Jim stood tall and now lay long in bed, strung together by marsh-grass, his bones easy in his flesh, his flesh easy on his bones. The library books lay unopened by his relaxed right hand.
Waiting, his eyes were dark as twilight, with shadows under the eyes from the time, his mother said, he had almost died when he was three and still remembered. His hair was dark autumn chestnut and the veins in his temples and brow and in his neck and ticking in his wrists and on the backs of his slender hands, all these were dark blue. He was marbled with dark, was Jim Nightshade, a boy who talked less and smiled less as the years increased.
The trouble with Jim was that he looked at the world and could not look away. And when you never look away all your life, by the time you are thirteen you have done twenty years taking in the laundry of the world.
Will Halloway, it was in him young to always look just beyond, over or to one side. So at thirteen he had saved up only six years of staring.
Jim knew every centimeter of his shadow, could have cut it out of tar paper, furled it, and run it up a flagpole--his banner.
Will, he was occasionally surprised to see his shadow following him somewhere, but that was that.
"Jim, you awake?"
"Hi, Mom."
A door opened and now shut. He felt her weight on the bed.
"Why Jim, your hands are like ice. You shouldn't have your window so high. Mind your health."
"Sure."
"Don't say 'sure' that way. You don't know until you've had three children and lost all but one."
"Never going to have any," said Jim.
"You just say that."
"I know it. I know everything."
She waited a moment. "What do you know?"
"No use making more people. People die."
His voice was very calm and quiet and almost sad.
"That's everything."
"Almost everything. You're here, Jim. If you weren't, I'd given up a long time ago."
"Mom." A long silence. "Can you remember Dad's face? Do I look like him?"
"The day you go away is the day he leaves forever."
"Who's going away?"
"Why, just lying there, Jim, you run so fast. I never saw anyone move so much, just sleeping. Promise me, Jim. Wherever you go and come back, bring lots of kids. Let them run wild. Let me spoil them, some day."
"I'm never going to own anything can hurt me."
"You going to collect rocks, Jim? No, some day, you've got to be hurt."
"No, I don't."
He looked at her. Her face had been hit a long time ago. The bruises had never gone from around her eyes.
"You'll live and get hurt," she said, in the dark. "But when it's time, tell me. Say goodbye. Otherwise, I might not let you go. Wouldn't that be terrible, to just grab ahold?"
She rose up suddenly and went to put the window down.
"Why do boys want their windows open wide?"
"Warm blood."
"Warm blood." She stood alone. "That's the story of all our sorrows. And don't ask why."
The door shut.
Jim, alone, raised the window, and leaned into the absolutely clear night.
Storm, he thought, you there?
Yes.
Feel... away to the west... a real humdinger, rushing along!
The shadow of the lightning rod lay on the drive below.
He sucked in cold air, gave out a vast exhiliration of heat.
Why, he thought, don't I climb up, knock that lightning rod loose, throw it away?
And then see what happens.
Yes.
And then see what happens!
-chaper 9, Something Wicked This Way Comes
Waiting, his eyes were dark as twilight, with shadows under the eyes from the time, his mother said, he had almost died when he was three and still remembered. His hair was dark autumn chestnut and the veins in his temples and brow and in his neck and ticking in his wrists and on the backs of his slender hands, all these were dark blue. He was marbled with dark, was Jim Nightshade, a boy who talked less and smiled less as the years increased.
The trouble with Jim was that he looked at the world and could not look away. And when you never look away all your life, by the time you are thirteen you have done twenty years taking in the laundry of the world.
Will Halloway, it was in him young to always look just beyond, over or to one side. So at thirteen he had saved up only six years of staring.
Jim knew every centimeter of his shadow, could have cut it out of tar paper, furled it, and run it up a flagpole--his banner.
Will, he was occasionally surprised to see his shadow following him somewhere, but that was that.
"Jim, you awake?"
"Hi, Mom."
A door opened and now shut. He felt her weight on the bed.
"Why Jim, your hands are like ice. You shouldn't have your window so high. Mind your health."
"Sure."
"Don't say 'sure' that way. You don't know until you've had three children and lost all but one."
"Never going to have any," said Jim.
"You just say that."
"I know it. I know everything."
She waited a moment. "What do you know?"
"No use making more people. People die."
His voice was very calm and quiet and almost sad.
"That's everything."
"Almost everything. You're here, Jim. If you weren't, I'd given up a long time ago."
"Mom." A long silence. "Can you remember Dad's face? Do I look like him?"
"The day you go away is the day he leaves forever."
"Who's going away?"
"Why, just lying there, Jim, you run so fast. I never saw anyone move so much, just sleeping. Promise me, Jim. Wherever you go and come back, bring lots of kids. Let them run wild. Let me spoil them, some day."
"I'm never going to own anything can hurt me."
"You going to collect rocks, Jim? No, some day, you've got to be hurt."
"No, I don't."
He looked at her. Her face had been hit a long time ago. The bruises had never gone from around her eyes.
"You'll live and get hurt," she said, in the dark. "But when it's time, tell me. Say goodbye. Otherwise, I might not let you go. Wouldn't that be terrible, to just grab ahold?"
She rose up suddenly and went to put the window down.
"Why do boys want their windows open wide?"
"Warm blood."
"Warm blood." She stood alone. "That's the story of all our sorrows. And don't ask why."
The door shut.
Jim, alone, raised the window, and leaned into the absolutely clear night.
Storm, he thought, you there?
Yes.
Feel... away to the west... a real humdinger, rushing along!
The shadow of the lightning rod lay on the drive below.
He sucked in cold air, gave out a vast exhiliration of heat.
Why, he thought, don't I climb up, knock that lightning rod loose, throw it away?
And then see what happens.
Yes.
And then see what happens!
-chaper 9, Something Wicked This Way Comes
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
i like the sun
and being out in the heat
but i have no gardening skills
and im gimpy so my general labor is pretty weak
but
i got my name from a CURSIVE ep
i thout of Doghouse Records when i saw your name
cause i used to work for them
have a good thanksgiving
Good stuff! My name was only kettlechip for one night, in case I was confusing you! It was a crisp based joke in SGUK you see.
So I'm guessing you're not really in East Timor hey?