The book that Miss Jean Bauer gave me does have dragons in it. It has strange weather and animals I've never heard of and spells that keep things from falling apart. It is about a wizard who I like and I copy out part of it on my scratch paper:
From that time forth he believed that the wise man is one who never sets himself apart from other living things, whether they have speech or not, and in later years he strove long to learn what can be learned, in silence, from the eyes of animals, the flight of birds, the great slow gestures of trees.
It has been a long time since I read a book like this one, a story instead of a book of facts. It has maps in it of islands I've never heard of, like two called The Hands that look like hands. The boy in it starts out by talking to goats and then gets more and more power. He learns from trees and birds and animals, like I copied down. I read until I have to turn on the light to keep reading and I do until it's late at night and I am reaching the end. The wizard in this book is called Sparrowhawk but that is not his real name. Almost no one knows his real name. The magic in this place is all about naming, knowing the real name of a thing or person. Then you can control them. And a thing can be changed into another thing as long as it is renamed and the spell lasts.
Three
Father stands on the sidewalk next to a police car. He doesn't see me at first. His arms are loose and not held behind him. He wears stiff new blue jeans and a light blue shirt. His hair is cut close and his skin shows through white above his ears. Still he recognizes the sound of my footsteps, my breath when I see him and take it in hard. He turns and picks me up, my feet off the ground and his whiskers against my forehead.
"Caroline," he says. "My heart."
I have my pack again with Randy and all my papers, my blue ribbon, my dictionary, the things I took from our house and they want to put it in the trunk with Father's red pack but I keep it with me, down by my feet in the back of the car.
That's where we ride. We drive between the buildings with cars on both sides of us. Through the windows of stores I can see jewelry and long tables and many bright lamps hanging from chains. I squeeze Father's hand more tightly and he squeezes back. I can't see between the buildings or far behind us but I feel that we're driving away from the forest park, that we're not going back there. I can't even see the river. We cross a bridge where cars speed under us and then we're in a black tunnel. In the darkness Father leans close so I can smell him and feel his face against mine. He whispers one word, my name, and is sitting up straight again before we come out the other end into the brightness, racing all the other cars up a curving slope.
"You two can talk," says the officer in the passenger seat. "Don't worry. I'm sure you have lots to say to each other."
"They don't want to talk in front of us," the driver says.
I want to know where Father was and what they asked him. I want to tell him that I passed all the tests and also about the stories I made from the pictures and the book I read.
The first officer turns to look back at us. "Aren't you even curious where we're going?" he says.
"I've heard a little about it," Father says. "A little surprise isn't a bad thing."
"You'll like it," the officer says. "I bet you'll like it."
The truth is I don't care so much about where we're going as long as we're together but I don't say this aloud. Now the city is down below, far behind us. I can see the river for a moment and then it's gone. Black crows hop along the edge of the highway. Far above a vulture is circling, watching us slide past. The seat belts have silver buckles with square metal buttons in the middle. The windows in the back have no handles to roll them down. Music comes up behind my head, the sound of violins out of a speaker. The officer driving turns the knob and it goes off with a click.
"I was thinking," Father says, "you know how sometimes a bear will move too close to a town or a ranch and they catch it or tranquilize it?"
"Yeah," the officer driving says.
"How would it be if you just let us free in a real wilderness?" Father says. "Just let us free."
"Would you like that?" the officer says. "Trust me, this'll be better."
Father is smiling in a way I haven't seen before or maybe I've forgotten. His voice seems less low. I look at him and he squeezes my hand and looks out the window like it's a natural thing for us to be inside a car, racing along the highway.
"Horses," I say when I see them. I have seen horses before but not for a long time. Some are standing beneath a tree and others are eating grass and two brown ones run powerfully along next to the fence like they're racing our car.