Manroot (28 page)

Chapter 42

Ryan, or April and Ryan, went back at least once a year to Hilltop.
The responsibility of Mother and Kack and their charities were things they attended to.

Ryan felt annoyed that after all these years Kack still did not have a telephone.

“Who would call me?” she reasoned.

It was with a great deal of haggling, finally lying to Kack, that they managed to have the cabin improved.
Ryan told her that county ordinance demanded indoor plumbing, electricity, etc. It was the least he could do for her. Five years ago when they had moved to Florida, Ryan offered to buy a house for her in New Mexico, but she refused.

“
No. It’s better to dream of a place remembered, what was pleasant, and forget what was not. That place lives as a pleasant memory, but this is my home now. I have Bruce – and who would gather the ginseng?” She clocked the seasons, periods of her life. It gave her purpose, the annual harvest.

The inconvenience of not being able to call her when they came to
St. Louis was annoying. This time, Ryan came alone and unannounced. He did not send a letter to say he was arriving. He wanted to tell her the news in person.

The annual visits were short, consisting of a few hours spent on the porch beside her, or if the weather was incl
ement, sitting inside the cabin, where the ghost of a thousand memories sat with them. Unused to company, her life spent virtually alone, Ryan sensed that a touched hand, the brief embrace, was all she could endure.

Always, they urged her to come visit or
live with them in Florida. Always, she seemed pleased and would agree. “But not now, maybe later.” They all knew she would never do so.

Today, Ryan
’s meeting with the Board of the complex had been tedious, involving him with so many trivial details. After that, he had gone to issue a check for the upkeep of the statue of the Judge with the city council. His next errand was at the Home for the Blind, where he settled a few outstanding things with the director.

Errands completed, Ryan noticed t
hat his driver had fallen asleep. The man was slumped in the car, his hat pushed back, snoring loudly. Silly to awaken him to drive the short distance to the cabin.

In the dusk, he started down the path that took Bruce to the cabin every Tuesday.
The crunch of fall leaves under his feet filled him with nostalgia. As he followed the rope, a sense of satisfaction filled him. He had done well; the Judge would have been pleased. He had taken care of them all. In the end the Judge’s money had created so much good.

As he fingered the stiff envelope in his jacket, Ryan wished with all his heart that his father could have been here to share his joy at this special time in his life.

Coming up to the porch, he saw her silhouette in the chair, her back to the road, her face to the beloved woods.

He noticed her head drop, then right itself.
She was asleep.

Quietly he walked up the steps, unaware of the eyes watching him.

The shadow under her chair could have been a basket of yarn, fall apples – any number of things. He paid no mind to it.

Then, possessing agility that belied its age, fueled only by hate, the creature leapt high in the air!
Its long claws ripped each of his cheeks, and the sound of a banshee shrieked in his ears.

She awoke, as the tugging of the lead upturned the chair.
She fell, tangled in the leather.

Ryan pushed and punched wildly at the thing, his own ankles now entangled.
He was jerked viciously off-balance, then fell, landing on his back! Putting his hand before his face, through the latticework of his fingers, those eyes stared into his. The film on the aged cat’s eyes lifted, now clear gray like the aggie marbles he and Kyle had treasured, and they stared into his.

A
high keening sound echoed: it was Katherine. Before the cat leapt away, it snapped at Ryan’s protective fingers. He felt a burning pain, and as he struggled to get up, saw with horror a vacant hole pumping dark blood where his little finger had been.

“
Ai-eee, ai-eee!”
The unearthly sound was still issuing from Kack’s throat, her face turned up to the sky. The scream finally died, and in an ordinary voice, like that of a frontier mother summoning her child in from the dark, she called,
“Kyle! Kyle!”

During his phone calls to April he sounded plausible; she didn’t suspect anything wrong, or ask him why he prolonged the visit. Ryan mumbled something about the Board, the charities, and some minor matters he had to attend to for Elizabeth.

He was r
eleased from the hospital in two days. He gave thanks that it was his left hand. Kyle was left-handed; he was not.

The unfortunate accident created intervention; the authorities were informed, and they were obliged to find the animal.
The possibility of rabies had to be addressed.

When Ryan went back to Hilltop to tell her, Katherine panicked.

“Ryan, they mustn’t shoot the creature. They mustn’t!” she repeated, over and over.

“
I’m sure they won’t. I think they’ll keep him, when he’s caught, and look for signs. Rabies, you know.”

The bandage on Ryan
’s hand was a badge of guilt for her.

She made him sit at the table, and as she brewed the ginseng tea, her heart was like a heavy stone in her chest.
She had to tell him the truth, but would he believe her?

“
I’m so sorry,” she said. “It isn’t---”

“
No, I’m right-handed. It won’t interfere with my work.” He rubbed the injured hand along his trousers. Curious how badly that phantom finger throbbed.

The cabin seemed eerie in the lamplight.
She still used the oil lamps instead of electricity.

She sat down opposite him.
She must make him understand.

Seeing the worry on her face, he reassured her with, “
It will be all right. They’ll find him.”

“
No, I must find him, for if they shoot him---” her voice dropped “---if they kill him, it will be an untimely death that releases an unfinished soul – the Oh mu…”

Ryan remembered that strange word.
He had heard her speak of it before.

She leaned forward, her dark eyes glinting in the lamplight.
“You must believe, Ryan. You must believe in things unseen. They do exist.”

He nodded.

She reached for his hand. Hers felt cold and clammy squeezing his.

“
My grandmother told of its existence – the Oh mu – the unfinished soul. It comes from those who die too early – those who are murdered or commit suicide, or who die in an accident,
unfinished
– not left to term.”

He nodded.

Satisfied that he understood, she went on: “And there are other unseen things that
do
exist.”

The phantom finger throbbed.

“Twins,” she cried in a whisper. “Twins are not always real twins. Sometimes it’s like a mirror, or an illusion. You see two, when there is only one…”

He listened, feeling afraid for her.
Was he responsible, leaving her here alone, murmuring to her animals, cooking potions, myths becoming reality… Eccentric, that’s what they had always thought, but this showed it could be a lot more serious.

She sensed his thoughts, his doubts a real presence in the room.
Clasping his other hand, the bandaged one, she pulled him closer so he
had
to look at her. With dread he gazed into those eyes that glittered like a dark mirror.

“
Sometimes it is nature’s mistake,” she said, willing him to understand. “There can be two beings, yes – two, but with
only one soul
.”

Her voice, that singsong chant
from his youth, when he was overcome by that mysterious illness, the wasting, the fading,
IT WAS THIS VOICE
.

“
It’s okay, you’re calm, you’re fine…” Her dreamy voice was creating the slow liquid relaxation within him.

“
There was only ever you, Ryan. Like an hourglass, it shifted between you – first one, then the other, shifting like the sand… You know, Ryan, you felt it. There was only ever you – and the Shade.”

From far away, he heard her voice.
It filled him.

“
That night, Ryan, he was behind you – the Shade, this illusion we saw. Remember the feel of his hands as they pushed you? Of your paralyzed limbs as you hit the water and were electrocuted?” She paused, her breathing ragged. “The terror you must have felt, your soul screeching and calling, seeking. I came to you by the cattails with a new rabbit then – warm, so warm. You found him sleeping. You crawled into the shelter of him. I kept you safe. You were safe here with me, waiting.”

He nodded as one in a trance.

“Transference. I wasn’t sure how I did the transference.”

Chapter 43

She found the cat herself.
His lead had tangled on a stump. The fire in his eyes had died; embers glowed weakly there. He was safe. She reached for him, felt the quivering of his flesh.

Three days of terror he had endured out there.
Between the slats of the cage, he had looked out, dreaming of freedom. The mirage of freedom stretched so far; the years of confinement, shrunk so much.

NOW HE WAS ONLY AS GOD HAD INTENDED, A CAT.

The comfort of her arms, the humming in his ear –
safe
. At last he was safe.

Dead was the rebellion, the struggle quieted.
Warm milk, to doze on the coverlet, it was enough. The physical house had grown old, the dampness of the woods caused pain.

It was better to be safe, warm and safe in the cabin.
Liberty had expanded from two feet of the wicker cage to the fifteen feet of the cabin. It was enough. On the porch, he sat beneath her chair, no collar, no lead to restrain him.

She was at pe
ace; it was finished. Someone, somewhere, if it was written, would punish her. This one – the son – was not her sin. It was as she had told him: there was only one. It had always been so.

The other, she was certain,
was
a sin. She walked down to the mound and put a single dandelion on it. The small rabbit that had housed William for her, and had surely turned to dust by now…it was her sin. That day in the green room, she had decided that she could not bear to let him go. That was her sin, for now she understood that she had him always: he was part of the earth, the leaves that fluttered, the dandelion that bloomed, the wind that caressed her face. All these were as important as one another. None had a greater value. This was the oneness of the world.

She felt the cat
’s head resting on her feet. This, too, was finished – ended. He was now simply an old cat.

The other
– the Shade – had dimmed, dissolved, gone back to unknown, unseen places. She was at peace. Her son, her only son, was restored, complete!

Epilogue

Over coffee at the condo, Ryan spoke to Brad.
He arranged for the doctor to visit his mother once a month; also, without seeming official, to call on Kack.

“
She’s gotten far more eccentric than I realized,” he explained.

“
She always was,” Brad defended. “If she’s not a danger to herself or others, what’s the harm?”

“
I guess none. Brad, she’s gotten some funny ideas about twins…”

“
Oh? What do you mean?”

“
Aw, it’s impossible to explain – just nonsense.”

“
Unfortunate about the accident,” Brad sympathized as he looked down at the bandage.

“
Yeah.”

“
Does she have any more animals that could present a danger?”

“
I don’t think so. The cat’s been caught. She claims it’s okay. It’s been checked by the vet, and there are no signs of disease, just normal wear and tear. He thinks the animal won’t be around much longer. It is pretty old.”

“
That’s good.”

Ryan looked at his watch.
“It’s getting to be that time. I’ll go tell Mother goodbye.”

“
That your bag?”

“
Yeah. I only have one. I didn’t plan on staying this long. Thanks for offering the lift to the airport.”

“
It’s nothing.”

When he was ready to leave, Ryan turned back on impulse to look at the room.
Feeling the envelope in his pocket, he knew he’d never tell her now. He tossed it into the fire, where flames licked at the corners of it until superstition overwhelmed him and he jerked it out, one corner partly seared. The fire flared up again, and shadows danced on the wall. Looking up at the portrait, he saw the Judge and Elizabeth. Between them stood one handsome boy aged about ten.
A trick of the light
, he told himself. Shoving his left hand in his pocket, he rubbed with his remaining three fingers and thumb the birth announcement of his own twin daughters.