Dave Eggers - The Wild Things

“Oh yeah,” Katherine said, nodding vigorously. “He’s eaten almost every gift I’ve given him.”

“How big of a monkey was it?”

“You know, like a normal carrying monkey,” she said, holding her arm up at the exact height of Max. “And it was really sudden.”

Registering Max’s shock, Katherine brightened. “Wow, I sound like a downer, don’t I! Don’t worry. That’s not what I wanted at all . Let’s head back.”

That night, as the fort neared completion, the beasts ate together again, this time feasting on the huge flat feet of some animal Max hadn’t even seen intact and now wanted no part of devouring. Afterward they all collapsed in exhaustion and gluttony, arranged in an interlocking chain of limbs and torsos, circling the dimming fire.

They all fell quickly to sleep, but Max was awake, thinking of monkeys being eaten in one quick bite. Since his morning with Katherine he had thought of little else. Though the afternoon had been full of triumph — the walls were all assembled, the staircases had been built, the basement finished and covered, the tunnels dug in every direction for escape from any and all calamity — Max was stricken with the idea that he could be just as easily eaten as a carrying monkey, and at any time.

Would Carol do such a thing? He had seen flashes of his anger, had been surprised when he was willing to actually kill his enemies on the field of fake-battle. It was one thing to fear the devouring of the rest of the beasts, for Max always had Carol to protect him. But if Carol himself decided to eat him, his head and arms and legs, what would stop him?

Max had been among creatures so much bigger than him for so long that he had to fear, in some small way, for his life more or less at all times. It was just a matter of proportion, really. It wasn’t that they were always meaning to harm him — though they had threatened to eat him many times — but they had also, mistakenly or carelessly, almost maimed or murdered him a half-dozen other times. He had nearly been knocked off a cliff, had been pelted with hairless buffalo, and had almost been crushed by rolling beast-boulders.

He could spend a lot of time, now or in the future, trying to figure out what motivated them all — why they did certain things he wished they didn’t do, and didn’t do other things he wished they would. The creatures were often doing confusing things when he stumbled upon them: he would be running through the forest, looking for something to do, when he would see Judith’s back, and perhaps the side of Ira. And then he would see Ira’s hand inside Judith’s ear, and Judith’s left foot tapping quickly, and the both of them humming intensely. “Oh, hi King,” they would say, and Ira would immediately remove his hand from Judith’s ear and the humming and tapping would cease. He found Douglas more than once sitting alone near the chalky cliffs, moaning and rocking and once even punching himself in the head.

And as Max was contemplating all this, a scraping sound came from Carol’s direction. Max looked over to find him in the middle of his own restless dream. He clawed the ground with his talons, creating deep grooves in the dirt. Max watched as Carol whimpered, growled, and bared his teeth menacingly, all while asleep. Suddenly, Carol, in the middle of some nightmare, lunged toward Max, his claws coming within inches of Max’s face. Max gasped and recoiled. He backed up, crab-style, until he was nestled into Katherine, who murmured something welcoming. As Max burrowed deeper into Katherine, Carol continued to grab and groan and Max continued to watch, wide-eyed, from the shadows.

The morning sky was paper-white and low. Max was inside the fort, pacing out dimensions, drawing an outline on the floor. Carol approached and immediately took notice of Max’s markings. “What’s that?”

Max hadn’t expected to have to tell Carol about this idea so soon. He knew it might upset Carol, but there was no going back, and he didn’t want to lie.

“Well …” Max said, “I was thinking that we need to put a … a place inside where the king is secret. Like a secret chamber for the king.”

Carol looked at the fort, tilting his head.

“A secret what? I don’t understand.”

“Well,” Max said, adopting the air of an experienced architect of castles and kingdoms, “all kingdoms have a special place for the king, where there’s a door and a key … Like a small place.” Max indicated a space just big enough for himself.

“So just big enough for you?” Carol said, as if the notion was beyond preposterous.

“Exactly,” Max said, “the king needs some time to be alone, in a little place … All kings have something like that. It’s … It’s where they come up with their best plans to make everything good for everyone.”

Carol thought about this for a second. “A small place … Okay, okay. Interesting. But how would we get in?”

“Well, I’d let you in.”

“But the door you drew is too small.”

“Yeah, that’s the best part. The door will be secret. And very small. Just big enough for me.”

As Carol began to understand the implications of the secret door, his expression clouded over. “I don’t know,” he said, studying the fort, “I didn’t picture it with secret doors. Secret doors don’t belong in this fort.”

“But it’s my fort, isn’t it?” Max said. “I mean, I’m the king, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Carol said, deflated. “I just need a second to wrap my head around the idea.” He turned from the doors, then turned back again. “And you’ll let us in …” He thought more about it, staring at the wall as if his eyes might bore straight through. “But what if it’s a big place with a secret door?”

“No, no. That’s not how it would be done,” Max insisted. “It should be—”

Carol punched a hole in the wall, leaving a fist-sized gap.

“About that big?” Carol seethed.

“Yeah.”

“Fine.”

His shoulders tense with rage, Carol walked outside and found Douglas.

“Hey Douglas, we’re gonna need a new room in the middle here, a small one with a secret door. The main doors are the same but the doors here are gonna be secret.”

Douglas studied the structure for a moment. He was not pleased with having to redo his work, and he knew that Max’s directive was not pleasing to Carol.

With a sigh, Douglas made his announcement to everyone. “Okay everyone — there’s a little room in the middle and the door’s gonna be secret!”

There were murmurs of confusion throughout the site. Douglas repeated the directive, now louder: “The door’s gonna be secret! The door’s gonna be secret!”

“Psst. Come here,” came a voice. Max turned around to see Judith.

Max stepped over to Judith, who had just emerged from a hole in the ground — the fake tree tunnel. Ira was next to her, chewing quietly on her arm.

“Secret doors, huh?” she said, her head tilted, her eyes squinted. “You know, I’ve been watching you. And just yesterday I thought you had really saved us, but now I see what’s happening. And it’s really interesting to see you work.”

Judith stared at Max, not paying the least bit of attention to Ira, who was gnawing with increasing intensity on her arm. Max didn’t know what she was talking about.

“You’re really manipulative, you know that?” she said. “Do you know what that word means?”

“Yeah,” Max said, though he didn’t.

“No you don’t,” she said. “It means the ability to find the exact opportune moment, and the exact way, to get someone to do what you want them to do.”