now what she hadn’t before—with some part of her mind that was still functioning, that was still thinking how long the van from the shelter would take, how to get them past Reverend Farrison, some part of her mind that was taking in the details that proved what she had already known the moment she opened the door.
“What are you
doing
here?” she whispered, and the boy opened his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
“Erkas,”
he said.
And that still-functioning part of her mind put her fingers to her lips in a gesture he obviously understood because they both looked instantly frightened. “You have to come with me,” she whispered.
But then it stopped functioning altogether, and she was half-running them past the open door and onto the stairs, not even hearing the organ blaring out “Joy to the world, the Lord is come,’” whispering, “Hurry! Hurry!” and they didn’t know how to get down the steps, the girl turned around and came down backwards, her hands flat on the steps above, and the boy helped her down, step by step, as if they were clambering down rocks, and she tried to pull the girl along faster and nearly made her stumble, and even that didn’t bring her to her senses.
She hissed, “Like this,” and showed them how to walk down the steps, facing forward, one hand on the rail, and they paid no attention, they came down backwards like toddlers, and it took forever, the hymn she wasn’t hearing was already atthe end of the third verse and they were only halfway down, all of them panting hard, and Sharon scurrying back up above them as if that would hurry them, past wondering how she would ever get them up the stairs again, past thinking she would have to call the van and tell them not to come, thinking only, Hurry, hurry, and How did they
get
here?
She did not come to herself until she had herded them somehow down the hall and into the nursery, thinking, It can’t be locked, please don’t let it be locked, and it wasn’t, and gotten them inside and pulled the door shut and tried to lock it, and it didn’t have a lock, and she thought, That must be why it wasn’t locked, an actual coherent thought, her first one since that moment when she opened the furnace-room door, and seemed to come to herself.
She stared at them, breathing hard, and it
was
them, their never having seen stairs before was proof of that, if she needed any proof, but she didn’t, she had known it the instant she saw them, there was no question.
She wondered if this was some sort of vision, the kind people were always getting where they saw Jesus’ face on a refrigerator, or the Virgin Mary dressed in blue and white, surrounded by roses. But their rough brown cloaks were dripping melted snow on the nursery carpet, their feet in the useless sandals were bright red with cold, and they looked too frightened.
And they didn’t look at all like they did in religious pictures. They were too short, his hair was greasy and his face was tough-looking, like a young punk’s, and her veil looked like a grubby dishtowel and it didn’t hang loose, it was tied around her neck and knotted in the back, and they were too young, almost as young as the children upstairs dressed like them.
They were looking around the room frightenedly, at the white crib and the rocking chair and the light fixture overhead. The boy fumbled in his sash and brought out a leather sack. He held it out to Sharon.
“How did you
get
here?” she said wonderingly. “You’re supposed to be on your way to Bethlehem.”
He thrust the bag at her, and when she didn’t take it, untied the leather string and took out a crude-looking coin and held it out.
“You don’t have to pay me,” she said, which was ridiculous. He couldn’t understand her. She held a flat hand up, pushing the coin away and shaking her head. That was a universal sign, wasn’t it? And what was the sign for welcome? She spread her arms out, smiling at the youngsters. “You are welcome
“What are you
doing
here?” she whispered, and the boy opened his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
“Erkas,”
he said.
And that still-functioning part of her mind put her fingers to her lips in a gesture he obviously understood because they both looked instantly frightened. “You have to come with me,” she whispered.
But then it stopped functioning altogether, and she was half-running them past the open door and onto the stairs, not even hearing the organ blaring out “Joy to the world, the Lord is come,’” whispering, “Hurry! Hurry!” and they didn’t know how to get down the steps, the girl turned around and came down backwards, her hands flat on the steps above, and the boy helped her down, step by step, as if they were clambering down rocks, and she tried to pull the girl along faster and nearly made her stumble, and even that didn’t bring her to her senses.
She hissed, “Like this,” and showed them how to walk down the steps, facing forward, one hand on the rail, and they paid no attention, they came down backwards like toddlers, and it took forever, the hymn she wasn’t hearing was already atthe end of the third verse and they were only halfway down, all of them panting hard, and Sharon scurrying back up above them as if that would hurry them, past wondering how she would ever get them up the stairs again, past thinking she would have to call the van and tell them not to come, thinking only, Hurry, hurry, and How did they
get
here?
She did not come to herself until she had herded them somehow down the hall and into the nursery, thinking, It can’t be locked, please don’t let it be locked, and it wasn’t, and gotten them inside and pulled the door shut and tried to lock it, and it didn’t have a lock, and she thought, That must be why it wasn’t locked, an actual coherent thought, her first one since that moment when she opened the furnace-room door, and seemed to come to herself.
She stared at them, breathing hard, and it
was
them, their never having seen stairs before was proof of that, if she needed any proof, but she didn’t, she had known it the instant she saw them, there was no question.
She wondered if this was some sort of vision, the kind people were always getting where they saw Jesus’ face on a refrigerator, or the Virgin Mary dressed in blue and white, surrounded by roses. But their rough brown cloaks were dripping melted snow on the nursery carpet, their feet in the useless sandals were bright red with cold, and they looked too frightened.
And they didn’t look at all like they did in religious pictures. They were too short, his hair was greasy and his face was tough-looking, like a young punk’s, and her veil looked like a grubby dishtowel and it didn’t hang loose, it was tied around her neck and knotted in the back, and they were too young, almost as young as the children upstairs dressed like them.
They were looking around the room frightenedly, at the white crib and the rocking chair and the light fixture overhead. The boy fumbled in his sash and brought out a leather sack. He held it out to Sharon.
“How did you
get
here?” she said wonderingly. “You’re supposed to be on your way to Bethlehem.”
He thrust the bag at her, and when she didn’t take it, untied the leather string and took out a crude-looking coin and held it out.
“You don’t have to pay me,” she said, which was ridiculous. He couldn’t understand her. She held a flat hand up, pushing the coin away and shaking her head. That was a universal sign, wasn’t it? And what was the sign for welcome? She spread her arms out, smiling at the youngsters. “You are welcome
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