The Fireman: A Novel Part 12

"I'm glad to have had a hot lunch," Renee said, "even if it was fried Spam in Rag. I'm also glad this camp has an ace fisherman in Don Lewiston, and I'll be gladder still the next time it's my turn for fish." Nodding at the old fella. Then she looked sidelong at Harper and said, "And I'm so glad to see my friend from Portsmouth Hospital, who marched around eighteen hours a day, whistling Disney tunes and trying to keep up the spirits of a thousand sick and terrified patients. Every time she came in the room, it felt like a break in a month of clouds. She made me want to keep going when there wasn't any other reason."

Harper wasn't sure she'd be able to find her own voice, was ambushed by unexpected emotion. In her days at Portsmouth Hospital, she had felt about as useful as Renee's potted mint, and it caught her unprepared to hear someone tell her different. Finally, she managed, "I'm just glad not to be alone anymore."

Carol squeezed her fingers. "I am so glad to be part of this circle. We are all voices in the same chorus and we sing our thanks."

And for a moment it was there again: Carol's eyes pulsed with brightness, her irises becoming rings of fey green light. Michael's eyes flashed as well, and Harper saw a p.r.i.c.kle of red and gold flicker across the whorls of Dragonscale on his bare arms.

Harper let go of Carol's hand as if at a physical shock. But then the weird sheen was gone and Carol was eyeing her mischievously.

"Freaked you out, didn't I? Sorry. You'll get used to it, though. Eventually it'll happen to you, too."

"It's a little frightening," Harper said. "But also . . . well, like magic."

"It's not magic. It's a miracle," Carol said, like someone identifying the make of her new car: It's a Miata.

"What's happening when you shine like that?" Harper asked. Something came back to her then and she looked, almost accusingly, at Renee. "It's the same thing that happened to you in the hospital. You ran out covered in light. Everyone thought you were going to explode."

"So did I," Renee said. "I stumbled onto it by accident. They call it joining the Bright."

Michael said, "Or the Network. But I guess that's only people my age. A lot of my friends joke that it's just another social network. Only they're kind of not joking."

"You probably understand that the Dragonscale responds badly to stress," Carol said.

The old fella, Don Lewiston, laughed. "That's one way a puttin' it."

"That's because it feels what you feel," Carol continued. "That's such a powerful concept. I'm surprised more people haven't followed the thread of that idea to see where it goes. If you can create a feeling of security and well-being and acceptance, the Dragonscale will react in a very different way: by making you feel more alive than you've ever felt before. It will make colors deeper and tastes richer and emotions stronger. It's like being set on fire with happiness. And you don't just feel your happiness. You feel everyone else's, too. Everyone around you. Like we're all notes being played together in a single perfect chord."

"And you don't burn," Michael said, twisting the orange coil of his beard.

"And you don't burn," Carol repeated.

"It doesn't seem possible," Harper said. "How does it work?"

"Harmony," Carol said.

"Harmony?"

"Connection, anyway," Renee said. "Strong social connection. John has some interesting theories about it, if you can draw him out. He told me once-"

Carol's face darkened. An artery, squiggling in her right temple, thickened. "John Rookwood isn't here and he doesn't want to be here. He prefers to keep his distance. It's easier to maintain his own personal myth that way. I think he looks down on us, honestly."

"Do you really think that?" Renee asked. "I've never had that impression. I would've said he looks out for us. If he does have a condescending view of camp, he has a peculiar way of showing it. He's the person who led most of us here in the first place."

There was an uneasy silence. Renee gazed at Carol with an innocent curiosity. For her part, Carol would not meet her stare. Instead she took a long swallow of coffee, a benign, easygoing gesture that Harper saw through. For an instant, there had been hate in her face. John had made it clear the night before, in the woods, that he was no fan of Carol Storey; the feeling, it seemed, was mutual.

Michael was the first to speak and smooth over the awkward moment. "The easiest way to join the Bright is to sing. The whole mess of us, the entire camp, get together in church every day after breakfast and have a big sing and we always shine. You'll shine, too. It might not happen right away, but stick with it. When it comes over you, it's like someone plugged you in to a giant battery. It's like all the lights are turning on in your soul for the first time in your life." His eyes had a bright, hot look that made Harper want to check him for fever.

"I had no idea what was happening to me, the first time I went into the Bright," Renee said. "To say I was surprised doesn't do it justice, Mrs. Grayson."

"You better start calling me Harper," Harper said. She didn't add that she thought she was all done being Mrs. Grayson. That name belonged to Jakob, and she felt she had left everything of Jakob's behind in the woods. Her maiden name had been Willowes. She missed the way it rolled off her tongue, and the thought of having her old name returned to her felt like another escape-a far more satisfying and peaceful escape than her leap out the bedroom window.

"Harper," Renee said, trying it out. She smiled. "I don't know if I'll be able to get used to it, but I'll try. Well, Harper. I was reading to the children. We were working our way through Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and I stopped to sing 'The Candy Man' song from the film. A few of them knew the words and sang along with me. It was such a nice, peaceful moment, I forgot we were all sick. I got that melty, tranced-out feeling that comes over you when you're in front of a fire and you've had a couple drinks. And suddenly the kids began screaming. Time began to run thick and slow. I remember one of the children knocked my potted mint off my little end table and it seemed like I had half an hour to reach out and catch it. And when I did, I realized my whole arm was splattered with light. I thought it was so glorious looking, I couldn't find it in me to be terrified. But then someone shrieked, Get away from her, she's going to explode! And right away, I thought, I am! I'm going to go off like a grenade! Sometimes I think people are a bit more suggestible when they enter that state. The Bright. So I ran for my life, with my potted mint. Straight past two sets of guards and half a dozen doctors and nurses, across the parking lot and into the meadow south of the hospital. I thought I would set the gra.s.s on fire when I waded into it, but I didn't. It took a while for the light to die out, and afterwards I was shivery and drunk."

"Drunk?"

"Oh, yuh," said Don Lewiston. "You wind up pretty pickled after you go into the Bright. Especially the first couple times. You forget your own name."

"You-what?"

Carol said, "A lot of people forget their own name the first time. I think that's the most beautiful part of it. All the stuff you think defines you-it peels off like Christmas wrapping. The Bright winnows you down to your truest, best self, the version of you that goes deeper than a name or what football team you root for. And you become aware of yourself as just one leaf on a tree, and everyone you know and love, they're all the other leaves."

A willow, Harper Willowes thought, and shivered.

"First time I ever joint the Chorus," Don Lewiston said, "I forgot the face of my father, the sound of my mother's voice, and the name of the ship I spent the last twenty years on. I wanted to kiss everyone I saw. Oh, and I got real G.o.dd.a.m.n generous. I remember this was in chapel, after a good hard sing. I was sittin' next to a couple young fellas, and I was just burstin' to tell 'em how much I loved 'em, and all I could think to do was take off my boots and try to give them away. One boot for each of them, so they'd always have somethin' to remember me by. They laughed at me, like grown-ups havin' a yuk at some kid who just drank his first beer."

"Why didn't you come back to the hospital?" Harper asked Renee. "After you . . . went Bright?"

"At first it never occurred to me. I was just too out of my right mind. I was still holding my mint and it came to me that it didn't belong in a pot, that it was cruel to keep it in a pot. I was ashamed of myself for all the months I had held it prisoner. I drifted deep into the woods and had myself a nice quiet planting ceremony. Then I sat with my mint, with my face turned up to the sun, feeling about as content as I've ever felt in my life. I believe I thought I was going to photosynthesize, along with my plant. At some point I heard a branch snap and opened my eyes and there was Captain America and Tony the Tiger. And you know what? I wasn't the least surprised to see them. A superhero and a tiger-boy just seemed like the next logical part of my day."

"Allie," Harper said. "And Nick. Nick! What about Nick? How can he join your sing-alongs and shine with the rest of you if he can't hear?"

The others looked at one another-and erupted into happy laughter, as if Harper had said something quite witty.

"Nick," Carol said, "is a natural. He could shine before I could. Why, though . . . why it's so easy for him to join the Bright . . . that's a question not one of us can answer. Nick says just because he can't hear music doesn't mean the Dragonscale can't. My dad says it's another miracle. He's a great believer in miracles. So am I, I guess. Come on, Harper, I want to show you the rest of the camp."

"If you want a crutch," Michael said, "I have a shoulder."

On their way out, they stopped to put their dishes in a bin of gray, soapy water, and Harper glanced at the two teenage boys working in the kitchen. They were drying gla.s.ses by hand while listening to a radio.

It was tuned to static.

5.

The kids were chasing a soccer ball in the valley again, the eerie pale green ball racing this way and that, like a will-o'-the-wisp on crack.

"I don't know how we'll wear them out when it snows," Carol said.

"What happens when it snows?"

"Mr. Patchett says we'll have to be more careful about our movements outside," Michael told her. "If we leave tracks, someone could see them from the air. There isn't one part of winter I'm looking forward to."

"When did you come to camp, Michael?" Harper asked.

"After my sisters burned to death," he said, without any trace of distress. "They burned together. They were still holding each other after I put them out. That's a blessing, I think. They didn't die alone. They had each other for comfort. They're gone from this world, but I hear them whispering to me in the Bright."

Carol said, "Sometimes when I'm in the Bright, I would swear I feel my sister standing right next to me, close enough so I could lay my head on her shoulder, like I used to. When we shine, they all come back to us, you know. The light we make together shows everything that was ever lost to darkness."

Harper clamped down on a shudder. When they spoke of the Bright, they had all the uncomplicated happiness of pod people.

Carol led Harper into the garden of towering monoliths and pagan stone altars. "There's a rumor these rocks are thousands of years old and were placed here by an ancient tribe, with the help of alien technology. My father says they were hauled here from the quarry in Ogunquit, though, which is why it's better never to ask him about anything really interesting."

When Harper was in among the stones she could see bra.s.s plaques screwed into the towering pillars of granite. One listed the names of seventeen boys who had died in the mud of eastern France during the First World War. Another listed the names of thirty-four boys who had died on the beaches of western France during the Second. Harper thought all tombstones should be this size, that the small blocks to be found in most graveyards did not even begin to express the sickening enormity of losing a virgin son, thousands of miles away, in the muck and cold. You needed something so big you felt it might topple over and crush you.

"This is our church," Carol told her. "If you go up in the steeple on a clear day, you can see into Maine. Only you don't want to look at Maine. There's nothing up north except for black smoke and lightning. In the mornings we come to sing and share the Bright and usually my dad will say a few words. After, it serves as a schoolroom." Carol pointed at a path tunneling through sumac and firs. "I live back there, through the woods, in the little white house with the big black star on it. I stay with my dad. I feel guilty about that sometimes. I should probably stay with all the other women, in the girls' dorm-that's where we're going next. My dad says I can move out anytime if I want to be with the other women, but I know if I left he wouldn't ever sleep. He'd drink too much coffee and worry and pace around and worry more. He only sleeps about five hours as it is and I have to make him take a pill to do that. Come on! Let me show you where I keep my harem!"

Carol led her around to the back of the chapel, where four stone steps descended into a hole the rough size, shape, and depth of a grave. At the bottom of the pit was an old door on rusted hinges, half open to look into the cellar.

"You'll have to manage without us from here," Michael said, nodding to Don. "We're not allowed."

"It's no place for two strappin' young boys like us," Don Lewiston said. "All them wimmen undressin' you with their eyes, plottin' ways to use you to satisfy their repress't needs-it makes a decent man feel lucky to escape with his life and virginity intact."

Michael lowered his head, a blush darkening his pale features. Don laughed.

Carol shook her head and clucked her tongue. "Michael Martin Lindqvist Jr., you are just too much fun to embarra.s.s."

Renee said to Harper, "If you don't have any garter belts, you can borrow a few of mine. One of the rules of the girls' dorm, no clothes allowed except for French underwear. Corsets and so on."

"I am not listening to any of you," Michael said. "I am saving myself for marriage."

He foisted Harper off on Carol and marched briskly away, at something very close to a run. Don Lewiston strolled after him, hands in his pockets, whistling "Spanish Ladies."

Carol helped Harper make her way below. There were more steps on the other side of the door, descending deeper into the hill.

The room beneath the chapel was a single enormous s.p.a.ce, the ceiling supported by whitewashed brick pillars. Camp cots made a knee-high maze across the pitted cement floor. Close to thirty women were hanging around, sitting on their beds, or standing by a folding table set up against the back wall where there was a Mr. Coffee.

Michael and Don could, in fact, have safely descended the steps without fear of finding themselves in a silken garden of delights. The room had an uns.e.xy smell of damp and mothb.a.l.l.s and most of the girls had the waxen look of people who had not seen daylight for a long time. No garter belts in sight, but a lot of wet socks hung over pipes to steam-dry. The prevailing fashion was Salvation Army chic.

There was a double-sided chalkboard close to the foot of the steps, the sort of thing sandwich shops stood on the sidewalk to advertise the day's specials. Harper paused to see what was written on it, in bright chalk and girlish lettering: HOUSE RULES.

NO CELL PHONES EVER! YOUR CELL PHONE SHOULD'VE BEEN TURNED IN TO A LOOKOUT!

SEE SOMETHING, HEAR SOMETHING . . . SAY SOMETHING!.

EVERYONE HAS A JOB TO DO! KNOW YOURS!.

FOOD, BEVERAGES & MEDICAL SUPPLIES BELONG TO EVERYONE!! NO h.o.r.eDING!.

NO GOING OUTSIDE IN THE DAYLIGHT!.

LISTEN TO THE LOOKOUTS! IT COULD SAVE YOU'RE LIFE!!

DON'T LEAVE CAMP WITHOUT TALKING TO A LOOKOUT FIRST!

WEAPONS ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN!.

SO ARE SECRETS!.

SAFETY IS EVERYONE'S BUSINESS!!!

Act like everybody depends on you! They Do!!

"Quick," Carol said. "What's your favorite song, celebrity crush, and the name of your first pet?"

Harper said. "'You've Got a Friend in Me,' Ewan McGregor, mostly for Moulin Rouge, and my first pet was a schnauzer named Bert, because he was soot black and made me think of the chimney sweeps in Mary Poppins."

Carol stood up on a chair and cleared her throat and waved an arm over her head to get the attention of the room. "Hey, everybody! This is Harper! She's our new nurse! 'You've Got a Friend in Me,' Ewan McGregor, and a schnauzer named Bert! Let's have a big cheer for Nurse Harper!"

This was met by a mix of hooting, applause, and halloos. Allie Storey threw a bra at Harper's head. Someone else yelled, "Harper what?"

Carol opened her mouth to reply, but Harper spoke first.

"Willowes," she called out. "Harper Willowes!" And to herself, in a lower voice, she said, "Again. It seems."

Carol led Harper on a winding path among the beds, to a neatly made cot near the center of the room. Harper's carpetbag had been set upon the pillow.

Harper unbuckled it and peeked inside. Her clothes had been picked up and put in neat stacks. The Portable Mother rested on top of all. Harper folded her Temporary Cat and put it inside the cover. Her child's first pet.

"I should thank Mr. Rookwood for collecting my things," Harper said, remembering only after the words were out of her mouth that the Fireman seemed to be Carol Storey's least favorite subject. It was too late, though, so, in a casual, offhand tone, she finished: "Where would I find him?"

There was no look of contempt or anger this time. Instead, Carol regarded her with a mild, almost bland expression, then punched her softly on the arm. "Come on outside again. I'll show you."

Even with Carol's help, Harper's ankle was tw.a.n.ging painfully by the time they mounted the steps into the night. The temperature had dropped. The air had texture now, a thousand fine quivering grains of almost-rain blowing in off the ocean.

They stood alone, at the rear northeastern corner of the chapel. Carol pointed over the soccer field, the pines, and the boathouse below. Out in the surging blackness of the water was a darker blackness, a small island.

"He's out there," she said. "John Rookwood. He doesn't come to church. He doesn't eat with us. He keeps to himself."

"What's he doing there?"

"I don't know. It's a secret. It's his secret. He never leaves the island for long and no one knows why. You hear different stories. She died out there, you know. My sister. She burned to death and almost took Nick with her. Maybe John is out there mourning her. Maybe he's doing penance. Maybe he just likes being mysterious."

"Penance? Does he blame himself somehow?"

"I'm sure," Carol said, and although her face was carefully composed, Harper once again heard an edge, a razor wire of emotion. "Not that it's his fault. He wasn't on the island when it happened. No. My sister didn't need any help to kill herself. She managed that just fine on her own." Carol gave Harper a sidelong look and said, "But I'll tell you what. I won't let the kids go out there anymore: Nick and Allie. I think John understands. You might not want to make a habit of dropping in for social visits yourself. People who get too close to John have a way of going down in flames."

6.