The Anything Box

  Stevie looked right back. "Yes, Mommy, For True."

  She sighed again. "Well, son, I guess this Dark business is the same asyour Mr. Bop and Toody Troot."

  "Uh, uh!" Stevie shook his head. "No sir. Mr. Bop and Toody Troot are nice.The Dark is bad."

  "Well, don't play with it any more then."

  "I don't play with it," protested Stevie. "I just keep it shut up withmagic."

  "All right, son." She stood up and brushed the dust off the back of herslacks. "Only for the love of Toody Troot, don't let Arnold get hurt again."She smiled at Stevie.

  Stevie smiled back. "Okay, Mommy. But it was his fault. He uncrossed hisfingers. He's a baby."

  The next time Stevie was in the wash playing cowboy on Burro Eddie, he

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  heard The Dark calling him. It called so sweet and soft that anybody would

  think it was something nice, but Stevie could feel the bad rumble way down

  under the nice, so he made sure his pocket piece was handy, shooed Eddie away,

  and went down to the hole and squatted down in front of it.

  The Dark stood up behind the magic rocks and it had made itself look like

  Arnold only its eyes didn't match and it had forgotten one ear and it was

  freckled all over like Arnold's face.

  "Hello," said The Dark with its Arnold-mouth. "Let's play."

  "No," said Stevie. "You can't fool me. You're still The Dark."

  "I won't hurt you." The Arnold-face stretched out sideways to make a smile,

  but it wasn't a very good one. "Let me out and I'll show you how to have lots

  of fun."

  "No," said Stevie. "If you weren't bad, the magic couldn't hold you. I

  don't want to play with bad things."

  "Why not?" asked The Dark. "Being bad is fun sometimes—lots of fun."

  "I guess it is," said Stevie, "but only if it's a little bad. A big bad

  makes your stomach sick and you have to have a spanking or a sit-in-the-corner

  and then a big loving from Mommy or Daddy before it gets well again."

  "Aw, come on," said The Dark. "I'm lonesome. Nobody ever comes to play with

  me. I like you. Let me out and I’ll give you a two-wheel bike."

  "Really?" Stevie felt all warm inside. "For True?"

  "For True. And a cat with three-and-a-half legs."

  "Oh!" Stevie felt like Christmas morning. "Honest?"

  "Honest. All you have to do is take away the rocks and break up your pocket

  piece and I'll fix everything for you."

  "My pocket piece?" The warmness was going away. "No sir, I won't either

  break it up. It's the magicest thing I've got and it was hard to make."

  "But I can give you some better magic."

  "Nothing can be more magic." Stevie tightened his hand around his pocket

  piece. "Anyway, Daddy said I might get a two-wheel bike for my birthday. I'll

  be six years old. How old are you?"

  The Dark moved back and forth. "I'm as old as the world."

  Stevie laughed. "Then you must know Auntie Phronie. Daddy says she's as old

  as the hills."

  "The hills are young," said The Dark. "Come on, Stevie, let me out.

  Please—pretty please."

  "Well," Stevie reached for the pretty red rock. "Promise you'll be good."

  "I promise."

  Stevie hesitated. He could feel a funniness in The Dark's voice. It sounded

  like Lili-cat when she purred to the mice she caught. It sounded like

  Pooch-pup when he growled softly to the gophers he ate sometimes. It made

  Stevie feel funny inside and, as he squatted there wondering what the feeling

  was, lightning flashed brightly above the treetops and a few big raindrops

  splashed down with the crash of thunder.

  "Well," said Stevie, standing up, feeling relieved. "It's going to rain. I

  can't play with you now. I have to go. Maybe I can come see you tomorrow."

  "No, now!" said The Dark. "Let me out right now!" and its Arnold-face was

  all twisted and one eye was slipping down one cheek.

  Stevie started to back away, his eyes feeling big and scared. "Another

  time. I can't play in the wash when it storms. There might be a flood."

  "Let me out!" The Dark was getting madder. The Arnold-face turned purple

  and its eyes ran down its face like sick fire and it melted back into

  blackness again. "Let me out!" The Dark hit the magic so hard that it shook

  the sand and one of the rocks started to roll. Quick like a rabbit, Stevie

  pressed the rock down hard and fixed all the others too. Then The Dark

  twisted itself into a thing so awful looking that Stevie's stomach got sick

  and he wanted to upchuck. He took out his pocket piece and drew three hard

  magics in the sand and The Dark screamed so hard that Stevie screamed, too,

  and ran home to Mommy and was very sick.

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  Mommy put him to bed and gave him some medicine to comfort his stomach andtold Daddy he'd better buy Stevie a hat. The sun was too hot for a towheaded,bareheaded boy in the middle of July.

  Stevie stayed away from the wash for a while after that, but one day Burro

  Eddie opened the gate with his teeth again and wandered off down the road,

  headed for the wash. It had been storming again in the Whetstones. Mommy said,

  "You'd better go after Eddie. The flood will be coming down the wash this

  afternoon and if Eddie gets caught, he’ll get washed right down into the

  river."

  "Aw, Eddie can swim," said Stevie.

  "Sure he can, but not in a flash flood. Remember what happened to Durkin's

  horse last year."

  "Yeah," said Stevie, wide-eyed. "It got drownded. It even went over the

  dam. It was dead."

  "Very dead," laughed Mommy. "So you scoot along and bring Eddie back. But

  remember, if there's any water at all in the wash, you stay out of it. And if

  any water starts down while you're in it, get out in a hurry."

  "Okay Mommy."

  So Stevie put on his sandals—there were too many stickers on the road to go

  barefoot—and went after Eddie. He tracked him carefully like Daddy showed him—

  all bent over—and only had to look twice to see where he was so he'd be sure

  to follow the right tracks. He finally tracked him down into the wash.

  Burro Eddie was eating mesquite beans off a bush across the wash from The

  Dark. Stevie held out his hand and waggled his fingers at him.

  "Come on, Eddie. Come on, old feller."

  Eddie waggled his ears at Stevie and peeked out of the corner of his eyes,

  but he went on pulling at the long beans, sticking his teeth way out so the

  thorns wouldn't scratch his lips so bad. Stevie walked slow and careful toward

  Eddie, making soft talk real coaxing-like and was just sliding his hand up

  Eddie's shoulder to get hold of the ragged old rope around his neck when Eddie

  decided to be scared and jumped with all four feet. He skittered across to the

  other side of the wash, tumbling Stevie down on the rough, gravelly sand.

  "Daggone you, Eddie!" he yelled, getting up. "You come on back here. We

  gotta get out of the wash. Mommy's gonna be mad at us. Don't be so mean!"

  Stevie started after Eddie and Eddie kept on playing like he was scared. He

  flapped his stringy tail and tried to climb the almost straight-up-and-down

  bank of the wash. His front feet scrabbled at the bank and his hind feet

  kicked up the s
and. Then he slid down on all fours and just stood there, his

  head pushed right up against the bank, not moving at all.

  Stevie walked up to him real slow and started to take the old rope. Then he

  saw where Eddie was standing:

  "Aw, Eddie," he said, squatting down in the sand. "Look what you went and

  did. You kicked all my magic away. You let The Dark get out. Now I haven't got

  anything Arnold hasn't got Dern you, Eddie!" He stood up and smacked Eddie's

  flank with one hand. But Eddie just stood there and his flank felt funny—kinda

  stiff and cold.

  "Eddie!" Stevie dragged on the rope and Eddie's head turned—jerky—like an

  old gate. Then Eddie's feet moved, but slow and funny, until Eddie was turned

  around.

  "What's the matter, Eddie?" Stevie put his hand on Eddie's nose and looked

  at him close. Something was wrong with the burro's eyes. They were still big

  and dark, but now they didn't seem to see Stevie or anything—they looked

  empty. And while Stevie looked into them, there came a curling blackness into

  them, like smoke coming through a crack and all at once the eyes began to see

  again. Stevie started to back away, his hands going out in front of him.

  "Eddie," he whispered. "Eddie, what's the matter?" And Eddie started after

  him—but not like Eddie—not with fast feet that kicked the sand in little

  spurts, but slow and awful, the two legs on one side together, then the two

  legs on the other side—like a sawhorse or something that wasn't used to four

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  legs. Stevie's heart began to pound under his T-shirt and he backed awayfaster. "Eddie, Eddie," he pleaded. "Don't, Eddie. Don't act like that. Begood. We gotta go back to the house."

  But Eddie kept on coming, faster and faster, his legs getting looser so

  they worked better and his eyes staring at Stevie. Stevie backed away until he

  ran into a big old cottonwood trunk that high water brought down after the

  last storm. He ducked around in back of the trunk. Eddie just kept on dragging

  his feet through the sand until he ran into the trunk too, but his feet kept

  on moving, even when he couldn't go any farther. Stevie put out one shaky hand

  to pat Eddie's nose. But he jerked it back and stared and stared across the

  tree trunk at Eddie. And Eddie stared back with eyes that were wide and shiny

  like quiet lightning. Stevie swallowed dryness in his throat and then he knew.

  "The Dark!" he whispered. "The Dark. It got out. It got in Eddie!"

  He turned and started to run kitty-cornered across the wash. There was an

  awful scream from Eddie. Not a donkey scream at all, and Stevie looked back

  and saw Eddie—The Dark—coming after him, only his legs were working better now

  and his big mouth was wide open with the big yellow teeth all wet and shiny.

  The sand was sucking at Stevie's feet, making him stumble. He tripped over

  something and fell. He scrambled up again and his hands splashed as he

  scrambled. The runoff from the Whetstones was coming and Stevie was in the

  wash!

  He could hear Eddie splashing behind him. Stevie looked back and screamed

  and ran for the bank. Eddie's face wasn't Eddie any more. Eddie's mouth looked

  full of twisting darkness and Eddie's legs had learned how a donkey runs and

  Eddie could outrun Stevie any day of the week. The water was coming higher and

  he could feel it grab his feet and suck sand out from under him every step he

  took.

  Somewhere far away he heard Mommy shrieking at him, "Stevie! Get out of the

  wash!"

  Then Stevie was scrambling up the steep bank, the stickers getting in his

  hands and the fine silty dirt getting in his eyes. He could hear Eddie coming

  and he heard Mommy scream, "Eddie!" and there was Eddie trying to come up the

  bank after him, his mouth wide and slobbering.

  Then Stevie got mad. "Dern you, old Dark!" he screamed. "You leave Eddie

  alone!" He was hanging onto the bushes with one hand but he dug into his

  pocket with the other and pulled out his pocket piece. He looked down at

  it—his precious pocket piece—two pieces of popsicle stick tied together so

  they looked a little bit like an airplane, and on the top, lopsided and

  scraggly, the magic letters INRI. Stevie squeezed it tight, and then he

  screamed and threw it right down Eddie's throat—right into the swirling nasty

  blackness inside of Eddie.

  There was an awful scream from Eddie and a big bursting roar and Stevie

  lost hold of the bush and fell down into the racing, roaring water. Then Mommy

  was there gathering him up, crying his name over and over as she waded to a

  low place in the bank, the water curling above her knees, making her stagger.

  Stevie hung on tight and cried, "Eddie! Eddie! That mean old Dark! He made me

  throw my pocket piece away! Oh, Mommy, Mommy! Where's Eddie?"

  And he and Mommy cried together in the stickery sand up on the bank of the

  wash while the flood waters roared and rumbled down to the river, carrying

  Eddie away, sweeping the wash clean, from bank to bank.

  And a Little Child-—

  I have arrived at an age—well, an age that begins to burden my body sometimes,but I don't think I'd care to go back and live the years again. There'rereally only a few things I envy in the young—one thing, really, that I wish I

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  had back—and that's the eyes of children. Eyes that see everything new,everything fresh, everything wonderful, before custom can stale or life hastwisted awry. Maybe that's what Heaven will be—eyes forever new.

  But there is sometimes among children another seeing-ness—a seeing thatgoes beyond the range of adult eyes, that sometimes seem to trespass even onother dimensions. Those who can see like that have the unexpected eyes— theeerie eyes—the Seeing eyes.

  The child had Seeing eyes. I noticed them first when the Davidsons movedinto the camping spot next to ours on the North Fork. The Davidsons we knewfrom previous years, but it was our first meeting with their son Jerry, andthe wife and child he had brought home from overseas. One nice thing aboutcamping out is that you don't have to be bashful about watching other peoplesettle in. In fact, if you aren't careful, you end up fighting one of theirtent ropes while someone else hammers a peg, or you get involved in where totoe-nail in a shelf on a tree, or in deciding the best place for someone elseto dip wash-water out of the creek without scooping gravel or falling in. Evenbeing a grandmother twice over doesn't exempt you.

  It was while I was sitting on my favorite stump debating whether to changemy shoes and socks or let them squelch themselves dry, that I noticed thechild. She was hunched up on a slanting slab of rock in the late afternoonsunshine, watching me quietly. I grinned at her and wiggled a wet toe.

  "I suppose I ought to change," I said. "It's beginning to get cold."

  "Yes," she said. "The sun is going down." Her eyes were very wide.

  "I've forgotten your name," I said. "I have to forget it four times beforeI remember." I peeled off one of my wet socks and rubbed a thumb across thered stain it had left on my toes.

  "I'm Liesle," she said gravely. "Look at the funny hills." She gesturedwith her chin at the hills down the trail.

  "Funny?" I looked at them. They were just rolling hills humping ratherabruptly up from the trail in orderly rows until they merged with the aspenthicket. "Just hills," I said, toweling my foot on the leg of my jeans
. "Thegrass on them is kind of thick this year. It's been a wet spring."

  "Grass?" she said. "It looks almost like—like fur."

  "Fur? Mmm, well, maybe." I hopped over to the tent and crawled in to findsome dry socks. "If you squint your eyes tight and don't quite look at it." Myvoice was muffled in the darkness of the tent. I backed out again, clutching arolled pair of socks in my hand. "Oh, geeps!" I said. "Those gruesome oldpurple ones. Well, a few more years of camping out and maybe they'll go theway of all flesh."

  I settled back on my stump and turned to the child, then blinked at thefour eyes gravely contemplating me. "Well, hi!" I said to Annie, the child'smother. "I'm just forgetting Liesle's name for the last time."

  Liesle smiled shyly, leaning against her mother. "You're Gramma," she said.

  "I sure am, bless Pat and Jinnie. And you're wonderful to remember mealready."

  Liesle pressed her face to her mother's arm in embarrassment.

  "She has your eyes," I said to Annie.

  "But hers are darker blue." Annie hugged Liesle's head briefly. Then "Come,child, we must start supper."

  " 'By, Gramma," said Liesle, looking back over her shoulder. Then her eyesflickered and widened and an odd expression sagged her mouth open. Annie'stugging hand towed her a reluctant step, then she turned and hurriedly scootedhi front of Annie, almost tripping her. "Mother!" I heard her breathlessvoice. "Mother!" as they disappeared around the tent.

  I looked back over my own shoulder. Liesle's eyes had refocused themselvesbeyond me before her face had changed. Something back there—?

  Back there the sun was setting in pale yellow splendor and purple shadowswere filling up the hollows between the hills. I've climbed little hills likethose innumerable times—and rolled down them and napped on them and battedgnats on them. They were gentle, smooth hills, their fine early faded, grassy

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  covering silver against the sun, crisply tickly under the cheek. Just hills.Nothing could be more serene and peaceful. I raised an eyebrow and shrugged.You meet all kinds.

  That night the Davidsons came over to our campfire and we all sat around inthe chilly, chilly dark, talking and listening—listening to the wind in thepines, to the Little Colorado brawling its way down from Baldy, the sounds oftiny comings and goings through the brush—all the sounds that spell summer tothose of us who return year after year to the same camping grounds.

  Finally the fire began to flicker low and the unaccustomed altitude wasmaking us drowsy, so we hunted up our flashlights and started our before-bedtrek across the creek to the Little Houses hidden against the hillside. Men tothe left, girls to the right, we entertained briefly the vision of tiledbathrooms back home, but were somehow pleasured with the inconvenience becauseit spelled vacation. We females slithered and giggled over the wetlog-and-plank bridge across the creek. It still had a grimy ghost of snowalong its sheltered edge and until even as late as July there would be aragged snowbank up against the hill near the girls' Little House, with violetsand wild strawberries blooming at its edge. Things happen like that at ninethousand feet of elevation. We edged past the snowbank—my Trisha leading thegroup, her flashlight pushing the darkness aside imperiously. She was followedby our Jinnie—Pat is a goat and goes to the left—then came Mrs. Davidson,Annie and Liesle, and I was the caboose, feeling the darkness nudging at myback as it crowded after our lights.