Charles De Lint - Memory and Dream

“Still ... you must be disappointed.”

Alan nodded. Talking business, Marisa seemed to have perked up some. Alan hated to remind her of her problems, but he didn’t see that he had any choice.

“Marisa, we have to talk.”

As soon as he spoke the words, Alan saw a change come over her. She sat up a little straighter and bit at her lower lip, but appeared determined to tough out what she seemed to think was coming.

“I won’t impose on you any longer,” she said. “I just didn’t have any other place to go. But I’ll call around. I ... I’m even thinking of moving back east. At least I know some people out there ....”

Her voice trailed off as Alan shook his head.

“We’re not talking about you leaving,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to. We can move the boxes of books out of the spare room and set it up for you.”

There, he thought. Though he hadn’t meant to, he’d already begun to define how their relationship would go. Separate rooms, separate beds ... “I couldn’t let you do that. I know you need your own space.” Alan gave her an odd look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve always known you were a private person,” Marisa said. “Sort of reserved. Why do you think I tease you so much? It’s the best way to get a rise out of you.”

Alan didn’t feel able to explain why she had gotten the idea he was reserved. Originally, it’d had more to do with her, and her marriage to George, than his own feelings toward her. By now it had become a habit.

“I want you to stay,” he said. “That was never in question. What I wanted to talk to you about was what you wanted to take from your apartment and how you wanted to go about doing it.”

“Oh, god. I don’t know. If I could afford it, I think I’d just go out and buy all new things.”

Alan shook his head. “That’s your being upset that’s talking.”

“I don’t want anything from George.”

“Fine. But you should at least take your own things.”

She gave him a helpless look. “I don’t even know how I can face him. My leaving do you know that it came as an absolute shock to him? He had no idea our marriage was even in trouble, little say over. It’s like he’s never heard a word I had to say about it.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to think about it,” Alan said. “You know—if he didn’t acknowledge the problems, then they’d just go away.”

“Well, I guess it worked,” Marisa said. “Because I’m not going back.”

“I doubt this is the solution he was thinking of.”

Marisa shrugged. “It’s too late for anything to be done about it now.” She looked so hurt and confused that Alan’s heart went out to her. “Tell me I’m not making a mistake,” she said.

“The only mistake you made,” Alan told her, “was waiting this long to leave him.” 7

The smile that touched Marisa’s lips held no humor.

“Thanks,” she said. “I needed to hear that.”

VII

This is perfect,” Isabelle said. She stepped back from where she’d been looking out the window to survey her new studio once more. “There’s so much space.”

Jilly was sitting on the floor across the large room, surrounded by all the various cases and boxes and bundles that they’d just finished lugging up the stairs. Rubens lay sprawled across her lap, half-asleep and completely relaxed.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve often thought I should go into real estate. It’s just a gift I have.”

“I’ll have to get some furniture,” Isabelle said. “Nothing too fancy. A futon. A drawing table.”

“A kitchen table and chairs.”

“A bookcase.”

“An easel.”

“I’ve got one—it’s just in pieces in one of those boxes.”

“It’s like being a student all over again, isn’t it?” Jilly said. “Do you think you’ll survive?”

Isabelle looked around herself once more. The studio was utterly at odds with her work space on the island—not simply for what it was itself, but for what surrounded it: the view from the window of the river and the city spread out on either side of it; the sound of traffic rising up from the street; the sense of sharing a building with so many other people. There was a buzz in the air that Isabelle always associated with the city. Part electric hum, part the press and proximity of so many other souls.

“Actually, I think I’ll thrive,” she said. “I might have had some trouble getting into the proper frame of mind back on the island. But here ... ever since I arrived, I’ve felt as though I’m falling into one of Kathy’s stories.”

Especially when she thought of John Sweetgrass having been seen in this very No, she told herself. Don’t even start thinking about that.

“Is something the matter?” Jilly asked.

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, you just had the oddest expression on your face. I couldn’t tell if you were happy or upset.”

“Happy,” Isabelle assured her. “But a little intimidated with everything I’ve got ahead of me.”

“It’s going to be a lot of work, isn’t it?”

Isabelle nodded.

“Not to mention call up a lot of old memories,” Jilly added.

“Well, I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to do it,” Isabelle said. She gave Jilly what she hoped was a bright smile. “Ready to try out one of those cafes downstairs?”

“What about all of this?” Jilly asked, indicating the jumble of unpacked boxes and bags.

Isabelle shook her head. “That I’m going to deal with tomorrow. Tonight I just want to relax.”

“What about Rubens?”

“He can explore his new domain. We’ll come collect him when we’re ready to go back to your place.”

VIII

It took Cosette the longest time to find out where he lived. Isabelle was easy. She always knew where Isabelle was. All she had to do was close her eyes and she’d know, but that was because Isabelle was the one to bring her over from the before. It would have been more surprising for Cosette not to know where Isabelle was. But it took her longer to track down Alan and then, when she finally did climb up the fire escape attached to the side of his house and peer in his kitchen window, it was only to find that some other woman she didn’t know at all had gotten there before her.

Wasn’t it just the way, she thought grumpily, sitting down on the fire-escape steps. Somebody else always got there first. And it wasn’t as though that woman with Alan didn’t already have so much. She could sleep and dream on the wings of the red crow, just as everybody else in the world could—everybody except for her and those brought over from the before.

Rising to her feet, she pushed her face close to the glass and offered the pair of them a glower, but neither Alan nor the woman bothered to look her way. She started to lift a hand to tap on the pane, but then let her arm fall back down to her side again. Sighing, she returned to her seat on the fire escape.

And she’d so been looking forward to seeing him blush again. She’d never known that grown men could blush so easily. There was so much she didn’t know; so much she might never know. What did it feel like to dream? What was it like when the red crow beat its wings inside your chest and you didn’t have to wonder about being real, you just were? What a luxury to take such a miracle for granted.

She looked down at her new shoes, but all the pleasure from getting them and her sweater was draining away.

It wasn’t fair. It had never been fair and it never would be.

Her gaze traveled up into the sky where the moon hung drowsing among the stars, high above the neon lights and streetlamps and all the other sparkling, stuttering lights that made the city glow.