The Stolen Child(89)
in the forest by Chavisory's immobility. The impulse to go back home ate at us all. Five years had passed
since we had left our camp, and we thought it might be safe to return. The last time anyone had seen our
former home, the grounds had been de-nuded, but surely new growth had begun—where black ash had
been, saplings should be inching up amid the wildflowers and fresh grass. Just as nature re-claims its
ruins, the people, too, would have forgotten about that boy lost in the river and the two faeries found in
the market. They'd want life to remain as they thought it had been.
With it safe to travel again, Luchóg, Smaolach, and I set out, leaving the other three behind at our
makeshift camp to watch over Chavisory. Although the wind blew cold that day, our spirits quickened at
the prospect of seeing our old haunts again. We raced like deer along the trails, laughing as one passed
the other. The old camp shimmered in our imaginations as a promise of bright redemption.
Climbing the western ridge, I heard distant laughter. We slowed our puce, and as we reached the
lip, the sounds below piqued our curiosity. The valley came into view through the broken veil of tree
limbs and branches Rows of houses and open lawns snaked and curled along ribbons of neat roadways.
On the exact spot where our camp had been, five new houses faced an open circle. Another six sat on
either side of a wide road cut through the trees. Branching off from that trail, more streets and houses
flowed down the sloping hill to the main road into town.
"Be it ever so humble," Luchóg said.
I looked far ahead and saw bustling activity. From the back of a station wagon, a woman unloaded
packages tied up with bows. Two boys tossed a football. A yellow car, shaped like a bug, chugged up a
winding road. We could hear a radio talking about the Army-Navy game, and a man muttering curses as
he nailed a string of lights beneath the eaves of his roof. Mesmerized by all I saw, I failed to notice as
day gave way to night. Lights went on in the homes, as if on sudden signal.
"Shall we see who lives on the ring?" Luchóg asked.
We crept down to the circle of asphalt. Two of the homes appeared empty. The other three
showed signs of life: cars in the driveways, lamplit figures crossing behind the windows as if rushing off
on vital tasks. Glancing in each window, we saw the same story unfolding. A woman in a kitchen stirred
something in a pot. Another lifted a huge bird from the oven, while in an adjoining room a man stared at
minuscule figures playing games in a glow-ing box, his face flushed in excitement or anger. His next-door
neighbor slept in an easy chair, oblivious to the noise and flickering images.
"He looks familiar," I whispered.
Covered to his toes in blue terrycloth, a young child sat in a small cage in the corner of the room.
He played distractedly with brightly colored plastic toys. For a moment, I thought the sleeping man
resembled my father, but I could not understand how he could have another son. A woman walked from
one room into the other, and her long blonde hair trailed behind like a tail. She scrunched up her mouth
into a bow before bending down and whisper-ing something to the man, a name perhaps, and he looked
startled and slightly embarrassed to be caught sleeping. When his eyes popped open, he looked even
more like my father, but she was definitely not my mother. She flashed a crooked smile and lifted her
baby over the bars, and the child cooed and laughed and threw his arms around his mother's neck. I had
heard that sound before. The man switched off the console, but before joining the others, he came to the
window, cleared a circle with his two hands against the damp panes, and peered out into the darkness. I
do not think he saw us, but I surely had seen him before.
We circled back into the woods and waited until the moon was high in the night sky and most of
the lights popped off goodnight. The houses in the ring were dark and quiet.
"I don't like this," I said, my breath visible in the violet light.
"You worry your own life away like a kitten worries a string," Smaolach said.
He barked, and we followed him down to the cul-de-sac. Smaolach chose a house with no car in
the driveway, where we were not likely to en-counter any humans. Careful not to wake anyone, we
slipped inside easily through the unlocked front door. A neat row of shoes stood off to the side of the
foyer, and Luchóg immediately tried on pairs until he found a fit. Their boy would be dismayed in the
morning. The kitchen lay in sight of the foyer, through a smallish dining room. Each of us loaded a
rucksack with canned fruits and vegetables, flour, salt, and sugar. Luchóg jammed fistfuls of tea bags into
his trouser pockets and on the way out copped a package of cigarettes and a box of matches from the