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The Stolen Child(72)

By:Keith Donohue


countertop, hoping they wouldn't notice me or do themselves a harm. They were at the curious stage and

could have been opening cupboards, toying with bleach and furniture pol-ish, fingering rat poison, or

opening cutlery drawers to juggle with knives, or getting into the liquor and drinking up all the whiskey.

They were in danger, while she was wrapping herself in her robe and singing as she dried her hair.

"Meanwhile, you trolled the woods' edge, hoping to uncover a surprise. Something large stirred

among the dried carpet of leaves and shadow of branches, snapping twigs as it ran through the half-light.

A rabbit? Perhaps a dog or a small deer? Your mother descended the staircase, calmly calling, and

discovered the girls dancing on the tabletop quite alone. You stood blinking into the dappled trails. From

behind, a strong hand gripped your shoulder and wheeled you around. Your mother stood there, hair

dripping wet, her face a mask of anger.

"'How could you disappear like that?' she asked, behind her, you could see the twins toddling

across the lawn. In one clenched fist, she held a wooden spoon, and knowing the trouble ahead, you

ran, and she gave chase, laughing all the way. At the edge of your world, she pulled you by the arm and

smacked you on the bottom so hard, the spoon split in half."

Speck held me tighter still.

"But you have always been an imp. Your bottom hurt, and you'd show her. She fixed lunch, which

you refused to touch. Nothing but stony silence. As she carried her babies off for their nap, she smiled

and you scowled. Then you wrapped up some food in a handkerchief, stuffed it in your pocket, and

slipped out of the house without a sound. I followed you the whole after-noon."

"Was I scared to be alone?"

"Curious, I'd say. A dry creek paralleled the road for a few hundred yards before meandering off

into the forest, and you followed its path, listening for the occasional chatter of the birds, watching for the

chipmunks skittering through the litter. I could hear Igel signal to Béka, who whistled to our leader. As

you sat on the grassy bank, eating one of the biscuits and the rest of the cold eggs, they were gathering

to come take you."

"Every time the leaves moved," I told her, "a monster was out to get me."

"East of the creekbed, there was an old chestnut, cracked and dying from the bottom up. An

animal had scooped out a large hollow den, and you had to climb inside and see. The humidity and the

darkness must have put you right to sleep. I stood outside the whole time, hidden when the searchers

al-most stumbled upon you. Skittering flashlights led their dark forms as they shuffled like ghosts through

the heavy air. They passed by, and soon their calls receded into the distance and then into silence.

"Not long after the people faded away, the faeries ran in from all direc-tions and stopped before

me, the sentinel at the tree. The changeling panted. He looked so much like you that I held my breath

and wanted to cry. He scrambled partway into the hole, grabbed you around your bare ankle, and

pulled."

She hugged me and kissed me on the top of my head.

"If I changed back," I asked her, "would I ever see you again?"

Despite my questions, she would not tell me more than she thought I should know, and after a

while, we set to picking berries. Although the days bore traits of midsummer, there's no stopping the tilt

of the globe away from the sun. Night came like a sudden clap. We walked back beneath the emerging

planets and stars, the pale ascending moon. Half-smiles greeted our return, and I wondered why the thin

children of our temporary quarters were not themselves out watching blackbirds, and dreaming their

dreams. Porridge bubbled on the fire, and the troupe ate from wooden bowls with wooden spoons,

which they sucked clean. We dumped quarts of raspberries from our shirttails, ambrosia escaping from

the bruised fruit, and the others scooped them into their mouths, smiling and chewing, staining their lips

red as kisses.

The next day, Béka announced he had found our new home, "a place inaccessible to all but the

most intrepid humans, a shelter where we would be safe." He led us up a steep and desolate hill,

scrabbling slate and shale from its loose, decaying face, as inhospitable a heap as you'd like to find. No

sign of life, no trees or plants of any kind other than a few noxious weeds poking through the rubble. No

bird landed there, not even for a moment's rest, nor any flying insect of any sort, though we would soon

find out about the bats. No foot-prints except our leader's. Scant purchase for anything larger than our

weary band. As we climbed, I wondered what had possessed Béka to scout out this place, let alone