Charles De Lint - Memory and Dream

“There’s something to be said for menopause,” Albina told her. “It’s the one aspect of growing old that I don’t regret.”

Izzy found a polite smile, but it never reached her eyes. All she wanted now was to be alone with her grief and her anger. The latter was directed as much at herself as it was at Rushkin. How could she have let herself fall under his sway again when she knew, she knew he was not to be trusted?

It seemed to take forever before Albina finally left to go back to the gallery.

XX

It’s not your fault,” Kathy said when Izzy told her that evening. “You couldn’t have known.”

It was what Izzy wanted to hear, but she knew it wasn’t true. She sat at the kitchen table, hugging her bunched-up jacket to her chest, and looked across the table at Kathy through a shimmering gauze of tears.

“But that’s just it,” she said, mournfully. “I did know. I should have realized that Rushkin was a real danger to my numena and that he wouldn’t give up so easily. John warned me about it and I saw Rushkin kill my winged cat. I saw him try to kill Paddyjack.”

“I thought you’d told me you’d dreamed that.”

“I did,” Izzy said. “But no matter how much I want to pretend it didn’t happen, I know it was a real dream—like looking at a movie of something that was actually happening, except I was in it at the same time.”

Kathy reached across the table and took one of Izzy’s hands in both of her own.

“I just feel so sick,” Izzy went on. “When I think of how nice he’s been, how much I’ve been enjoying his company, and all along he was feeding on my numena behind my back ....”

“Wait a minute,” Kathy said. “Is this still Rushkin we’re talking about?” Izzy nodded.

“But I thought you weren’t seeing him anymore.”

“I wasn’t planning to. It’s just, oh, I don’t know. I kind of fell back into a relationship with him. I’d stop by his studio, he’d stop by mine. It was all so harmless and friendly. I was learning so much ....”

“It still wasn’t your fault,” Kathy said. “You don’t have any control over what Rushkin does.”

Although she knew she deserved to be held to blame—she was to blameIzzy was grateful to Kathy for refusing to hold her responsible for what had happened.

“But I should have believed John,” she said. “It’s just that I didn’t want Rushkin to be what John told me he was.”

“When you want things to be different from how they are,” Kathy said, “it’s sometimes easy to convince yourself that they are.”

Izzy nodded unhappily. “But I won’t risk any more of them. From now on, all I’m painting are landscapes, cityscapes, skyscapes—anything except for numena. If I want people in a painting, I’ll do real-life portraits.”

“You can’t do that,” Kathy told her.

“What am I supposed to do? If I paint more of them and bring them across, it’ll just put them into danger. I’d have to keep the paintings all locked away here, or in my studio, and what’s to say he won’t find a way to get at them anyway? He got to the paintings I did at the Grumbling Greenhouse Studio and stole away their vitality without ever laying a hand on them.”

“That you know of “

Izzy shook her head. “No, it was snowing that night. If he’d been in the studio, I would have seen his tracks outside. There would have been some sign of disturbance.”

“So there’s a risk,” Kathy said. “But we’ve had this conversation before. There’s always a risk in life. We take our lives in our own hands just walking across a street.”

“But those are our lives. I can’t be responsible for theirs as well. I can’t seem to protect my numena, so it’s better that I don’t bring them across in the first place.”

“Which leaves them trapped there forever—wherever ‘there’ is.” Izzy gave her a puzzled look.

“What are you saying?”

“From those of your numena that I’ve met,” Kathy said, “it strikes me that they’re happy to be here.

That you’ve taken them from some place that’s not as good as what we have here and given them a new lease on life.”

“We don’t know that their world is so terrible. We don’t know anything about it at all. They don’t even seem to be able to remember what it was like themselves.”

“Maybe they don’t want to remember,” Kathy said. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like it’s a novel theory or anything. Some people embrace their traumas, but a lot more just put them out of their minds and pretend that they never occurred. Selective amnesia. Half the time their subconscious handles the chore for them and they’re not even aware of sealing the bad memories away.”

Izzy felt uncomfortable at the idea, though she couldn’t have explained why. It was just that, as Kathy spoke, she seemed to feel shadows shift inside her, deepening and intensifying.

“I think you owe it to your numena to continue bringing them across,” Kathy went on. “They chose to make the passage here. Granted, it’s not safe here, but it’s not safe anywhere—maybe especially wherever it is that they come from.”

“But—”

“You have to remember that they’re not unhappy to be here. Just look at how John was. Without you, they’ve no hope at all.”

“And when they die? When I can’t protect them and Rushkin gets to them? I can’t stand the idea of carrying around the weight of more of them dying.”

“Don’t sell the paintings,” Kathy told her. “Don’t make any more of them for public consumption.

Keep them safe. Here, or in the studio. Rent a secure storage space if you have to. But you’ve got a gift, ma belle Izzy, and I don’t think it was given to you capriciously.”

“No, it was given to me by Rushkin so that I could feed his needs.”

Kathy shook her head. “All Rushkin did was teach you how to use a gift you already had. Why do you think he was drawn to you? You were already capable of bringing numena across; all he did was show you how.”

Showed her how, Izzy thought. And pretended to be her friend. Pretended to care. But then he’d turned around and betrayed her trust, leaving her with a huge hole in her life.

“I don’t know if I can,” Izzy said.

“You have to,” Kathy said. “There’s no one else to help them across.”

“Except for Rushkin,” Izzy said.

Kathy nodded. “But remember what you said he’d told you about angels and monsters? It stands to reason that, being the way he is, he can only bring across monsters. Someone has to balance things out and allow the angels to cross over as well.”

“Why doesn’t he just feed on his own numena?”

It was a terrible thing to say, Izzy knew, but she couldn’t help herself. At least if Rushkin fed on his own, he’d be responsible, not her. Her own numena would be safe.

“Maybe he can’t,” Kathy said.

Izzy nodded slowly. Of course. Why else had he plucked her off the street and taught her what he had? He’d merely been sowing seeds for future harvests. The thought made her feel nauseated and a sour taste rose up from her stomach.

“I think I feel sick again,” she said.

“I’ll be here for you, ma belle Izzy,” Kathy assured her.

Izzy knew it was true. And it was that, more than Kathy’s arguments about the numena needing her in order to come across, that had her begin painting them again a few weeks later.

This time she didn’t confront Rushkin the way she had before, though she couldn’t have explained why. Whenever the thought arose, it was accompanied with an uneasiness that left her feeling tense and irritable. Instead, she simply stopped going by his studio and refused him admittance to her own. The fact that he made no comment on the sudden change in their relationship only confirmed her belief in his culpability.