Chapter the 19th
“Stop the train!” cried Sheila.
She ran to the window and pounded on the glass as the train speed past the strange sketchy trees. Roger tried to open the window, but he couldn’t. Samantha pulled at the chord, hoping it would stop the train, but it had no effect. They caught a glimpse of Kevin sitting on the ground, but all they could do was wave helplessly at him before they were long passed him.
“There nothing we can do about it,” said Roger, as he plopped back into his chair.
“There has to be,” Sheila insisted.
“No there doesn’t,” said Samantha.
“What do you mean there doesn’t have to be anything we can do about it?” Sheila yelled.
“What we mean is that we regret the loss of Kevin and hope we find him again,” said Roger, “but at the moment, there is nothing that we can do to make that happen. And furthermore, it is not a necessary fact that there be a way to stop the train and retrieve Kevin.”
“Do you mean we just have to leave him?” Sheila yelled.
“The engineer told us to stay on the train,” said Samantha.
“But what’s going to happen to Kevin?” Sheila cried out.
“I don’t know,” Samantha replied.
“I don’t know, either,” said Roger.
Sheila circled the car like a caged animal looking for a way out. Theodora continued to play gentle music on the toy piano as if nothing had happened.
“Don't either of you have any feeling?” she asked.
Roger shrugged. Samantha shrugged.
“I see you don't!” Sheila charged, her whole body quivering as it had never quivered before.
Samantha began to beat out a complex rhythm on the coffee table. Roger put his hand to his chin and thought for a moment. Then he began to make the motions of playing an invisible and inaudible violin. Sheila began to wish that the toy piano was big enough for her to play it herself to get her mind off her worry about Kevin. She also asked herself why she was so worried about Kevin when she had never cared much about him before. Sheila sat down but she was so restless that she had to get up again and look out the window. The train was crossing a bridge over a large body of water. Or so Sheila assumed until the train started to rock like a boat and she had to hang on to the nearest seat to keep her balance. Roger and Samantha both struggled to keep from falling out of their chairs.
“Are we sailing across the ocean or does it just feel that way?” Samantha asked, sounding casual about the whole thing.
“I think we’re on the water,” said Sheila uncertainly.
“Oh good!” cried Roger. “I’ve always wanted to see the ocean!
Roger and Samantha ran to the window just as a pirate ship came into view. More curious yet, the ship appeared to be towing a lighthouse across the water.
“Oh better than good!” cried Roger. “The national pirates of Carelin are sailing!”
“What are they doing with that lighthouse?” asked Sheila.
“I don’t know,” said Samantha.
Before the children could speculate any further, the train plunged into the water like a submarine. Sheila screamed.
“Billowing bassoons and cellos!” Roger exclaimed, “What bubbles!”
The bubbles that filled the window were a spectacular sight, but Sheila was too frightened to care about that.
“Who cares about bubbles when we’re going to drown?” Sheila cried.
“Who says we’re going to drown?” asked Samantha.
“But—you can’t drive a train through water like this!” Sheila spluttered.
“I know I can’t,” said Roger. “I just hope the engineer can.”
Seaweed and peculiar fish sped by the train as comfortably as did the farmhouses and fields earlier in the trip. But water began to seep into the train car so that it felt like it was raining inside.
“There’s no way we can get off the train,” Sheila complained.
“That’s good,” said Samantha, “since we’re not supposed to get off.”
“What if this car fills up with water?” asked Sheila, her anxiety rising when Theodora and the toy piano began to float in the water.
“Do you know how to swim?” asked Roger.
“Very funny,” said Sheila.
“That’s what I thought,” said Roger.
Sheila could only hope that the odd children were right to be as unconcerned about the situation as they were. She had to admit that, as she looked out the window, the sight was more enchanting than ever. The seaweed took on the air of an enchanted forest and colorful fish wove their way between the underwater trees.
“There's a barracuda out there!” cried Roger “and dolphins and-“
“And mermaids!” added Samantha.
Sure enough, mermaids and mermen swam alongside the train and waved at the passengers. Sheila started to raise a hand tentatively to wave back at them when the window blanked out and then the lights inside the train went out. Sheila could feel the motion of the train but had a growing sense that the train was suspended in nowhere.
“Sheila!” Roger cried. “Your candle! Quick!”
Finding the candle in the dark was no easy matter. Sheila thought she knew where the coffee table was, but when she put her hand out, she came up empty.
“I can’t find it!” Sheila gasped.
“I’ve got it!” said Samantha.
“Give it to me!” Sheila demanded, surprised with how insistent she was.
“Here!”
Sheila felt the candle nestle in her hands just as the train hit a bump that knocked the children off their feet. Sheila didn’t know which end was up when she landed on either the ceiling or the floor and the train came to a grinding halt.
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So small. So tight. So weightless. So aimless. So blinded by his own light. Floating in the dark. Always burning but never burnt up. Caught in the web yet floating free. Feeling no pain and feeling no pleasure. Feeling nothing. Knowing that he was nothing. Being nowhere, yet remembering he was inside his treasure chest. His very own treasure chest. Not much of a treasure, though, if there was nothing inside the treasure chest but himself except a spark that was all that was left of him. Spark as he was, he knew he was still a king, but a king with no subjects. He was only the king of a broken train set and a bunch of plastic toys. With these confused thoughts swirling through him, he knew that his mind—what was left of it—was somewhere inside the tiny spark he had become.
He wanted something. He was always wanting something. Even as he floated aimlessly, he wanted something, preferably everything. In addition to wanting everything, he wanted the engine for his train set. He thought the package would have the new engine he wanted, but the company cheated him and sent him an empty treasure chest instead. A tiny, thinking, desiring spark in the darkness didn’t amount to much of a treasure. Neither did the Web that guided the floating spark in the darkness, a Web spun by a bossy spider, a spider who thinks she knows everything, a spider who thinks she can do anything she wants with anybody who is caught in her Web. This spider has another thought coming.
He wanted that girl back, the girl he took to that fancy restaurant and then left as he ran off to get himself the toy he wanted and to find a gift for her. The girl didn't wait for him to return with the train engine and his gift for her. The girl doesn’t care for him anyway. Nobody does. She only likes him for the steak and lobster dinners he can buy her. The girl said something about wanting him to help her find the light that was disappearing. That meant she only wanted to use him, same as everybody else. Go fetch this light for me like a good boy. Thank you very much. If you bring back the light I asked for, then maybe I’ll kiss you. Well, now I’m a spark. Will that do? Is that enough? Probably not. How can a girl kiss a spark and make the spark happy? Would the Web let the spark kiss her? Or would the Web pull them apart? There’s no question about it: the spider must be put in her place and kept there.
His father hardly ever writes and hardly ever calls. He comes to town only because he’s got some profitable business to do there. Seeing him is an afterthought. His father only likes him because he promises to be the same person as himself. If he should be anybody else besides a copy of his father, he would be nothing. His mother prefers the bottle to him. That makes him worth less than a bottle. He is only a spark lost in a treasure chest. His mother wouldn’t want that. Not if she could have another bottle.
He is Superbrat: a great big nothing. He has all the best clothes wrapped about him but he has nothing inside. He is all clothes but there is nobody to wear them. Now he is just a spark. A spark can’t wear clothes. He is nothing and he has nothing to wear. He is clothed in the Web that binds him as he floats free and aimlessly. He is a king, but how can a mere spark order his subjects and make them follow his decrees?
While floating in the dark, the spark saw another spark. What might this spark be? the first spark asked himself. The other spark mirrors his floating movements. Is this only a mirror in the dark? The mirroring spark looks brighter. Is this spark the light that is rightfully his, the light stashed away in his treasure chest?
The spark bounced off something and floated up in the dark and then the web gently pulled him back. Is the spider finally ready to end this cat-and-mouse game and eat him? A pair of eyes appeared. The eyes were blue and they reflected the light of the spark he has become. He bounced up and down in front of the spider's face. Each bounce took him up to the mirror and the reflected light. The mirror is just above the face. One more bounce and then he saw a beard. One bounce more and he saw the face of a man. The spark above the face is a golden crown. It is the crown that is the mirror. But he is the true spark and not a reflection. He is the true king. He landed in the palm of a hand where the false king can crush him in his fist.
“Now, what might you be doing in my treasure chest?” asked the false king.
This is my treasure chest, not yours! the spark wanted to scream to the false king but, being only a spark, he had no voice and could say nothing.
“Surely you have come from something,” said the king.
If I came from somewhere, then I must be something, the spark thought to himself.
“Are you the spark that will bring back the lost light?” the king asked.
“Most sparks will accomplish something if you give them a chance, my most highly exalted Perezvon XXVI,” said a female.
“Who are you?” asked the king.
The spark knew well enough who it was. He recognized her voice and he recognized the way she slid along a thread of her Web and he recognized her piercing yellow eyes.
“Surely you know who it is that spins all the connections that you depend upon,” answered the spider, haughty as ever, though the spark.
“I am the one who holds the kingdom together,” said Perezvon.
“I am not content to hold only one kingdom together, my puny monarch.”
“How dare you insult me!”
The spark bounced with delight over the putdown, but he also knew that the insult applied to him as well and he did not like that.
“I never insult anybody,” said the spider. “I only speak the truth.”
The spark bounced up and down on the king’s hand to remind him of his existence. It worked.
“I seem to have found a scrap of light inside this treasure chest,” said the king.
“So you have,” the spider replied.
“What do you think I should do with this spark?” asked the king.
“Don't you know even yet?”
“I wouldn't ask if I did.”
“What is the spark doing right now?”
“It’s bouncing up and down in my hand.”
“And what thought comes to mind about that?”
“It’s hard to hold a spark.”
“And what does that mean?”
Each time he bounced up into the air, the spark felt the web pull him back down to the king’s hand. Each time he landed, the crowned man cried out and he bounced back up. The spark began to think that he was going to be a ping-pong ball of a spark for the rest of his existence. But the third time he landed on the hand, he rested there.
“Are you getting used to it, Your Majesty Perezvon XXVI?” asked the spider.
“Yea, it isn't that warm after all. It's just a spark.”
Just a spark. Just a little nothing, thought the spark to himself.
“Hey!” the king cried. “What's happening? I'm caught!”
“It’s about time you noticed,” said the spider.
“Do you mean to say I’ve been caught in this web for some time?” asked the king.
“That is precisely what I mean to say,” replied the spider.
“How dare you constrain the king inside of his own treasure chest?”
“For one thing, this treasure chest may not belong to you,” said the spider. “For a second thing, I never constrain anybody. I only hold people and things together.”
“Who else has the right to this treasure chest besides myself?” asked Perezvon.
“It might be that nobody has the right to any treasure chest, yourself included.”
The spark was thrust out of the king’s hand when the king lunged at the spider. The spark landed on a strand of the web and bounced back and landed on the king’s shoulder, where the crown reflected his pin prick of light.
“Now I can't move at all!” cried the king.
“That is because you are trying to do the wrong thing—as is usual with you,” the spider reprimanded the king. “In Melanie's Web, you are never constrained from doing the right thing. Lunging at me is not right at all.”
“But what if I don't want to do the right thing?” asked the king.
“Then you have the freedom to be trapped in Melanie's web forever. If you take that option, don't complain to me that your freedom is lost.”
“What freedom?”
“The freedom to do the right thing!” the spider’s voice rang out in such penetrating tones that the spark did a somersault on the king’s shoulder.
“Do you call this freedom?” asked the king.
“Melanie is tired of trying to convince King Perezvon xxvi of things he prefers to remain unconvinced of,” said the spider.
“Good,” said the king. “Now I can go where I want with my little spark to light the way.”
Not in your life, the spark would have said if he could speak. His only satisfaction was that he knew that there was nothing in the dark for him to light up and the king would stumble in the dark forever. That was fine, but how would the spark ever get out of the darkness if it was stuck with this lost king? The king walked away from the spider and then kept on walking. The spark lost track of time as he rode in the king’s shoulder. The king seemed to lose track of time as well. Suddenly, the king brushed the spark off his shoulder, leaving the spark to float on its own.
“Worthless spark!” snarled the king. “You can’t show me anything!”
The spark knew he was worthless. His parents had thrown him away. His schoolmates had thrown him away. He would throw himself away if he could.
“Can't you see you've got a soul on your hands?” asked the spider.
“I thought I’d gotten rid of you,” growled the king.
“It is not possible to get rid of Melanie the Web Spinner,” the spider replied. “And it is not possible to get rid of a spark who is a living soul.”
As Melanie said those words, the spark felt itself being drawn back to the king until he landed back in the palm of his hand.
“So I see,” said the king. “Now what do you expect me to do with it?”
“Why don't you talk to it?” suggested the spider.
“Because I have nothing to say to a spark,” the king replied.
I didn’t think I was worth talking to, the spark thought to himself.
“I suggest that you use your royal brilliance to come up with something to say to this spark,” said Melanie.
There was a long pause. After all, what was there for a king to say to a spark who wasn't anything?
“O Spark, Spark resting in my hand,” said the king as if reciting a poem, “please tell me who you are.”
If he could have folded his hands across his chest, the spark would have done it, but he was only a spark with his body hidden inside him.
“Spark! By royal decree I command you to speak to me and explain your presence in my treasure chest!”
The spark wished he could have stuck out his tongue at the king but he couldn’t.
“You might try speaking kindly to the spark,” suggested the spider.
“A king is not used to having to speak kindly to anybody,” the king replied.
There was a pause during which the spark could sense the king's simmering anger.
“Perezvon XXVI,” said Melanie the Web Spinner, “you have the choice either of speaking kindly to the spark of a living soul in your hand or not speaking at all. But do not expect to get out of Melanie's Web if you do not learn how to speak to a living soul.”
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The ground felt even less solid to Kevin than it looked. Walking on his treasure island was almost like walking on paper. Each step made him fear that he would put a foot through the ground and he would fall into a bottomless pit. Here and there a sketchy tree he had drawn grew out of the rocky soil that didn’t have any more consistency than a hurriedly drawn sketch. And that’s exactly what it was, Kevin thought ruefully. The incoming tide poured in along the coastline.
“Guess I’d better get the treasure while the getting is good,” Kevin muttered to himself.
Casting aside his apprehensions, Kevin walked up the mound that had been marked by the red X before the wind blew it away. He knelt down and dug out a few loose rocks on top of the mound. The layer underneath proved harder to dig. Kevin’s hands quickly became numb and red.
“I need a shovel,” Kevin muttered to himself. “Why didn’t I draw a shovel?”
Discouraged by his lack of progress, Kevin stood up and looked about him, hoping that wishing for a shovel would make one appear. It didn’t. Although the twilight was still visible, the setting sun did not even give off enough light to form a corridor of light across the sea as it normally would. The twilight glow only functioned as a backdrop to the black water flooding in to the shore. A gust of chill wind rattled Kevin’s bones.
“I need my jacket,” Kevin complained to himself. “I didn’t draw that, either. And I don’t have anything to draw with, besides.”
Kevin looked down into the indentation he had made into the ground and thought for another moment. Perhaps a branch of a tree would help. When no other ideas came to mind, Kevin walked carefully to the nearest tree. He pulled at a branch and nearly fell over on his face when the whole tree collapsed like a piece of cardboard. Kevin swore with words he hadn’t used in a long time.
“There doesn’t seem to be much to that tree,” Kevin complained to himself.
A rustling sound drew Kevin’s attention to the crumpled tree just as the wind picked it up and carried it away as easily as it had blown away the red X.
“That’s not the kind of tree I drew,” Kevin muttered. “I drew a real tree, not a paper one. I drew a real X, too, not just a paper one, just like a drew a real lighthouse and not a paper one. That golden boar I drew came to life. It was plenty real when I touched it. Why doesn’t this island come to life?”
That got Kevin wondering where his lighthouse was. He walked along the coast for a short while but he did not see it.
“Where did that lighthouse go?” Kevin asked. “I know I drew it! Did the wind blow that away, too?”
As soon as Kevin had said those words, he saw a ship towing the lighthouse across the water at some distance from the island and moving further away from it.
“Hey!” Kevin cried out at the ship. “Come back! That’s my lighthouse!”
Kevin ran to the shore and would have chased the lighthouse across the water, but he lost his footing and landed on the rocky ground that was surprisingly soft and dry.
“Why didn’t I hurt myself?” Kevin asked himself.
He started to sink and he grabbed a rock just to keep from falling, not into the water, but into nothing at all.
“If I drew my island right over the Dark Lake, then I’m a goner,” Kevin said to himself.
Strengthen by panic, Kevin sprang up and dashed back to the mound where his treasure had been marked, as the island disintegrated at his heels. This slightly higher ground was about all that remained of the island and that didn’t feel at all secure.
“Now, I’ve got to dig up that treasure,” said Kevin to himself. “I need a shovel. I didn’t draw a shovel. The trees are paper and paper is useless for digging. I know! My boar should be real enough to do the job.”
Kevin whistled through his teeth and imagined the golden boar he had drawn with all his might. A loud crinkly sound, a whoosh of water and an even louder grunt answered the call. A blaze of golden glory burst through the foam of the tide and an animal with a golden coat, burning red eyes and gleaming white tusks trotted to the mound of land toward Kevin.
“I knew you would come!” Kevin exclaimed
The boar nuzzled its face against Kevin's legs while Kevin petted the boar on the head as if it were a pet dog.
“Good boy, good boy,” Kevin cooed. “You’re just as solid and real as you ever were. That’s what I need. I’ll bet that with your hooves and you tusks, you can dig up the treasure in no time. Come on, it’s right over here, somewhere”
The boar grunted contentedly, but it instead of heading for the treasure spot that Kevin indicated, it took a couple of steps back toward the water. Only there was no water, no tide coming in, no sunset. There was nothing. If the boar’s golden fur were not shining, there would be no light at all.
“The Dark Lake!” Kevin cried. “It’s all around me! Hey, Boar! Come back!”
But the golden boar placed a front hoof right into the blackness of the Dark Lake. Kevin whistled hard. The boar turned around and stared at Kevin, its eyes blazing with a fury Kevin could not fathom.
“What's wrong with you?” Kevin asked it. “Come on Boar, I drew you and I drew the treasure map. That means you have to help me dig up the treasure before my so-called friends who left me behind get here.”
The boar growled at a deeper pitch than before.
“I’ll split it with you,” Kevin offered.
The fire blazed more fiercely in the boar’s eyes. But then it padded over to the hole and began to dig into it with its front hoof.
“That’s the way, boar,” Kevin praised his pet. “That’s the way.”
Kevin leaned over eagerly as the boar dug deeper into the dark hole but then it stopped again.
“Keep going,” Kevin urged it. “Not one boy in that stinking choir is going to have as much as one gold piece after what they did to me.”
The boar snorted and gave Kevin such a fierce look that Kevin fell over backwards into the Dark Lake.
“Help me!” Kevin cried.
Before he knew it, the golden boar had slipped underneath Kevin right where he could grab two fistfuls of fur on the boar’s back before the beast charged into the Dark Lake.
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Michael had never thought he could be so still for such an eternity. Stirrings of impatience moved within him, but from a vast distance. The idea of making the slightest movement was unthinkable. Hardly anything was thinkable. Not even his name. He no longer understood the name Michael. Was Michael a strange creature who walked on the ground and never flew? The faint sound of singing still lingered inside his head, the song that accompanied him as he flew to the mountain. He remembered burning himself up with a lit match he had taken from another creature on the ground. The smouldering fire lingered inside of him.
“It's time for you to fly off on your mission,” said one voice.
“Yes, now is the time to fly.”
“The light will soon be gone from every universe if you don't take off now.”
Michael felt a stirring within him. He remembered preaching to an uncomprehending flock about the light. Of course, they were losing the light. They couldn’t tell the difference between a shred of light from a shred of darkness. But the music sounding in his head sang of a mission that he was not yet ready to make.
“The people you preached to didn't know enough to care.”
“What brute beasts those people are.”
“The brute beasts are stealing the light.”
Michael felt a surge of hot anger at the thought. The music turned more lively, like a reveille call.
“They are beasts who do not know how to think.”
“They are animals drinking the light.”
“They are animals, just like the ground creatures you talked to.”
Michael felt as if he would burst into flame any second. The music fell apart. The song ceased, leaving Michael in silence.
“You must fly to where the animals have gathered.”
“Fly to the animals who have stolen the light.”
“You must attack them and take the light from them.”
Michael longed to hear the music he could no longer hear inside of him.
“You will be the hero of the world.”
“Everybody will love you then.”
“Nobody loves you now, you know.”
Michael wanted to fill the ache inside of him with the glory that would be his if he brought the light back into the world. He was almost on fire, but not quite. Would not the fire itself be the light those voices were talking about if he could fan it into flame?
“It will be a new life for you, if you bring back the light.”
“A new life for everybody, but especially for you.”
“You will be worth something after all.”
The music returned, a wailing sound this time, but music nonetheless. With the wailing sound, the birds’ singing returned as well. The music fit the rhythm of the smouldering fire within him like a hand in a glove. He no longer wanted to fly off on a mission just then. His mission was to wait with the smouldering fire and the music. He sensed the rage of the three who had just spoken to him. Their rage felt good to him. He would let their rage continue while he waited.