Moonlight & Vines by Charles De Lint Page B

being listened to. Gair peered more closely at him.
    â€œYou’re one of the lost, aren’t you?” Gair said. “I’m surprised I can even see you. You’re usually so . . . insubstantial. But there’s something different about you.”
    â€œI’m looking for the gates,” John told him.
    â€œThe gates.”
    Something in the way he repeated the words made John afraid that Gair wouldn’t help him.
    â€œIt’s not for me,” he said quickly. “It’s for her.”
    He drew back a fold of the sling’s cloth to show Gair the sleeping infant nestled against his chest.
    â€œI see,” Gair said. “But does she want to go on?”
    â€œI think she’s a little young to be making that kind of decision for herself.”
    Gair shook his head. “Age makes no difference to a spirit’s ability to decide such a thing. Infants can cling as tenaciously to life as do the elderly—often more so, since they have had so little time to experience it.”
    â€œI’m not asking you to make a judgment,” John said. “I’m just asking for some directions. Let the kid decide for herself once she’s at the gates and can look through.”
    Gair needed time to consider that before he finally gave a slow nod.
    â€œThat could be arranged,” he allowed.
    â€œIf you could just give me directions,” John said.
    Gair pulled up the left sleeve of his sweatshirt so that he could check the time on his wristwatch.
    â€œLet me take you instead,” he said.
7
    Even with directions, John couldn’t have found the gates on his own. “The journey,” Gair explained, “doesn’t exercise distance so much as a state of mind.” That was as good a description as any, John realized as he fell in step with his new companion, for it took them no time at all to circumvent familiar territory and step out onto a long boulevard. John felt a tugging in that part of his chest where his heart had once beaten as he looked down to the far end of the avenue. An immense archway stood there. Between its pillars the air shimmered like a heat mirage and called to him.
    When Gair paused, John came to a reluctant halt beside him. Gair looked at his watch again.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, “but I have to leave you now. I have another appointment.”
    John found it hard to look at the man. His gaze kept being drawn back to the shimmering air inside the arch.
    â€œI think I can find my way from here,” he said.
    Gair smiled. “I should think you could.” He shook John’s hand. “Godspeed,” he murmured, then he faded away just as Dakota had faded from his living room what seemed like a thousand lifetimes ago.
    Dolly stirred against John’s chest as he continued on toward the gates. He rearranged her in the sling so that she, too, could look at the approaching gates, but she turned her face away and for the first time his holding her wasn’t enough. She began to wail at the sight of the gates, her distress growing in volume the closer they got.
    John slowed his pace, uncertain now. He thought of Clark’s cursing at him, of Gair telling him that Dolly, for all her infancy, was old enough to make this decision on her own. He realized that they were both right. He couldn’t force her to go through, to travel on. But what would he do if she refused? He couldn’t simply leave her behind either.
    The archway of the gates loomed over him now. The heat shimmer had changed into a warm golden light that washed out from between the pillars, dispelling all the shadows that had ever taken root in John’s soul. But the infant in his arms wept more pitifully, howled until he covered her head with part of the cloth and let her burrow her face against his chest. She whimpered softly there until John thought his heartwould break. With each step he took, the sounds she made grew more piteous.
    He