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Authors: Chris Adrian

The Great Night (31 page)

BOOK: The Great Night
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That wasn't hard. Henry's legs were not as strong as Ryan's,
but his bike was light and fast, and though it never turned into a pony again, he didn't always have to pedal it to make it go uphill, and Ryan took him up some big ones. They went up Steiner and passed within view of Buena Vista Park. “Don't look at it,” Ryan called back, but he stared too at the pile of trees at the top of the hill, and barely missed wrecking when a man opened his car door in front of him. “Asshole!” Ryan said, and pedaled away furiously up the steepening hill. He spared no attention for Alamo Square Park, though Henry almost paused to admire the giant cypresses and galloping dogs. When he stopped at last in front of a huge house on the corner of Broadway and Steiner, Henry couldn't tell if Ryan was pleased or displeased at how well he kept up. He seemed to be both smiling and scowling. “Wait here,” he said, and left Henry on the front walk with the bikes while he hopped over a garden wall and disappeared around the side of the house. Henry wondered if he was supposed to ring the bell, and if Ryan had something in his bag to deliver here. He looked around. A sparrow rose from the garden and flew into an open window on the side of the house.
Shortly after that Ryan opened the front door. “Come on,” he said, after he had put the bikes behind a bush. “Nobody's home,” he said. “I've been watching to know when they come and go. You'll learn how to do that.”
“How'd you get in?” Henry asked, looking around at the marble foyer and the fancy chandelier.
“You know how,” Ryan said, and started up the stairs. “You can do it too. You just have to remember.”
“Remember what?” Henry said. But Ryan was gone; a gray cat was racing silently up the stairs. “Remember what?” Henry said again, running up the stairs and stopping at the top. A long carpeted hallway went left and right. Henry walked to an
open door at the end into a cavernous bedroom. Ryan was rifling through the drawers. “I've been in this house before,” Henry said.
“No, you haven't,” Ryan said. “That's just you trying to remember the wrong thing.” He shook his bag at Henry. “Come on,” he said. “Fill 'er up.” Henry went farther into the room, into an alcove off the bathroom, and sat on a plump velvet stool in front of a gold and white table. He looked through the drawers. They were full of makeup and jewelry. “Look at this,” he said, holding up a heavy diamond necklace.
“Too fancy,” Ryan said. “It needs to be stuff Mike can sell at the shop.”
“Shop?”
“I'll show you. Keep looking.” Henry put the necklace on and looked at himself in the mirror. A wave seemed to pass over the glass, and he looked away, down at the surface of the table, and picked up a brush and smelled it. That made him think of his mother, and how she always said she was going to put on her face when she did her makeup. It made Henry believe when he was very small that her face was detachable, and he had always hoped and feared she might take it off for him. Without Ryan telling him so, he knew he was remembering the wrong thing, and he looked up again at his face. This time he saw the wave move across it, though he didn't feel a thing. The mirror cracked.
“You're useless!” Ryan said. “We're not here to break stuff.” He came over and started emptying the drawers of their jewelry and told Henry to take off the necklace. But he only hid it beneath his shirt.
Henry's bag was only half-filled when Ryan said it was time to go. He told Henry to stuff underwear around the watches and bracelets and earrings to keep them from jingling and then criticized him for using too much packing. “We're
not here to steal underwear,” he said. They left through the front door and rode away on the bicycles.
The stealing didn't particularly bother Henry. He had stolen things before; he remembered putting candy and paperback books down his pants once at a drugstore on a shopping trip with his mother. He hadn't really been hungry for candy, and the book, an overheated romance novel, had been interesting only because the man on the cover was wearing a kilt and no shirt. He had taken the things just for the sake of taking them, to see if he could do it. He couldn't remember if he stole often or never again after that, and either way it didn't matter now. The whole day had collapsed into this pedaling moment; the morning and the evening felt so far away he was sure they had never happened and would never happen. And his priorities had collapsed so that only a few things mattered: his bicycle, his new friend, and one other thing he could not quite name. He was smiling as they coasted down into the Marina, crossing Lombard Street just as the light was changing and swerving through the traffic. “What are you so happy about?” Ryan called back, and Henry said he didn't know.
They went to the beach, leaving their bikes at the edge of a cliff in the Presidio and scrambling down a crumbling path that wound through small groves of eucalyptus and patches of waist-high purple flowers. Henry slid the last fifty feet and ended up on his back in the sand. Ryan skated over the same fall of rock and sand, throwing his arms out like a ballerina and landing lightly at Henry's feet. He dropped his bag and told Henry to do the same thing. Henry asked if they wouldn't be stolen, though they were in an isolated cove and the stretch of beach was empty except for them.
“Come on,” Ryan shouted. “This is important!” He took off running. Henry chased him down to the water. “Come on!” Ryan shouted again, not turning around to say it, but
Henry heard him very clearly. “Come on!” Henry almost had him—he reached to grab the edge of his shirt and pull him down into the water—and then he was gone. A sleek tan greyhound was running in his place. When Henry tripped, he thought at first it was out of surprise, but he understood as he fell that what felt like surprise—swift, sudden, and shocking—was actually delight, and he was glad he had tripped, because the little accident seemed to provide the momentum he couldn't provide for himself. He fell forward and felt at last that he had caught up with his friend. A wish was a change: a boy fell and rolled in the shallow heaving surf, but a dog straightened himself out. A black Lab in a diamond necklace shook out its fur and took off after the greyhound.
 
 
“How are we different?” Mike asked. He was seated at the head of the long table in the dining room. Henry was staring at the hole in the floor. A fireman's pole dropped through two bedrooms upstairs and a downstairs parlor before it stopped in the basement. The former owners, Ryan explained again, when Henry asked. He had slid down it already, over and over until it was boring, and now he wanted to slide down it as something other than a boy. But no one could leave the table before Mike excused them, and changing wasn't allowed during dinner anyway.
“How are we different?” Mike asked again. His eyes met Henry's eyes, and Henry worried that he was supposed to answer the question. He blushed, and didn't know what he would say, but Mike looked away, down the table to where Peaches sat at the other end. That seat was a rotating place of honor, but Henry didn't know how it was earned. The table was heaped with food and heaped with loot, which they would sort after they ate, cash and jewelry and small electronics and
here and there wallets standing up on their edges so they looked like tents and in the center of these a bird in a golden cage, brought back by Peaches from a mansion on Russian Hill. He said it was a macaw.
“We're smarter than anybody,” Peaches said. Mike gave him a thumb-up, then pointed with his other hand at Mateo, seated on Peaches's right.
“We've seen magic and we can do magic,” he said.
“One man, one reason, Bubba. But you're right to suggest a difference between the lesser magic we do and the greater magic we've seen. If that's what you were doing.” He pointed at Eli next, and the answers proceeded clockwise around the table. Henry wasn't sure if they were bragging to one another or saying grace, but it turned out that Mike required a moment of serious collective reflection every night before dinner. “At least he didn't make us all hold hands tonight,” Ryan said later. Henry tried hard to think of a reason of his own, but Mateo had taken the obvious one, and then every other reason he could think of—
we are fast
or
we are a team
or
we watch each other's backs—
got used up as his turn came closer and closer. He thought about the beach, of running on all fours in the surf with Ryan and sitting on a rock with him with waves pounding all around them. There was no way to describe what he felt, but it had to do with the way Ryan teased him about the necklace, and snatched it from his neck, then stood up with it shining in his fist, the heaving waves around his feet making it look like he was standing on the water. He threw the necklace into the ocean. Henry almost dove after it, but Ryan caught him with a hand on his arm and an arm around his bare chest. “There are a hundred more where that came from!” he shouted. “And we can take them whenever we want!”
“Bubba?” Mike said. He was staring at Henry, but he only blushed again and shook his head.
“It's all right, Bubba. First one's free. I'll do it for you. But you're going to have to learn to pull your weight.” He cleared his throat and folded his hands in front of his chest and raised his eyes to the ceiling like a choirboy looking to heaven. Pitching his voice high, he said, “We all belong someplace else.”
 
 
“Master,” said the dog, “I have fetched myself a gift, just as you permitted. Here he is, a dear friend for me for life.” He bowed and, still bent at the waist, pulled with his mouth at Henry's shirt to make him bow too. They were in a long hall before a set of stone chairs in which a terribly fancy-looking couple was seated. Stone columns, thick at their tops and bottoms but tapered pencil-thin in the middle, lined the hall, and creatures that were not people were gathered in all the spaces between them, bouncing on their haunches or standing on their hands or clinging to the stone with their claws or hovering in the air. Henry was able to pay them very little mind, not because they weren't the strangest and most interesting things he had ever seen in his life, besides a talking dog, but because his attention was commanded by the extraordinary majesty of the man and woman on the chairs. Sitting down, they looked about the same size as his parents, but he suspected that when they stood up their heads would scrape the top of the cavernous chamber. When he straightened up they were both staring at him intensely, which made him blush, and he danced from foot to foot because his feet were suddenly itchy.
“Hmm,” said the man. “There's something wrong with it.”
“It's mortal,” said the woman.
“More deeply than usual, I mean,” said the man. “There is a deeper sort of darkness in it.” He looked at the dog, who had straightened up as well and was beaming proudly next to Henry. “Old one,” he said, “you chose unwisely.”
“Oh, no,” said the dog. “I chose well! A friend for the ages. There is a sameness in us!”
“It's rather overripe,” said the woman, and she leaned forward to poke Henry in the belly with a long finger. That gave him a funny feeling, as if he had to pee and poop and laugh all at once. He smiled at her; she frowned back. “I think it will be rotten in a day or two,” she said. “Why didn't you choose something fresher?”
“Yes,” said the man. “Take it back. Go choose another.”
“A promise is a promise,” said the dog. “I chose my choice, and you must let it stand.”
The man gave him a hard stare, and the dog stared back, and Henry had the sense that the man and the dog were both holding places for other things entirely, things that wouldn't just stand to the ceiling but would fill up the whole chamber. The man smiled, then the dog grinned, and they were diminished.
“So it is,” said the man. He sighed and stood up and wasn't any taller, after all, than Henry's father. The lady followed him, and all the other creatures in the hall flipped off their hands, or rose higher on their haunches, or drifted down to the floor. The man turned to Henry and stared down at him, kind and stern and a little sad. Henry noticed for the first time that his beard was full of flowers. “Human child,” he said, “do you forsake your mortal life, and your mortal cares, your mortal loves, your mortal family, and do you swear to live by our laws, which are few, and obey your Lady and your Lord, and cater to their whims, which are diverse, and not to be comprehended by your like? Do you swear?”
“The answer is yes,” the dog said, when Henry didn't answer right away. He wanted to say no or to say, Tell me more about what it means to agree to all this, but the man's face was not a face to which he could say either of these things.
“Yes,” Henry said.
“And do you swear to be my friend,” the dog said, “forever and ever and ever?” He wagged his tail and took Henry's hand in his mouth.
“The answer is yes,” the man said, shaking his head sadly.
“Yes,” Henry said. The dog was squeezing his hand much too tightly. “You're hurting me,” he said to the dog.
BOOK: The Great Night
7.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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