not I can’t tell.” He sat upright again, and with Keith’s assistance replaced the pillows propping him up. “Do you know I haven’t been this ill since I was a tot? That was in the days when the steam tunnels were still exposed near our home. We had to be so quiet all of the time. My mother sat by me, soothing and silencing.” He gave Keith a wordless look full of woe.
Keith smiled sympathetically, and moved from the chair to the edge of the narrow bed. “You want your Mom. I know how you feel.”
Shamefaced, Holl nodded. “I guess I’m hearkening back to my childhood. I’ve only just realized that I can’t sense any of my Folk this far away. I know they’re there, so I understand the link’s still good, but I can’t differentiate between them, if you see what I mean. There’s a tiny dot on the horizon, and I know it’s them. I didn’t mind it while I was well, but being feverish leaves me gloomy and sorry for myself.”
Grinning, Keith passed his hands in the air a few times like a conjuror and produced a small, narrow, black box from his jacket pocket. “The pictures and books weren’t all I brought. Would it help if you could talk to them?”
Holl eyed it warily. “What’s that?”
“Matthew’s portable phone. He said you could keep it here until you’re sprung. I think you was framed,” Keith went on, in his bargain basement imitation of Humphrey Bogart. “But we’ll have you outa here and playing the violin again in no time. International Access Code, then 1, then your area code and number.” He handed the small phone to Holl. Holl dialed.
There was an audible click from the receiver, and the distant sound of ringing, and then another click. A shrill voice, audible even to Keith, demanded, “What is it?”
“Keva,” Holl explained, his hand over the mouthpiece. “She’s never learned just to say ‘hello,’ as the etiquette manual suggests.” Keith grinned. Keva was a law unto herself regarding manners, or anything else. Holl uncovered the receiver. “Keva, this is Holl speaking. Can you ask our mother if she’ll come to the phone?”
There was a long wait, and then Keith could hear the overtones of a more gentle voice. Holl’s mother Calla was a tiny woman, small even for the Little Folk, with a very young face under a wave of soft, silver hair. Keith guessed that she was a bare eighteen or twenty years older than her outspoken daughter. That was unusual enough. Normally, the Folk only thought of getting married in their fifties and sixties. Babies came much later on. At forty-one, even Holl was pushing it a little to be thinking of engagement.
“Mother? Yes. I know, I’m far away, and the link is weak. You sound as clear if you’re standing here. A miracle, these small machines.” Holl dropped from English into the Little Folk language, a tongue Keith was becoming used to hearing, though he couldn’t understand it.
It was boring to listen to a conversation in a foreign language. Keith tried to make sense out of the tone, instead. At first, Holl seemed to be merely exchanging news with his mother. After a while, though, the subject changed, and Holl’s voice became angry, then thick. Something his mother was telling him bothered him very much, nearly choking him. Keith felt he was intruding on something private, and got up to leave, but Holl waved him to stay. After a while, the conversation must have turned to more cheerful topics, which he was willing to share with Keith.
Holl translated a phrase from time to time, moving the receiver aside. “The she-cat has had kittens, Mother says. There are six of them. The well has been cleared out at last, and is flowing so generously it threatens to burst the old pipes. Deliveries are keeping apace of orders, and Ms. Voordman has sent word through Diane that if you are really in Scotland, you must send her a postcard.”
“That sounds like an order,” Keith joked, snapping off a salute.
More words were exchanged in
Keith smiled sympathetically, and moved from the chair to the edge of the narrow bed. “You want your Mom. I know how you feel.”
Shamefaced, Holl nodded. “I guess I’m hearkening back to my childhood. I’ve only just realized that I can’t sense any of my Folk this far away. I know they’re there, so I understand the link’s still good, but I can’t differentiate between them, if you see what I mean. There’s a tiny dot on the horizon, and I know it’s them. I didn’t mind it while I was well, but being feverish leaves me gloomy and sorry for myself.”
Grinning, Keith passed his hands in the air a few times like a conjuror and produced a small, narrow, black box from his jacket pocket. “The pictures and books weren’t all I brought. Would it help if you could talk to them?”
Holl eyed it warily. “What’s that?”
“Matthew’s portable phone. He said you could keep it here until you’re sprung. I think you was framed,” Keith went on, in his bargain basement imitation of Humphrey Bogart. “But we’ll have you outa here and playing the violin again in no time. International Access Code, then 1, then your area code and number.” He handed the small phone to Holl. Holl dialed.
There was an audible click from the receiver, and the distant sound of ringing, and then another click. A shrill voice, audible even to Keith, demanded, “What is it?”
“Keva,” Holl explained, his hand over the mouthpiece. “She’s never learned just to say ‘hello,’ as the etiquette manual suggests.” Keith grinned. Keva was a law unto herself regarding manners, or anything else. Holl uncovered the receiver. “Keva, this is Holl speaking. Can you ask our mother if she’ll come to the phone?”
There was a long wait, and then Keith could hear the overtones of a more gentle voice. Holl’s mother Calla was a tiny woman, small even for the Little Folk, with a very young face under a wave of soft, silver hair. Keith guessed that she was a bare eighteen or twenty years older than her outspoken daughter. That was unusual enough. Normally, the Folk only thought of getting married in their fifties and sixties. Babies came much later on. At forty-one, even Holl was pushing it a little to be thinking of engagement.
“Mother? Yes. I know, I’m far away, and the link is weak. You sound as clear if you’re standing here. A miracle, these small machines.” Holl dropped from English into the Little Folk language, a tongue Keith was becoming used to hearing, though he couldn’t understand it.
It was boring to listen to a conversation in a foreign language. Keith tried to make sense out of the tone, instead. At first, Holl seemed to be merely exchanging news with his mother. After a while, though, the subject changed, and Holl’s voice became angry, then thick. Something his mother was telling him bothered him very much, nearly choking him. Keith felt he was intruding on something private, and got up to leave, but Holl waved him to stay. After a while, the conversation must have turned to more cheerful topics, which he was willing to share with Keith.
Holl translated a phrase from time to time, moving the receiver aside. “The she-cat has had kittens, Mother says. There are six of them. The well has been cleared out at last, and is flowing so generously it threatens to burst the old pipes. Deliveries are keeping apace of orders, and Ms. Voordman has sent word through Diane that if you are really in Scotland, you must send her a postcard.”
“That sounds like an order,” Keith joked, snapping off a salute.
More words were exchanged in
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