods.”

“Bernard hates everywhere except for his own house.”

“Bernard,” said Bernard sternly, “doesn’t like to be referred to in the third person, as if he weren’t there.”

There was a contented silence, broken only by the hissings and poppings and cracklings of the flames. Misty yawned thunderously. They sprawled on the sofas, lulled into a happy stupor by the gentle heat.

“Have you met any of the people who live in that town we passed through?” asked Maya at last, stifling a yawn.

“Who, me?” said Snooky, roused from his contemplation of the fire. “Oh, yes. You know me, Maya. I can’t go anywhere without meeting a few people. I’ve made some friends.”

Maya smiled at him. Snooky was not much in the way of working, but friendship was something he had a preternatural gift for. He could not go anywhere, in his extensive wanderings, without meeting people and striking up an acquaintance. It was something else William hated about him: William, who had no friends, just business partners.

“Anyone special?” she asked now.

“One. Her name is Sarah. You’ll meet her tomorrow. She has an interesting family. They’ve invited us over for lunch. We’ll go there when we get back from our walk.”

“Don’t make too many dates for us, Snooky. You know how Bernard feels about that. And we did come up here to work.”

“Yes. What’s the name of the newest book, Bernard?”

Bernard, who made a living writing children’s books, did not reply.

“Sheep or rats?”

Bernard stared stonily into the fireplace.

“
Mrs. Woolly Meets the Snowplow? Mr. Whiskers Sings Mozart?
”

No reply.

“Don’t be angry with me, Bernard. I’m only asking. I’m just expressing some interest in your career, you know that.”

“He doesn’t like you taking an interest in his career, Snooky,” said Maya sharply. “You know better than to ask questions. It’s not easy for him to get started. He’s having a little difficulty with this one.”

“It’s going to be about Mrs. Woolly,” said Bernard.

“Ah!”

“She takes a trip somewhere, I don’t know where. Somewhere exotic, like Baghdad or Burma. She gives advice. You know how it is.”

Snooky nodded. He was familiar with Mrs. Woolly, a kind-eyed ewe who peered mistily and nearsightedly through her spectacles and dispensed well-meant advice like candy. “How about you, Maya? How are the articles going?”

Maya, who wrote for a small, local magazine entitled
The Animal World,
shrugged and said, “Okay. I’m working on an article about the pronghorn antelope. That reminds me. You haven’t seen any deer around here, have you?”

“There are no deer around here, Maya. Just hunters. I see them every day, in the woods. They creep along, trying not to shoot each other. Extremely annoying. By the way, Bernard, it’s small animal season up here. If I were you, I wouldn’t let Misty run loose in the woods. She might be mistaken for something. All those people seem to live for is a small moving target.”

“All right. Any bears?” said Bernard.

“Bears? I haven’t seen any. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering.”

There was a silence.

“Any mountain lions?”

“Mountain lions? I think you have the wrong area of the country entirely, Bernard.”

“Any murderers or psychopaths loose in the woods?”

“Not too many. Just the usual, you know, that run happy and free all the time.”