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Chapter Sixteen: Boy
Abe didn’t mean to push on the panel, but he tripped over the edge
of the rug in the Assembly Room. It was dark, and in spite of his
boasts, he couldn’t see what he was doing. He stumbled forward one
step and found himself somewhere else altogether.
The first thing he noticed was the smell. It reminded him of the only
time he’d gone with his mother to the ladies’ department at the
store to pick out perfume. His nose was assaulted with flowers, lots
of flowers. He felt as if he’d been dropped into a vat of rose
pedals. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was a shock for a boy of his
age and bathing habits.
The place was also blindingly bright, but Abe realized eventually
that was because he’d come from an utterly dark room into full
daylight. He shut his eyes before he could see anything, but he knew
he was outside, and that he was alone. He heard birds and the buzzing
of bees and the rustle of wind in tree branches, but no voices. The
next thing he did was sit down on the grass, for grass was certainly
under his feet, and sky was certainly over his head, and he was in a
garden.
Before he could open his eyes again, Abe felt a warm tongue on his
face, and fur against his neck. Something panted in his ear, and
something was wet against his cheek. Instinctively, he shoved against
the beast and yelled, defending himself with his fists.
“Ahh! Get away!”
The dog yelped, backed off, and whimpered. A dark brown German
shepherd, tall and handsome with deep black eyes, stood over the boy.
Abe had never seen such eyes on a dog before. The dog didn’t speak,
but his eyes quite clearly said to Abe, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I
didn’t mean to alarm you.” Then the dog smiled, and his eyes
crinkled into happiness like an old man’s.
“Hey, old fella,” Abe said softly. He held out his palm to the
dog’s nose, as he’d been taught to do. The shepherd tilted his
head slightly and examined the hand, wondering what to do with it.
Then he looked again at Abe, and the eyes said, “I don’t know
what you mean by old. I was sent here to meet and welcome you. Please
come with me.”
Abe was unsure how he could understand the dog, but he was certain he
was meant to follow him, and sure enough, the animal turned and
walked away across the grass and around some bushes, which Abe
recognized by their smell to be gardenias. The grass was soft and
sweet-smelling. The dog turned to see if the boy was following. Abe
stood, nervously looking around him. Overhead was an ornate metal
arch, a doorway into the garden. Paths of brilliant green lawn wove
among flowering shrubs and blooming borders crowded with flowers in
all hues of the rainbow. Abe had never seen such a garden. The
mingled scents of all the flowers wafted toward him pushed by a
breeze from far away. He thought he smelled a faint hint of the sea.
Abe breathed deeply. The dog, wanting to be patient, watched him.
Finally he returned to where Abe stood. The German shepherd sighed.
“Are you coming?” he said with his eyes. “My name is Boy. I
know it’s startling to you, but I do speak with my eyes. The
animals here do that.” The dog smiled, and his whiskers curled up.
“All of us are kind and helpful. All that I ask is that you not pat
me on the head.” He studied Abe, who was trying to recover his
composure. “If you wish, you may put your hand on my back as we
walk. I think you are the right height for that.” Abe stepped
forward and obeyed. Together they walked among the flowers. The paths
meandered endlessly, it seems, through thick hedges, low flower
borders, and thick stalks of sunflowers and even bamboo over Abe’s
head. At last they came to the end of the garden, which was wrapped
by a long, low stone wall. Abe rested his hands on the wall, and Boy
stood with his front paws on it. The land sloped sharply away before
them, an immense pine forest. From his vantage point, Abe gazed over
the tree tops, an ocean of green, undulating, with bright hills of
sun and pockets of deepest jade. And far, far away at its edge he
could barely see a sliver of white beach and then the sea.
“I thought I smelled it, the salt air,” Abe whispered. “It’s
beautiful!” In the distance, he noticed movement in patches of
grassy meadow scattered in the pine forest. “Who are they?” he
asked the dog, and he looked into Boy’s eyes for the answer.
“They’re the sleepers,” Boy replied. And they were – all of
them were stretched out on comfortable lounge chairs. Some were
turned on their sides, some had hats over their faces, and a few had
books open on their chests. They stretched, yawned, and rolled over.
Boy continued. “The scent of the pine trees puts them to sleep.
They are nearly done with their sleeping by the time they are beach
sleepers.”
“Beach sleepers?” Abe peered out toward the sea, and there were
tiny figures there as well, some asleep, some moving.
The dog turned and smiled. “Come and see.”
The pair strolled back to the house. Along the way Abe noticed new
things in the garden that covered several acres. Dozens of deep
hammocks hung among the trees, blankets spilling over their edges.
Elegant gazebos with pointed cupolas and white, screened summerhouses
dotted the landscape. As they passed them, he saw people sleeping
there. Lovely soft pillows lay on long benches that circled the walls
of the little garden buildings. Abe peeked in. Some of the nooks had
curtains hung closed for privacy, and some were open.
“They’re all old,” he whispered to Boy. “Old like my
grandmother.”
“Yes,” the dog replied. “They come here because they need a
long rest. These are not as old as the ones in the house. These are
starting to grow young.” And he led Abe to the building that
dominated the scene, a home at the other end of the garden from the
sea. Porches wrapped it entirely on both the first and second floors,
and a third floor rose above that.
“That’s a huge house!” Abe noted.
“Many people live here,” Boy said. “We’ll go inside, but do
be quiet. Everyone’s asleep.”
Abe followed him, talking. “Is it nap time? How come they’re
asleep in the middle of the day? They’re grown ups!”
“They sleep nearly all the time,” Boy answered.
“That’s sad.”
“Not really,” Boy answered. “When they arrive here, they’re
utterly exhausted. They need years of sleep to recover, before
they’re ready to be awake again.”
“Years?”
“Oh yes.” Boy led him onto the porch. “You’ll see.”
Indeed, the wide, shady porches had lounge chairs, hammocks,
recliners, futons – anything comfortable for sleeping was in use
there. Most were occupied with sleeping bodies dressed in loose
cotton clothes, wrapped in soft blankets and wearing fluffy socks.
The boy and the dog carefully walked around the elderly men and
women, all of whom looked older to Abe than the people sleeping on
the beach. Some whom stirred and mumbled, and some lay in deep,
profound slumber. One tiny, gray-headed old man woke for a moment,
gazed at Abe with a bleary eye, smiled like a baby, and fell back
into sleep.
Inside, the house was cool and quiet. The rooms on the first floor
were spacious with high ceilings and drowsy, overhead fans. The walls
were pale white, and gauzy curtains billowed in and out at the tall
windows. Sea breezes drifted pleasantly through them. Abe and Boy
passed through one vast room into a generous entry hall with a
curving staircase, and into another enormous room. On the tables were
board games and cards, left in mid-play, but there were no dishes or
food around. “They eat very little, and we clean up after them,”
Boy explained to him. And although it would’ve been a perfect house
for the gentle tick-tocking of several clocks, Abe saw no timepieces
at all. “We don’t keep track of time here,” Boy said. “They
sleep as long as they like. There is no hurry.”
“Is there a kitchen?” Abe asked at last. He loved food, and he
was feeling a little hungry.
“Of course,” Boy told him.
At last! Abe pushed through a door and down a few steps into a long,
broad kitchen bustling with activity. Chopping, stirring, tasting,
shaking, and the general clatter of dishes and pots filled the air.
Steam wafted to the ceiling, and flashes of flame flickered from a
massive range on the far end of the room. In the middle stood a tall
woman wearing a long apron, her hands on a hefty work table. At each
station of the kitchen were animals, dozens of animals. Several sleek
cats tended to the stove top as various pots bubbled and steamed. A
monkey, standing on the back of a little goat, chopped vegetables
with amazing precision. “Careful, Dexter!” the woman called to
him. But the monkey diced through carrots, celery, peppers, and
potatoes with fascinating speed. On the floor, mice and puppies
cleaned up every scrap of food and deposited any trash into a bin by
the door. One small Corgi wagged her tail and licked Abe on the foot.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. He’d forgotten he was barefoot and still in
his pajamas.
The kitchen was a hub of precision and excitement. Every movement
went to the careful preparation of beautiful food. The boy and the
dog watched as dish after dish was finished and placed on the long
center table. Then the woman examined and tasted each one. She hummed
happily and closed her eyes if an item were more than usually
delicious.
“Ah! What a divine stew!” she said once, and, “That peach
crumble is the best yet!”
The scene was a feast for eye and nose, and Abe found his mouth
watering. Boy walked to the table and spoke to the woman. Abe
couldn’t see his face, but the woman responded with a smile and
beckoned to Abe.
“Why, hello! I’m so glad you’re here! Are you hungry?”
Abe gazed at the table. Every platter and bowl was filled with food
made to perfection. It was a feast! “Yes, ma’am.”
“What would you like?” she asked. And she handed him a plate and
a fork. “Take what you like. Take only what you will eat.”
A scoop of peach crumble, vanilla ice cream, a biscuit with butter,
and a mountain of mashed potatoes filled his plate in moments.
“Interesting,” she said, studying his choices. “Why don’t you
come to the kitchen porch to eat?”
Unlike the sleeping porches around the rest of the house, the kitchen
porch was for eating, and all the animals not cooking were enjoying
their meals there. The puppies and mice ate steamy oatmeal with
fruit. The larger dogs lapped up the hearty stew. The cats,
surprisingly, preferred fruit salad and cornbread. The animals ate
neatly, cleaning their bowls and themselves and looking often at each
other. Abe realized they were talking among themselves, but they also
growled and laughed and smiled and panted like ordinary animals. The
woman shows Abe to a small chair just his size and placed a tray in
his lap. She returned to the kitchen, but Boy stood in the doorway.
“I’m working today. I’ll eat later,” he told Abe.
Abe bit into the biscuit first, a soft, delicious blend of bread,
salt, and butter. The edges crunched as he enjoyed each bite, and he
closed his eyes. The pile of mashed potatoes were gone in seconds,
but then the boy relished the crumble and ice cream slowly; the cold
cream mixed with the sweet peaches and crispy pastry, hot from the
oven sparked bursts of flavor on his tongue. The last bite was better
than the first! Abe felt satisfied and then almost immediately sleepy
after his meal. The puppies had fallen asleep, and when he entered
the kitchen again, the activity had calmed and most of the food was
gone from the table. Abe yawned. Boy told him to explore the rest of
the house. “The sleepers have had their lunch now, and they’ll be
resting again outdoors. The ones upstairs are very tired and won’t
wake if you walk around them. You may walk in their rooms. Just don’t
touch them.”
As Abe ascended the stairs, he noticed a long row of bells hanging on
the wall, each attached to a cord and each having a metal plaque
above it with a number, and with initials. He counted them. There
were twenty-four. “I wonder what they’re for?” he thought. The
rooms upstairs and on the third floor were quite small. This area of
the house was intensely quiet, as if in a state of perpetual
twilight. Thick carpet covered the floors and dark drapes shut out
the sun. Abe opened doors and peeked inside room after room, careful
to do as Boy had said. Each room had a soft bed piled with quilts and
pillows, a small table, an open window, and a comfortable upholstered
chair with a deep seat and broad arms. In some rooms the residents
were sleeping in the beds and in some they slept in their chairs, but
in each room, someone slept. Each person looked extremely old, and
some were curled tightly in their beds like babies. One women sucked
her thumb. Their faces were scoured with wrinkles, but all looked
peaceful. The numbers on the stairwell plaques corresponded to
numbers on the doors, and each door had a pretty oval sign with
initials. “These must be the sleepers’ initials,” Abe thought.
Three rooms at the end of the hall were empty, with beds turned down
in readiness. Those doors had initials on them too. Abe wondered who
would sleep there. “K. M.” he said, and turned to the second one.
“R. Z.,” he said and turned to the last one. “J. C.” In this
room belonging to J. C., a sweet black and white Cocker Spaniel lay
curled and dozing on the foot of the bed.
Abe yawned. All this sleeping was getting to him. The meal had made
him drowsy as well, especially the mashed potatoes. The Cocker
Spaniel’s nose twitched as it dreamed, and her back legs scuffled.
She was adorable, and Abe reached down to pet her head.
“Boy didn’t say I couldn’t touch the dogs,” he thought. “She
reminds me of Shamrock.” And he stroked her long, soft ears.
She awoke immediately and looked into Abe’s eyes. “Abe?” she
said.
The boy started and backed away. He didn’t know this dog.
“No, you don’t remember me, but I remember you.” The spaniel
hopped from the bed and paused before leaving the room. “Give sweet
Shamrock my love,” she said, and smiled at him, and left.
For the first time Abe thought of what a strange place this was and
toyed with the idea that it was not a dream. It didn’t feel like a
dream. It felt quite real, somehow even more real than his life at
home. All his senses here were broad awake. All colors looked
brighter, all smells were more appealing, all foods tasted richer.
Abe sat on the bed. A glass of milk was on the bedside table, and
suddenly he wanted it. He drank the milk, pulled back the downy covers, and
climbed into the bed. He had never felt such comfort and relaxation!
Abe wiggled his toes into the depths of the bed and pulled the quilt
to his chin. He sighed. The milk was like a drug, softening his mind.
He blinked, trying to stay awake, and as he fingered the quilt he
felt a small tag of fabric sewn into its edge. It was a name tag. And
as his eyelids stopped resisting sleep and its numbness overtook him,
he read the stitching on the tag. It said, “Julia.”
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