The Book of Dreams (13 page)

“What was he doing out so late?”

“Clubbing, probably. He could pass for nineteen.”

“Couldn’t he just. I mean, isn’t he hot?”

“He was pretty badly beaten. I read in the paper he was still unconscious. They think a gang got him.”

“You don’t think he’s—?”

“Nah. Well, I hope not!”

A wave of nausea swept over Dana. She leaned against the counter. It was all her fault! How could she have left him? Her act of cowardice filled her with self-loathing.

You must change your life.

As the whisper shivered through her, Dana knew it was true. Lost in her unhappiness the past year, she had forgotten how to be strong, how to stand up for herself. Once upon a time she had quested alone in the mountains of Ireland, facing the world boldly. But somehow she had let herself grow weak and powerless. That had to change. Jean had been harmed because of her. It was up to her to do something about it.

She interrupted the older girl who seemed to know the story.

“Where is he? Do you know? What hospital is he in?”

The girl’s look was cool. How dare a first-year butt in like that? But Dana’s glare was enough to convince her to cooperate.

“He’s in Intensive Care at St. Michael’s.”

• • •

Rushing out of the cafeteria, Dana bumped into her new teacher.

“Whoa, what’s the hurry?” said Ms. Woods. Her smile seemed a little nervous. “I’m glad I’ve caught up with you. I was looking for you.”

“Yes?”

Dana shuffled impatiently. She didn’t have time for this. She had to get to the hospital. But how could she leave the school without anyone noticing?

“I was hoping to have a talk with you,” her teacher was saying. “Since I’m new here, I’m interviewing everyone in the class, one by one. Nothing formal. Just a little chat so we can get to know each other.”

Dana’s impatience turned immediately to suspicion. Despite the smile, the blond curls, and the pink dress, she sensed that Ms. Woods was not as soft as she appeared. Was there a hidden agenda behind her request? Dana wasn’t about to trust another teacher, not after her experience with Mr. Crowley. Was Ms. Woods his replacement in more ways than one? She had to think fast, to get out of this.

“You want to interview me alone without my parents’ consent? Sorry, it’s not on.”

Though her voice quavered as she challenged her teacher, Dana was determined to stand her ground. She couldn’t risk being trapped alone with a stranger.

Ms. Woods was taken aback by the outright refusal and, seeing her chance, Dana fled down the hall.

• • •

Her teacher’s attention put an end to Dana’s plan to skip classes that day. Everywhere Dana turned, Ms. Woods seemed to be there, hovering in the background, watching her covertly. On guard at all times, Dana spent the day avoiding her.

As soon as school ended, Dana hurried home and went straight to her stepmother.

“I need to visit a friend in the hospital.”

Aradhana’s expression was pained. “Your father has grounded you, Dana. You know that. I cannot go against his wishes. It is not an unjust punishment given what happened in Creemore. You will have to ask him yourself when he comes home.”

“I can’t wait that long!” Dana cried. “And he might say no. It’s too important! Please, Radhi. I’m begging you!”

Dana’s intensity jolted her stepmother. Dana had never raised her voice to her before. Aradhana grasped the girl’s shoulders.

“Will you tell me, now, what is going on with you?”

Dana’s eyes filled with tears. She shook her head.

“I … I can’t.”

Aradhana’s voice was firm. “If you cannot trust me, I cannot trust you. That is the matter in a nutshell.” There was a pause as Dana’s stepmother grew thoughtful. Her voice softened. “Has all this to do with the other world? Is that why you won’t speak of it? You know I understand such things. Tell me and I will listen.”

Dana almost gave in. She yearned to confide in someone. She felt so alone. Yet still, she wasn’t ready to open up. She was afraid to. Her stepmother vowed to understand, but how could she? Dana herself hardly knew what was happening. Her shame over Jean also kept her quiet. What would Radhi say when she heard about
that
?

“I can’t tell you, Radhi. I want to, but I can’t.” Dana’s voice rose as she pleaded. “You’ve got to believe me. I need to see this friend. I need to help him if I can and even if I can’t, I need to try.”

Aradhana’s features showed her struggle. She was evidently torn. Gently she put her arm around Dana’s shoulders. The scent of jasmine wafted in the air.

“Someday, Dana, I hope you will learn that to ask for help is a strength, not a weakness. I will let you go without further questions, but first you must let me do something for you.”

Aradhana brought Dana to her study, a little solarium at the side of the house. Vases of fresh flowers stood on the windowsills. Indian rugs and tasseled cushions covered the floor. A small altar was set up in a corner, draped with red and gold silk scarves. Statues of Hindu gods and goddesses were surrounded by incense burners, candles, and brass bowls of offerings. Amidst the statues were photographs of Aradhana’s parents and relations, her brother Suresh and his restaurant staff, she and Gabriel on their wedding day, and Dana in her school uniform back in Ireland. Of all the figures and images, one stood out above the rest. Bedecked with pearls and a golden crown was the plump merry god with the head of an elephant, the Lord Ganesha.

Aradhana placed her hands together and bowed before the altar.

“I was six years old when my mother died,” she began in a low voice.

Slowly, gracefully, she lit the candles and a stick of incense.

“On that day I lay across my bed, weeping with grief. My child’s heart was broken and inconsolable. I would let no one near me, not my
aya
—my beloved nurse—nor my father or Suresh. I screamed like a wild cat if anyone touched me and in the end, they left me alone.”

Gently she bathed the statues with drops of perfume.

“That is when he came to me. First I caught the fragrance of jasmine, then I heard the golden rattles. The ones he loves to play with. My head was buried in my arms, but I could not resist looking up. There he was, resplendent in white silk and adorned with pearls. He lifted me in his arms and kissed my face and when I looked into his beautiful dark eyes I saw that he was weeping too. Weeping for a motherless child. I wiped away his tears and he wiped away mine. And when I had stopped crying, he danced with me, the way my mother used to dance with me. He didn’t have to say the words, I understood his promise. He would always be with me, my dear guardian Ganesha.”

Dana felt her heart lifting. Radhi
did
understand.

“One day I hope you’ll come to Faerie with me,” she said to her stepmother.

Aradhana shook her head, but her tone was mild. “It has been many years since I walked among the gods. It is much harder for adults, Dana. The
sadhus
and the
gurus
go that road but the rest of us are bound to this world, to the business of living. And that is how it should be. It is here we belong for the time that we live.”

Now Aradhana placed her hands together in prayer. Touching her forehead, lips, and heart, she bowed to her guardian.

“O Joyous One, beloved God most dear to my heart, Remover of Obstacles, hear my prayer. I love this girl as I would my own daughter. I appeal to you now to come to her aid. Bring to her your strength and guidance. Remove the obstacles that block her path. Beloved, will you come to her?”

Aradhana’s eyes closed and her lips continued to move in silent prayer. After a time, her face lit up like a sunburst. When she turned to Dana, her voice rang with happiness.

“He will help you.”

Dana hugged her stepmother. “I’m so glad you married Gabe.”

“So am I,” said Aradhana, all smiles. “Now I must get dressed for work. Your father will not be home till teatime. You may go to the hospital, I will write Gabe a note, but I expect you to return as soon as possible.”

“I’ll do my best,” Dana promised.

• • •

The Toronto underground transit system was a modern marvel that Dana had taken to from the day she arrived in Canada. There was no subway in Ireland, and though Dana had gone on the Tube in London and the Métro in Paris, she would definitely give “the Rocket,” as it was affectionately called, first prize.

The silver train glided like a sea snake through the dark tunnels beneath the city. Metallic shrieks echoed loudly as it scraped the tracks. As the train turned swiftly around the bends, the carriages rocked from side to side. Normally Dana would pass the time observing the other passengers or noting the colors and signage of each station. Today she sat hunched in her seat, sick with worry.

Museum.
The station was lemon-yellow and bright like the sun.

She could see him in her mind, Jean Ducharme, wintergreen eyes studying her curiously. That disarming smile. The way his face lit up when she said she was Irish.
Irlandaise! Magnifique! The French and the Irish, we are always good friends.
He had stood up for her that first day in class. Then later, he had warned her against their teacher.
For you, he is dangereux.
How could she have thought that he was aligned with her enemy? Whatever the reason he was on the road that night, she should have opened the door. She should have let him in the car.

Queen’s Park.
Royal blue for the Queen of Canada.

They said that he had been attacked by a gang, that his injuries were severe. It wasn’t a gang, she knew, but a malevolent monster. The monster who had come to kill her. When she fled, leaving Jean behind, it had gone for him instead.

The train drove into the next station on a blast of wind. Chimes rang out as the doors swished open, then shut.

St Patrick.
Pale green with a dark green trim. Green for a saint from the Emerald Isle.

He was still unconscious. What if he never woke up? What if he died? Oh, how could she live with herself!

“Poor little girl with lots of worries, eh?”

The voice came from in front of Dana. The words were obviously directed at her, and they seemed to fall on top of her head. No wonder, she realized, as she looked up. The speaker was quite short. Dana frowned. She had been warned not to talk to strangers, especially on the subway. Too many weirdoes, as her aunts would say. But this little man did not look sinister.

His skin was the brown of oak leaves in autumn. His clothes were a quirky design of black and white with a black floppy hat, white T-shirt, and checkered shorts with suspenders. His feet were shod in white leather sandals showing hairy toes. Along with dark sunglasses, he was wearing a clunky, old-fashioned Walkman that spilled out jazzy music. Instead of turning the Walkman down, he raised his voice.

“A problem shared is a problem halved.”

His accent was broad, very nasal and Canadian, almost singsong in tone, quite pleasant on the ears. His look was pleasant too, and so kind and friendly that Dana couldn’t help smiling back. The train was crowded with office workers on their way home. Safe enough, she decided, if he tried anything strange.

“I … a friend … is in the hospital,” she told him. “St. Michael’s.”

The little man bobbed his head vigorously, displacing his earphones. “St. Michael’s a good one. Patron saint of fairies, eh?”

Dana was startled. She studied him closely. He peered back at her over the edge of his sunglasses. The eyes were big, an earth-brown color darker than his skin. There was something innocent and childlike in his gaze, but there was no recognition. And she felt none herself. Still, she liked him and that encouraged her to talk.

“Do you know the old folktale about Saint Mike?” she said. “How he defended the fairies after the Great War in the heavens? The fairies were in disgrace for refusing to take sides.”

“There’s no neutral ground in some wars,” the little man murmured.

“What?” said Dana.

He shrugged and clammed up.

“Anyway,” she continued, “apparently Saint Michael argued that while the fairies weren’t good enough for heaven, at the same time they weren’t bad enough for hell. He suggested they should live on Earth. Some say that’s how Faerie and our world got connected in the first place.”

“He’d make a good lawyer,” the little man commented.

Dana laughed. She leaned toward him confidentially. “I don’t really believe that story. You know what I think? I think Michael is their patron saint because he’s their dream, their ideal. What could be better or more beautiful than a fairy?
An archangel.
”

The little man cackled with glee. “Oh, that’s a good one. I like that. Well worth some advice.” He glanced out the window. “The Lady’s station. Isn’t this your stop?”

Queen Street.
Light blue, the favorite color of the Queen of Heaven.

Dana had lost track of the time and her journey. She jumped up and made a dash for the door. Behind her came a shout.

“Put your hands over his head! That should do the trick!”

What? How?
She spun around. Too late. The door slid closed. He was lost in the crowd.

Dana stood dumbfounded as she watched the train rumble down the track. Then she shook herself out of her daze. Impossible. They didn’t exist, not here, not in Canada. But as she hurried toward the exit, her heart felt lighter. First Radhi and now the little man. They had taught her a lesson. People could be magic too.