Virginia Hamilton Read online

  You may sit here awhile. Rest, hide here as long as you want.

  Ever so slightly, Justice shook her head at them, pressing in on her on all sides. She didn’t want to stare at them, nor look in the mirror, where she was sure to see her own portrait.

  She looked, she couldn’t help herself. Standing in the mirror was a hungry child whose mouth had gone dry. Seconds passed before she realized she stared at her own reflection, it looked so like someone familiar, but older.

  “Good-bye,” she said to the reflection, and turned away.

  Justice slammed out of the house into sudden, glaring heat and high wind out of nowhere. For a moment, she thought it was raining in the sunlight. But what was hitting her face and bare arms were fine particles, much like sand.

  “This stuff’ll get all in my hair,” she told herself. She ran for the open field and home. And never once felt the need to protect herself in the safety of the hedgerow.

  6

  SHE WAS INSIDE THE house without knowing how she had got there, or what she had thought about on the way. Her mom always did say that, at any time, anyone of her family could get an attack of the “vagues” and not know where they were going or coming from. Justice guessed that was her problem. And she had no recollection that she feared Thomas; but, rather, there was a shape of a suggestion that she respected him and his talent for drumming. It was a different feeling from the shimmering warmth she would always feel for Levi. She had erected a barrier between herself and Thomas which surrounded her like a wall. She would be able to see over it. Thomas might see her looking, but he wouldn’t be able to come closer to her than the barrier.

  She found Thomas behind his drums in the parlor. Heat lay trapped on dust streaks of sunbeams. The room was bathed, in stark light where the only suggestion of shadow was in the form of the drummer. He beat the snare and the floor tom-tom with his brushes. Every once in a while, he used a key on a long chain to skim the edge of his cymbals. This made a mysterious, hissing sound, like a spray, a flash, of tiny bells.

  Thomas’ head bowed low over the drums. Barefooted, he wore jeans and was bare to the waist, working up a sweat. His eyes were dark and liquid bright, regarding her.

  “Hi,” she said breathlessly, heading for her room. But she couldn’t help stopping in front of him to watch and listen. “I always did like that sweet sound of them brushes,” she told him. Smiling, showing teeth, she fairly disarmed him.

  “Where you been all this time?” he asked, only half grudgingly.

  “All over. I been everywhere running around,” she said. She lied without bothering herself about it. It was what had to be done from behind the barrier between them.

  Standing close at his elbow, she stared at the drums and cymbals as his brushes made them whisper. The combination of instruments sounded—Swee su-swee/Swee su-swee/su-su—over and over. Gradually, Thomas altered the rhythm to a jaunty beat. Justice soon noticed its sly amusement.

  “How’d you ever do something like that?” she said. She laughed, delighted.

  “I have to finish up my practice now,” he said. Thomas seemed almost shy with her. His expression was guarded, but it was not unkind.

  “Where’s Levi?” she asked suddenly. Not waiting for him to reply, she turned and bounded away toward the kitchen.

  No one there, just a clean, neat space, with cupboards closed, chairs pulled in at the table and all dishes put away. The radio on the counter mumbled low. She went over, flicking the dial around. Justice didn’t bother turning up the sound. By listening closely—it was like fine-tuning her hearing—she could make sense out of the mumbling. She heard music, then switched to a soothing voice on local FM. But rather than stand there, she decided she’d be more comfortable in her room. So she cradled the small pink radio against her and worked the plug loose. “There.” And brushed crumbs of toast from the top of the radio. Evidently, Levi had missed wiping them away. She stood there, undecided about something. Her thinking was all scattered, waiting for her mom to come home, waiting for the day to turn around and be over. Why was she waiting the day through, with nothing more than that on her mind?

  Who’d buy such a pink radio? was what broke through random thoughts and a distinct echo in her head of the soothing radio voice before she had pulled the plug on it.

  She knew no one in the house would buy a thing like that. One day, her dad had to have brought it home from work. He was always bringing home things from small jobs when folks couldn’t find the money to pay him. From some broken-down little house somewhere, with fanciful carved eaves that had to be repaired.

  Her dad carved wood as good as he sized and chipped stone. But he never liked woodworking. He took such jobs in wood only when big stone jobs were scarce.

  So he did the job, Justice decided, and he gave it more of his time than he should have. Because he liked doing any repair work to perfection.

  And after the first day, knowing that folks couldn’t afford to pay for the care he’d taken. So he did it right anyhow.

  And they pay him with what they have which is worth something to them.

  “This funny little pink radio,” she told herself. “It would be nice if we could trade things back and forth when we needed things. And not use money at all. Why in the world am I taking this radio to my room?”

  Justice felt as if she had muddy water on the brain. Something was almost thick up there. Oozing around, she couldn’t see through it. She had trouble remembering what she was doing.

  Guess I’m excited over the snake race—

  She sucked in her breath.

  The snake race!

  Clutching the radio tightly: How could you forget something like that? What’s wrong with me today?

  Where’d I put my knapsack for the snake!

  “Levi!” Justice yelled at the top of her lungs and headed out of the kitchen.

  No response from Levi. But she knew he had to be around. He was forever around the house.

  Bet he has his earphones on, she thought.

  When Levi listened to symphony, his earphones shut out Thomas’ drumming and Justice, too.

  Well, who cares? I can find the knapsack myself.

  Thomas no longer drummed in the parlor. She wasn’t surprised he’d left. And something else.

  The plants are gone—are they? I seem to remember a lot of green all over.

  There was an intense imprint of Thomas surrounding his drums. She sensed this on the stifling light of the room. She stood stock still, sensing a rust color glowing to a heated red on the cymbal brushes. Exposed rust color commenced to fade where Thomas had touched things all around the room.

  Faint brownish footprints led from the parlor to the back hall and bedrooms. Justice recognized other footprints as pale yellow and knew they belonged to Levi. Turning to see behind her, she found her own footprints going and coming, patterned with blue light. For an instant, Justice fought against the suggestion that she should not be afraid. She struggled to understand that seeing the impossible, the invisible, had to be something shocking. But the moment of reason passed. Peace and calm came over her; she accepted tranquilly whatever would come next.

  Telltale footprints dissolved. Glancing around the room, she discovered little if anything that was different. What had been extraordinary sank beneath the murky fluids of her brain. By the time she reached her room and played around with the radio a bit, she had lost her potent awareness. Justice had seen nothing unusual.

  Mrs. Douglass came home at a quarter past four to what seemed at first an utterly silent house. Her arms were filled with books, purse and groceries. And kicking the door closed behind her, she plunged into suffocating heat.

  “My Lord, who took the screens out?” she said, seeing the screens in a pile on the floor beneath the parlor windows. She paused. Barely audible was music which she guessed was the radio playing somewhere. Listening hard, she heard a muffled pounding which slowly she recognized as Thomas beating his sticks on a padded block he used for prac
ticing. She headed for the kitchen; on her way, she dumped groceries and everything else she had been carrying on the dining-room table.

  “Thomas? Levi!” she called. But not loud enough. She hadn’t the strength in all of the heat—it had been a long day. She turned back to the parlor, where she forced the windows up, the screens in, and rubbed her hands free of the dirt and dust from the windows.

  Anger flared in her—at the dirt, the messy room, pillows on the floor, and the distinct, stale odor of smoke. But she calmed down, realizing she had no right to expect them, at home all day, to be as neat as pins.

  But to close up the house like this!

  Standing in front of the windows, she felt the heat pour in. It was fresh air, even if it was hot air.

  They probably thought it would be cooler.

  She smoothed back her damp, curly hair and was surprised to find it gritty with dirt.

  It was windy today, she thought absently, and headed for the bedrooms.

  She stopped first at the closed door of the boys’ room, where the muffled pounding continued. Mrs. Douglass knocked hard, then paused before she opened the door.

  She was struck by the brilliant light of day as she entered the room. The boys were at opposite ends from one another. Knowing they were sons, identical brothers, she was nevertheless startled at seeing double. So full was she of her own day and of being detached from this life for a while.

  In the room there was a stronger odor of smoke.

  Won’t they ever open a window? Why must they confront me with this?

  She glanced around, but saw no cigarettes or ashtray. Anger flared again. She felt a confusion of needs and obligations.

  I’ll get things in order again. I’ll not go to school next fall, Mrs. Douglass thought.

  “There are window fans in the garage,” she told them, speaking hurriedly. “I want you both to get them out by the weekend, clean them and put them in the windows. This is ridiculous. This house doesn’t have to be so hot.”

  Stopping herself, she struggled against further argument. This was no way to come home and greet them. It was almost time to start dinner. When would there be time for them to fool around together again?

  The boys stared at her. Levi, across the room, was plugged into his earphones. His head moved slowly in rhythm with sounds she couldn’t hear.

  “Lee, will you open that window?”

  He got up and opened the window, and sat down again. Not exactly smiling at her. How had he heard her? He hadn’t, probably, she thought, but had recognized a few words as her lips moved.

  Thomas sat drumming at his practice block. He slowed the beat as his mother turned to him.

  “IIIII s-see M-m-mama is hhhome,” he said, holding the sticks still as he spoke.

  “Yes. Hello, Tom-Tom,” she said. “How’s everything?”

  “F-f-fine. Eh-ehveryth-thing’s ooo-k-k-kay.” Again, the sticks had not moved.

  He had deliberately held them still so he would stutter at her, Mrs. Douglass thought. Today he was angry at her, she could tell by the way he showed no expression. And perhaps today he blamed her for his stutter. Or maybe she was reading something into nothing. Feeling guilty again for being away.

  Maybe there was something odd going on today. Something in the way Lee over there held himself in and didn’t take his eyes off his brother.

  “Where’s Ticey?” Mrs. Douglass asked abruptly, turning to Levi.

  “Iiiin-er r-room,” Thomas answered.

  “You can’t be sure about that, can you, with your door closed?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “I wish both of you wouldn’t close her out so. You’re not much older. You could include Ticey in, sometimes.”

  Thomas said nothing, but began beating his sticks on the block. A long, silent look passed between him and Levi. Levi took off his earphones. They dangled over his shoulder.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, as though she’d just now come in. “Justice is in her room, listening to the radio. We’ve been keeping track of her, honest.”

  Mrs. Douglass leaned against the door. She was hot and tired, with nerves tightening her insides. “You must be a mind reader,” she told him, “hearing what I say—with those earphones on?”

  He laughed at her kidding. Did she imagine it; was his grin too wild?

  “I turned the sound down when you came in,” he said reasonably, “so I could hear you and the music, too.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Mrs. Douglass said.

  “Uh-uh,” Thomas said, beating his sticks in lightning rhythm, but ever so gently. It amazed her how completely his stutter left him when he beat on anything.

  “Lee can blow minds,” Thomas continued. “Blows them out like blowing out candles—we both can.”

  Levi seemed to pale. He looked stunned. “Tom-Tom, you weirdo. He’s being a weirdo,” he said softly.

  “Nope. It’s true,” Thomas said to his mother.

  Mrs. Douglass stared from one to the other. “So how do you blow minds?” she asked Thomas, but kept her gaze on Levi.

  “Any way we want,” Thomas said. “Mostly, we just read them. Sometimes we burn them and blow them out.”

  “I won’t ask whether burning hurts,” she said.

  “No. It doesn’t,” Thomas said. “But the burnee gets the impression there’s a fire close by.”

  “Neat,” said Mrs. Douglass and had to smile.

  Thomas gave her a pleasant, warm smile back, the same one Levi had given her before.

  “That’s the kind of thing he tells people,” Levi said. “He puts it on thick and they believe it, some of them.”

  “I bet they do,” said Mrs. Douglass. Again, she saw a long, silent look pass between the boys. For an instant, it appeared as if Thomas was the one with earphones on his shoulder, so positive was she that she had seen Tom-Tom’s darkly amused expression on Lee’s face.

  She had no time to think about it. Thomas was saying, “Why do you think we never played games like other kids?”

  “I thought you had,” Mrs. Douglass said.

  “And we did,” Levi said.

  “No, we didn’t,” Thomas said.

  “We did, too!”

  “Nope. You ever remember us playing much with cards?” he asked Levi.

  “Sure! We played once in a while, just like all kids. Only, you never liked playing and you would find some way to spoil the fun!”

  Thomas beating his drum in a blur of sticks, ever so softly. “Yeah,” he said. “Playing Bid Whist, Tonk and Spit in the Ocean. We played once or twice. And you remember how we never could figure any of it out?”

  “No, I don’t remember we couldn’t figure it out.

  “One time,” Thomas went on, “somewhere around age eight or nine. On some rainy Saturday afternoon, playing outside with some kids. Two packs of cards, one missing five cards and the other, twenty.”

  “Oh, man,” Levi said. He glanced at his mom and then away, seeing that she was absorbed in Tom-Tom’s story.

  “So we put together a working deck from the two packs,” Thomas said. “And we played a long time with a kid explaining the games to us. We played for hours.”

  “This is going to be a very long story,” Mrs. Douglass said, amused.

  “This isn’t no story,” Thomas said.

  “It’s pure, bareface lie,” Levi said, forcing himself to remain calm. But his face was pale and tight. And Thomas seemed to enjoy greatly the effect he was having on his brother.

  “Hurry it up,” Mrs. Douglass said, “I have kitchen duty yet to do.”

  “Nothing much more to tell,” Thomas said. He beat with only one stick—pah-ta/tah, pah-ta/tah—with the other at rest at his side. “We couldn’t get the point, is all.”

  “You mean,” Mrs. Douglass said, “you and Levi understood how the games were played, but you couldn’t figure out why you would win or lose?”

  “We couldn’t get the point,” Thomas said carefully. “Because we knew what cards everybody else had a
nd we knew what each other had.”

  “Wow,” Mrs. Douglass said.

  “So we just figured the other kids knew our cards, too.”

  “Oh, he is weird. Weird!” Levi said. He seemed to have gotten hold of himself and was looking at Thomas as though the whole thing were the worst kind of put-on.

  “You knew if one of the kids held an ace or a king,” said Mrs. Douglass.

  “Or anything,” Thomas said. “We just figured they could read our hands, too. So we never got the point of the games. We never figured we had a gift and they didn’t.”

  Mrs. Douglass smiled, laughed once before she said, “So when did you find out you had the gift of card reading and no one else had it?”

  “And mind reading, too,” Thomas said.

  “And mind reading,” she added.

  “Oh, it dawned,” he said. “And it scared Lee just about to death. That’s why we stopped playing cards. Actually, it’s more like I do the reading and funnel the information to him. He’s got an opening in his brain which I can put things in.”

  Mrs. Douglass grinned at Levi: “A hole in the head!” But Levi wasn’t amused. He looked disgusted and jammed his earphones back on. The next minute, he had taken them off, unwilling to miss any of the conversation.

  Mrs. Douglass had turned back to Thomas. She wondered fleetingly why he had told this particular, very imaginative story. Why now, at this moment on this day just like so many others?

  “Tom-Tom,” she began, searching for the proper words, “I think that at times there may be something unusual between you and Lee.”

  “Mom …”Levi interrupted. “We’re the same as anybody else. Tom-Tom is just putting on!”

  “There’s nothing to get so upset about,” she said, her voice gentle and persuasive. “It’s not strange for children to show the kind of ability you two seem to have. And especially when the children are identicals. It happens because young people have a natural open-mindedness. They might accept the unusual where an adult would not. Furthermore, this type of gift is known to disappear naturally with the end of childhood.”

  Thomas stared at her. He no longer beat on his practice block.