could not help himself. He stood on tiptoe and leaned forward. The paint had been burned away from the car’s roof, a black stain roughly two feet in circumference from which dark, twisting tentacles writhed (where the liquid acid had run across smooth metal, and trickled down the door panels).
“Oh, Jesus,” Harry whispered.
It was precisely what he thought he might see, and it shocked him.
He heard the voices then, over the rising tide of panic, and he distinctly heard Raymond’s laugh, and he looked up to see Raymond and the others coming down the road toward him.
Raymond—with Arbus perched flamboyantly on his shoulder—had his arm around Allan’s waist, and Rene clung to the boy’s arm.
“Ho,” Raymond shouted, “Lord Gainesborough! Thank Blodkin you are safe. We have convinced Allan that his private reservations must be overruled by common good. We are prepared to return to the black pond.”
Chapter 11
“I S UPPOSE ,” J OHN Story said, “you know what you are doing.” Ada Story could always tell when her husband was angry. He would become very formal in his manner, speak with elaborate care, as though she were mentally impaired. When he was especially angry, his hair would sprout wildly from the sides of his head, not from the anger itself, of course, but from a nervous and exasperated rubbing of his temples.
He crouched over the steering wheel, his jaw set determinedly, watching the empty interstate as though his life depended on his vigilance.
“Just what do you hope to accomplish by bringing it?” he asked.
Ada shrugged, realized that her husband was not looking at her, and spoke, “I don’t know. I just thought it might be useful if someone else understood about Raymond.”
“I suppose,” her husband began, “you’ve forgotten all those experts, all those folk who were after understanding Raymond, and the consequences of that.”
“John,” Ada said, stiffening a little as the inevitable conflict escalated, “I love you, but if you say ‘I suppose’ one more time, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I haven’t forgotten anything. And I don’t know…I just put it in the trunk. I just wanted to have it along. It’s that man Gainesborough’s story, you know, that’s where it came from, so I just thought… Oh I don’t know what I thought.” Ada found tears blurring her vision.
“Ada,” her husband said, “I only…”
“I probably won’t mention it,” Ada said. “We’ve just come to fetch our Raymond and his wife and his friends. Raymond is our affair and nobody else’s.”
“I do think that’s best,” her husband said.
Ada sighed. “Yes.” A big truck rocketed by them, blue exhaust in its wake. Ada snapped open the glove compartment and took out the map. “Did we go through Henderson yet?”
“Good half an hour ago,” her husband said.
“Land, I hope we haven’t missed our turn.”
John Story laughed. “We haven’t. Aren’t you supposed to be navigating?”
Ada laughed too. This was an old, long-married set piece. “It’s this map. It’s written upside down. And the colors are all wrong.”
They drove south into the morning. Oh Raymond. He was the best of boys, the sweetest, but he was so…so melodramatic. The doctors didn’t understand that. They thought something was actually wrong with Raymond’s mind. They diagnosed him as schizophrenic. They said it had nothing to do with the head injury at the swimming pool, and Ada was certain they were right there. Raymond had always been melodramatic. He just wanted the world to be bigger than it was, more fantastic. He wanted to believe in evil trolls and fairies and elves. Other children grew out of such fantasies. Raymond, alas, grew into them. They were very real for Raymond. Did that make him crazy? Doctors thought so, but they didn’t live with Raymond. They didn’t know about the source of her present argument with her husband. They had never seen what was in
“Oh, Jesus,” Harry whispered.
It was precisely what he thought he might see, and it shocked him.
He heard the voices then, over the rising tide of panic, and he distinctly heard Raymond’s laugh, and he looked up to see Raymond and the others coming down the road toward him.
Raymond—with Arbus perched flamboyantly on his shoulder—had his arm around Allan’s waist, and Rene clung to the boy’s arm.
“Ho,” Raymond shouted, “Lord Gainesborough! Thank Blodkin you are safe. We have convinced Allan that his private reservations must be overruled by common good. We are prepared to return to the black pond.”
Chapter 11
“I S UPPOSE ,” J OHN Story said, “you know what you are doing.” Ada Story could always tell when her husband was angry. He would become very formal in his manner, speak with elaborate care, as though she were mentally impaired. When he was especially angry, his hair would sprout wildly from the sides of his head, not from the anger itself, of course, but from a nervous and exasperated rubbing of his temples.
He crouched over the steering wheel, his jaw set determinedly, watching the empty interstate as though his life depended on his vigilance.
“Just what do you hope to accomplish by bringing it?” he asked.
Ada shrugged, realized that her husband was not looking at her, and spoke, “I don’t know. I just thought it might be useful if someone else understood about Raymond.”
“I suppose,” her husband began, “you’ve forgotten all those experts, all those folk who were after understanding Raymond, and the consequences of that.”
“John,” Ada said, stiffening a little as the inevitable conflict escalated, “I love you, but if you say ‘I suppose’ one more time, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I haven’t forgotten anything. And I don’t know…I just put it in the trunk. I just wanted to have it along. It’s that man Gainesborough’s story, you know, that’s where it came from, so I just thought… Oh I don’t know what I thought.” Ada found tears blurring her vision.
“Ada,” her husband said, “I only…”
“I probably won’t mention it,” Ada said. “We’ve just come to fetch our Raymond and his wife and his friends. Raymond is our affair and nobody else’s.”
“I do think that’s best,” her husband said.
Ada sighed. “Yes.” A big truck rocketed by them, blue exhaust in its wake. Ada snapped open the glove compartment and took out the map. “Did we go through Henderson yet?”
“Good half an hour ago,” her husband said.
“Land, I hope we haven’t missed our turn.”
John Story laughed. “We haven’t. Aren’t you supposed to be navigating?”
Ada laughed too. This was an old, long-married set piece. “It’s this map. It’s written upside down. And the colors are all wrong.”
They drove south into the morning. Oh Raymond. He was the best of boys, the sweetest, but he was so…so melodramatic. The doctors didn’t understand that. They thought something was actually wrong with Raymond’s mind. They diagnosed him as schizophrenic. They said it had nothing to do with the head injury at the swimming pool, and Ada was certain they were right there. Raymond had always been melodramatic. He just wanted the world to be bigger than it was, more fantastic. He wanted to believe in evil trolls and fairies and elves. Other children grew out of such fantasies. Raymond, alas, grew into them. They were very real for Raymond. Did that make him crazy? Doctors thought so, but they didn’t live with Raymond. They didn’t know about the source of her present argument with her husband. They had never seen what was in
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