Dream Boy (19 page)

He
rests again on the Indian mound later in the afternoon, sitting at the top
where the grassy summit sails above the treetops. He can see all the way to the
western horizon, the royal purple of the clouded sky, a sliver of sun behind
the clouds that bursts into a piercing ray.

The
mound is a haven, and there Nathan feels less alone. The calm green of the
grass restores itself as the storm clouds thin and the sun swells again. It is
easy to be here. The mound as a place of memory offers safety; he can remember
the first time Roy brought him here. He can linger there, in that space of day
as he remembers it. He can safely remember many things about Roy, he can even
remember Roy turning his back and walking away. It was only once, only one
time.

But the
thought of Roy makes him restless. Finding Roy. Though Nathan is very tired
now, he stands again, ignoring the fierce pain in his legs.

In the
late afternoon he comes to the clearing that leads to the pond. He walks
through the cemetery, past the cherub and his stubby wings, along the pond's
edge. He keeps to the forest, walking the long way round the far end of the
pond. He stops close to the houses. The yards are empty, eerie quiet emanating
from beyond. The school bus sits under the trees. Dad's car is out of sight.

A woman
stands on each of the porches. Each is looking into the woods, as if she has
lost something there. Nathan recognizes his own mother, and Roy's. Roy's mother
wears the faded blue apron Nathan has seen before. She crosses the yard to dump
a pan of scraps into the compost heap near one comer of the bam. Her large body
moves with rolling steps, in waves of fat. She returns to stand at the door
again, her expression again obscured by the screen.

Nathan's
own mother keeps her vigil further back, leaning on the doorjamb with the
kitchen visible behind her. She hovers in shadow, and Nathan sees little more
than her silhouette and stance. But he recognizes her by the crooked way she
crosses her arms, one hand dangling loose. She carries the familiar aura of
weariness, of having a veil over her vision. But he can feel her searching. She
has not forgotten.

Nathan
remains hidden in the shadow at the edge of the trees. Wondering why Roy's
mother is searching. Wondering whether Roy ever came home.

He has
no clear image of where he is headed as a final destination until he hears the
music through the trees. It is late. The storm has cleared but the sun is low.
A thin thread of piano and organ, “Blessed Redeemer, Jesus Is Mine”
drifts from beyond.

Ahead,
where the forest abruptly stops, the slanted sunlight falls very clear and
bright. A green lawn slopes downward to where another creek flows, nestled among
shaggy cedars. In the lap of that lawn a white church blazes, its sharp steeple
rising above a broad oak.

Nathan
waits at the top of the slope, hidden among the trees. Down the hill a lot of
cars are parked in the grass, and people dressed like Sunday evening stand in
the yard. The service has ended, and people are coming out of the sanctuary.
The music continues, “Just As I Am, without One Plea.” No one is
singing, only the piano and organ play.

Then
out of the church comes Roy.

He has
been crying. A girl in a white dress walks with him. They move slowly as if
they are underwater, and for a moment Nathan is mesmerized by the sight. A
preacher talks in Roy's ear, offering comfort. The girl in the white dress
strokes Roy's hair. The fact of the church service has lent her radiance; the
white dress makes Nathan think this is their wedding, but no, there are no
other signs, no car decorated with streamers, no showers of dry rice. It is
only a white dress. Here is Evelyn with Roy. Roy lifts his head.

Now a
lot of people crowd the churchyard. The sky over the steeple is flushing pink.
When Nathan steps out of the woods, they all see him.

Nobody
knows him but Roy. For a moment he can only stand there.

Roy
releases Evelyn's arm, gently insistent. He walks toward Nathan with only a
little hesitation. She follows him for a few steps. It may be that she calls
his name, but there is a lot of noise in the churchyard, as the piano strikes
up “Standing on the Promises.”

Roy
calmly walks toward Nathan. When he is close enough to be sure of what he sees,
he runs.

He
stops a few feet away. His heart is visibly pounding, fear and confusion
surround him. He finds his voice with some effort. His eyes are glittering.
“How did you get here?”

“I
walked.”

Someone
else must have recognized Nathan, other people are starting to approach them
now. Nathan reaches for Roy's hand but at the last moment is afraid to touch
it. He backs away.

The
motion makes Roy desperate. “Stop. Where are you going?”

“I
don't think I can stay here.”

“Stop.
Please.” His eyes are bright and glittering. He looks behind, at the
shining church, at the scattering of people approaching across the lawn. Nathan
retreats another few steps and Roy stumbles toward him. He reaches, arms out.
“I didn't mean to leave you. I went back to that room but you were gone.
Please don't go away again.”

They
are close. At first Nathan can hardly feel anything, can hardly feel Roy's
hands. But then he can feel the warmth, and he can smell Roy's breath. And
suddenly Nathan is certain he still has a body: because he can feel Roy near
him, can smell the sweetness of his clean hair, his fresh shaven mustache.
Suddenly they are embracing each other, disregarding everything that has
happened, disregarding even the crowd of other people as they approach.

They
face each other. The moment lengthens—the green of evening, the clear piano,
the freshness of the white dress. The sweetness of living. Nathan waits and
watches.

Finally
he asks the question that has made him afraid all this time. “How long
have I been gone?”

“Today”
Roy can hardly form the words. “We left you today. The sheriff just went
back with your dad. To get you.” He breaks off, watching Nathan.

He is
understanding, now. He is choosing. He looks deep into the trees.

Nathan
turns and breaks into a gait between a limp and a trot. After a moment, silent,
Roy follows, and takes his hand.

It is a
relief that they can feel each other, that their hands are warm. It is a relief
that they are in the same world. They disappear into the woods.

They
stop to rest a little way inside the forest, under a gingko tree, its golden
leaves showering around them as they get their breath. They have arrived on the
evening when all of the gingko leaves will fall, leaving the tree naked as a
skeleton. The tree stands in an open glade, catching the last shreds of light.
Nathan says he needs to sit for a minute, and Roy says fine, and they sit, with
the gingko leaves piling slowly around them, a snowdrift of saffron and amber.

They
keep very quiet, listening for sounds of pursuit Roy slides an arm around
Nathan's shoulders. Nathan feels all the reticence with which the gesture is
performed, then sighs and leans against Roy. “You were dead,” Roy
says, but his tone is more of confiding than disapproving. “I saw
you.”

“I
know”

They
are aware, especially, of their own warmth in the pile of leaves.

“What
do we do now?”

"Run
away?

The
notion of leaving hovers, they breathe it in. Roy examines the wound in Nathan's
skull, a distracted quality to his scrutiny, as if he is seeing another
picture. The image of fresher blood.

“Any
how. Our preacher preached this evening about how the dead will rise.” Roy
drops his Bible into the grass. “I guess we could go up north
somewhere.”

The
words drift skyward. They sit till they are half buried in gold leaves. Roy's
white shirt gleams. He pulls Nathan against him and for a while they become one
flesh. Roy is rapt, as if he is singing inside. Or maybe it is more as if he is
blossoming, a flower opening at this very moment. Nathan remembers, oddly,
Preacher John Roberts leaning over the pulpit toward the congregation in
puzzlement, in confusion at the notion of the Disciple John resting his head on
Jesus's chest. Nathan rests his head there on Roy and understands. In the
distance they hear the voices of people searching for them in the woods. They
stand and go. They never look back.