The Humming Room (10 page)

The screaming started in the middle of the night. The long eventful day had plunged Roo into a deep sleep, and the screaming had wormed its way into her dreams as a shrieking red bird caught in a tremendous, ropy spiderweb. The bird twisted and thrashed, struggling to free itself from the web's hold without success. When a giant spider began to climb up the web toward the bird, the screaming became unbearable and Roo woke with a gasp.

Standing over her bed was Ms. Valentine, barefoot and dressed in a robe that hung askew. It seemed as if she too had woken suddenly. Her face, scrubbed of makeup, was tinged pink around the rims of her eyes and the wings of her nostrils, and her dark hair was disheveled.

“Get up, Roo,” she said. It was less an order than a plea.

That was when Roo realized the screaming was real and not just in her dreams. It pierced the walls, hysterical and ragged, and was accompanied by a furious thumping.

“What's he screaming about now?” Roo grumbled.

“This is the worst we've ever seen him,” Ms. Valentine said. To Roo's amazement she actually sounded frightened. “He's punching the walls, just…wild. Violet can hardly restrain him. Please, can you see what you can do—”

Roo groaned, but she got out of bed and started down the stairs. The screaming pounded through the house, echoing off the walls. It made Roo mad to hear it. She began to run, anxious to make it stop. The shrieks grew more and more hysterical, so that by the time Roo flung open Phillip's door, her face was flushed with her own fury.

Tangled in sheets and blankets, Phillip was screaming and tossing in his bed while Violet attempted to hold him down. When she lost her grip on one of his hands, it flew to her face and clawed at it.

“Stop it!” Roo screamed at him. “Stop it right now!”

But the attack did not let up—Phillip seemed beyond hearing—and he slapped at Violet as she tried to grab hold of his wrist again. Enraged, Roo ran across the room, grabbed the Gila monster from the shelf and threw it against the wall as hard as she could. It made an awful cracking sound and the bones clattered to the ground.

“That's one!” Roo called to him. “If you don't stop screaming, I'll smash them all!”

“No, Roo!” Violet cried. “You'll make him worse.” Her face was badly scratched and her lower lip was bleeding.

“I hate you!” Roo shrieked at Phillip.

She picked up another skeleton and smashed it. Then another and another until finally she realized that the screaming had stopped. The only noise left was the cracking of bones and her own cries of rage.

She looked over at the bed. Phillip now lay quietly in Violet's arms, and they were both watching her, shocked, their faces still damp with perspiration from their struggle.

The door opened and Ms. Valentine stood at the threshold. For a moment she was silent, aghast at the wreckage of bones strewn across the floor, with Roo in the center of it.

“What have you done?” she demanded of Roo.

“She's stopped him, is what,” Violet said, tipping her head toward Phillip. He was pale and his eyes were glassy but he was calm.

Violet settled Phillip back into bed. He lay as docile as an infant, as she untangled and straightened the sheets and blankets and arranged them neatly over him. It infuriated Roo that Violet could be so kind to him after what he'd done. The scratches on her face were raised and pink now, and blood had dried on her lip, forming a small, dark blotch.

“Shut your eyes,” Violet crooned at him. He shut them obediently, but when she stood up to leave, he opened them again.

“Roo will stay,” he murmured.

“Of course she will,” Ms. Valentine said stiffly.

“No, I won't,” Roo said.

Ms. Valentine shot a warning glance at her.

“I don't care. I won't,” Roo insisted. “He's repulsive.”

“He can't help it when he gets into fits like this,” Violet said gently.

“He can help it!” Roo said. “He's just used to doing whatever he likes.”

Phillip was watching her from his bed, and now she glared at him.

“You
can
help it,” she insisted to him, her voice raw. They stared at each other for a moment. Phillip looked away, then back at her.

“Please stay,” he said.

“There,” Violet said, getting up and walking over to Roo to give her shoulder a squeeze. “That's as nice as anyone could ask.”

She guided Roo over to the bed, and Roo let her, but she would not sit down next to Phillip. Arms crossed against her chest, she stood there as Violet and Ms. Valentine left the room.

“Are you cold?” Phillip asked. “You look cold in that nightgown.”

“I'm fine,” she replied stonily.

“Here.” With some difficulty he peeled back one of the covers. “Put this around you.”

It was the way he struggled to maneuver the blanket—so weak and fumbling. It made her feel a little less furious at him. She reached out and snatched the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders—she
was
cold in the thin nightgown.

“Why did you hurt Violet?” she asked him, her voice still harsh.

“Why do you care so much about
her
?” he said, suddenly peevish.

“Why does she care so much about
you
?” Roo shot back.

“Because my father feels guilty, so he pays people to care about me,” Phillip said.

“Violet would be nice to you no matter what,” Roo insisted. “That's just how she is. And anyway, what does your father have to feel guilty about?”

After a moment, he said, “Because he can't stand to be around me. That's why he's never here. He really only wanted my mother, not me, and now that she's gone, he hires people to be with me since he doesn't want to.”

Roo would have liked to contradict this. She would have liked to accuse her cousin of feeling sorry for himself. Yet she couldn't help but admit that it might be true.

“Well, maybe if you didn't bite him, he'd want to be around you more,” Roo countered.

“He deserved it,” Phillip said, his expression hardening.

“Why?”

“He told me he might send me away to Dr. Oulette's clinic in Rochester. He said that I would have to live there while they treated me for depression.”

“Maybe it would be a good thing,” Roo said.

“It would be a terrible thing!” Phillip pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them like he was already trying to root himself in the room. “
She
won't be at some clinic!”

“Who won't?”

“My mother.”

“Phillip—”

“I know what you think. You think I'm crazy. So does my father. Violet says that I'm dreaming when I hear her, but it's not a dream and I'm not crazy. I hear her calling for me through the walls. I heard her tonight, clearer than ever.”

Roo opened her mouth to tell him that his mother was gone, just like her father was. But then she remembered when she had first seen her uncle; how he had looked so much like her father, she thought it was him—though it made no sense—and how her whole body had filled with happiness at the sight of him.

“Lie back on your pillow,” she told him, and sat beside him.

“Why?”

“Just do it,” she said.

Once he lay back, Roo started, “There once was a little red-and-yellow boat called
Pendragon
—”

“I don't want to hear stories,” he complained.

“Shut up,” Roo said. “And instead of sailing in the water it flew above the treetops in the sky.”

She told him the story about when Vincent landed on the island of Malta, and after some initial squirming Phillip lay still and listened. Before long he closed his eyes. His breathing gradually slowed, and when she stopped talking to check, she saw that her cousin had fallen asleep. She pulled the cover up over his shoulders. He turned toward her in his sleep, and tucked his legs up. For a while she stared at him. Sleep softened his face. It was a solemn face, like her own. She reached out and lightly touched his hair, so dark and thick. Like his mother's hair, she guessed.

The door opened a crack and Violet peered into the room. She glanced between Phillip and Roo, shaking her head in wonder.

“Well, look at this,” she whispered. “Two waves, smooth as glass. An old Donkey granny could sail across the two of you in a pie pan and never feel a bump.”

Roo spotted the heron first. He pushed through the pink and blue early-morning sky then circled back and disappeared behind the tall pines of a distant island.

He's coming,
Roo thought. She felt the excitement climbing in her chest but sternly pushed it back down.

Don't be ridiculous
, she told herself.
He's just a boy.

A few moments later Jack's canoe appeared in the distance. The heron, Sir, flew above it. At one point Sir swooped so low that it seemed as if he were about to fly right into Jack. Roo ducked reflexively as Sir just cleared Jack's head, and Roo thought she could hear Jack laughing, although it might simply have been the call of a far-off gull.

As the canoe rounded an island and entered the seaway, heading toward Cough Rock, the currents seemed to push against it. Jack paddled and paddled but the going was slow. Roo paced along the rocks that formed a tiny cove, watching as Jack struggled against the river's mighty shoves. It seemed like he would never reach her. Sir, too, seemed to grow impatient. He flew to the canoe, landing awkwardly on its edge, and rested there while Jack paddled on.

It took nearly a half an hour for the canoe to fight its way to the island. As Jack maneuvered into the little cove, Roo reached out and grabbed the canoe to help pull it in. Jack's face was pink and damp with exertion as he stepped onto land, but he was laughing too.

“I think she's jealous,” he said breathlessly.

“Who is?”

“The river,” Jack replied. “Look at her, pretending not to notice us.”

Roo looked at the water, flushed purple beneath the surface. Yes, the waves did hold themselves stiffly now, moving past briskly but occasionally serving Cough Rock with indignant little slaps.

He belongs to the river
, Roo thought.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked uncertainly.

“Of course I'm sure. Come on. Let's see your garden.”

Roo led him over the rocks and around the back of the house to the basement door. At first she felt a rush of excitement at Jack seeing the garden. But as they climbed up the trapdoor stairs, she began to have misgivings. What if he thought the garden was hopeless? What if all he could see was a tumbledown graveyard of brittle, brown plants and dead trees?

At the top of the stairs she paused and looked down at him.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered.

He closed them, and she scrambled up into the garden, and then squatted down beside the trapdoor.

“Okay, take another step up,” she said.

He did. She had him take two more until his head was poking out of the trapdoor.

“Now give me your hand,” she ordered.

He put out his hand and she took it. The skin felt rough and warm. She held his hand loosely, but his hand tightened around hers. She led him up the final stairs until he was standing inside the garden, his eyes still faithfully shut.

“Listen,” she told him, “you have to love this garden. No matter what it looks like. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jack said easily.

“It's not green like other gardens,” she warned.

“I know. You told me. Can I open my eyes?”

Roo took a deep breath and released his hand. “Go on.”

She watched as his eyes opened and he looked around. He took in the broken branches hanging off the trees, the limp foliage matted on the ground, the tangle of vines drooping from the treetops. After a moment, he began to wander through the garden, stopping to touch the trunk of a tree or reaching up to let his fingers brush against the tips of hanging vines. Roo stayed back and said nothing. She remembered how she had felt when she first saw the garden—the peculiar feeling of sadness and wonder.

“Do you think it has a chance?” she asked finally, her voice sounding rough to her own ears.

“It's hard to tell with wild things,” Jack said, crouching down by the stump of a tree. “This winter I found a half-starved coyote pup. I took care of him till he started to look good and sturdy. It seemed like he'd be just fine. But then he died suddenly in the night. I don't know why. Then a week later, on Sawdust Island, I saw something strange hanging from the branch of a tree. Turned out it was a rabbit, all torn up. I figured a hawk had grabbed it and started flying off with it, then dropped it by accident. There wasn't much rabbit left. His leg was busted and his skin was ripped to shreds. I patched him up the best I could and figured he wouldn't make it through the day. But he did. And the next day he ate out of my hand and each day he got stronger until finally he was good as new, except he hopped sort of lopsided. It seems like there's something mysterious about what lives and what dies.” He saw that Roo's face had gone grim, and he added, “But each time I find an animal that needs help, I help it as though I'm sure it
will
live.”

So that is exactly what they did. All morning they worked hard, hauling buckets of water from the river. They found a pair of old rubber boots in the basement and they poked holes in the soles and used them as watering cans. Roo was getting stronger. She found she could hold fuller buckets of water and that she no longer tired so quickly. Again and again, she paused to check on the bare patches of soil, hoping to see something green appear, even though she knew it was silly, that it was too soon.

When they had finished watering the garden, Roo snuck some food out of the kitchen for their lunch. They ate beneath one of the dead trees—cheese sandwiches and purple grapes and a jug of lemonade. The black squirrel stopped by to ask for a bit of their lunch. Roo gave him some bread and he ate it at a distance of a few feet away, watching Jack circumspectly. Roo watched Jack too, noticing the way he ate, focused and silent, like a person used to eating alone.

“Don't you get lonely out on the river?” she asked.

Jack laughed. “How could I get lonely when the river never stops talking?”

“Lonely for people, I mean.”

Jack took a bite of his sandwich and considered this, as though it were a new idea. “At night sounds carry across the water. I'll hear people talking and laughing. Sometimes I wonder how it would be to live like everyone else. I guess it would be nice for a while, but in the end I'd wind up running right back to the river. Honestly, I don't know how people can think without a river. Sometimes I'll be in my canoe, mulling things over, and my brain will leap right into the water and travel with it to where the perch are biting or where the raspberries just went ripe along the shore or to where there's a warm empty house. I don't know where
I
stop and the river
starts,
do you know what I mean? If we were separated, I think I would just…I would just unravel.”

Suddenly, Jack's head whipped around toward the back of the garden.

“What is it?” she asked, following his gaze.

He didn't reply at first, while his gray eyes scanned the garden intently. After a minute, he looked back at her, his face perplexed.

“I thought I saw something,” he said.

“The squirrel?”

Jack shook his head. “Definitely not the squirrel. It was a shadow. Up there.” He pointed at the boulder. “It's gone now.”

Roo bit her lip and hesitated before she confessed, “I saw it, too, the other day.”

They were quiet, but they were both thinking of Ana because Jack suddenly said, “I saw her once when she was still alive, about four years ago.”

“Where?” Roo asked.

“She was by the stone arch on Cough Rock, right at the spot where I first saw you. She had this long black hair and it was windy that day, so her hair was whipping all around. It reminded me of a flock of cormorants, just as they are about to take flight. She was pacing back and forth. Then he came out, your uncle, and he wrapped his arms around her and they went back inside.” Jack looked at Roo, his eyes steady on hers, and said, “What if she's here? In her garden? Watching us?”

Roo thought of what Phillip had said, but she quickly shook this off.

“I don't believe in ghosts,” Roo said.

“Really? That's funny. I believe in almost anything.”

 

“He's crying for you.”

Violet woke Roo in the very early hours of the morning. Even in the darkened room, Roo could see that her face was pinched tight with worry. “His heart is thumping so loud, you can hear it through the bedsheets.”

Indeed, when Roo opened Phillip's door, she was shocked at how pitiful he looked. His head was thrown back against his pillow and his face was damp with sweat and tears. In a way it was worse than seeing him flailing around, slapping and clawing. Now he just looked ill.

Roo sat beside him on his bed, not knowing how to comfort him. For a while they sat together in silence. She tried to catch his eye but he would only look down at his blankets, which he twisted in his hands. Roo noticed that the veins on his thin hands were raised, like a snarl of electric cords.

“Tomorrow we can try and fix the skeletons I broke,” Roo offered.

“I had Violet throw them all out,” he replied.

Roo glanced over at the far end of the room. The shelves that had once been filled with skeletons were now bare. Even the coyote was gone, and the desk was cleared of glue and wire.

“But why?” Roo asked. Although she hadn't liked them, this seemed like a bad omen.

“I got tired of them,” Phillip murmured, then looked away.

Roo sighed.

“You heard her again tonight, didn't you?” she said.

Phillip nodded.

“Maybe it was the river,” Roo said. “Or the wind.”

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, then let them drop to the sides of his face. His dark eyes looked flat, deadened, like his father's eyes.

“Maybe,” he conceded.

His quietness alarmed her. She wished he would scream and she could scream back at him. Instead, he turned over in bed with his back to her and tucked his legs to his chest.

“Do you want me to stay?” Roo asked. She watched one narrow shoulder rise and fall in a listless shrug.

Roo lay down beside him. It wasn't long before Phillip fell back to sleep, but Roo remained awake. She was turning things over in her mind, feeling the tug of a decision that she didn't want to make. She had found the garden, yes, but it wasn't hers. Not really. It was Ana's and so it was Phillip's too. Maybe Ana was waiting for him, down in the garden. Maybe the garden was waiting for him too.