Tucker’s Grove (24 page)

Now he lay in a hidden cave, motionless on a stone table placed there by some elder race. His heavy red beard had indeed grown co
mpletely around the table, just as the Legend had d
e
creed; and as he sat upright, with painful slowness, he clearly recalled the relentless mission the Angel had placed on him. He was destined to save the world, to unite the Holy Roman Empire into one gran
d Christian kingdom. He was a legend come back to life, he was a hero who could never die.

After nearly seven centuries, Frederick Barbarossa returned to the world.

Danny sat propped up against the cardboard box that contained books, knick-knacks, and an
old pair of shoes, but just as he got comfortable, his mother decided she needed to unpack
that
box next, even though dozens of unopened boxes still cluttered the new house. He tried to ignore her by intently watching superhero cartoons on the portable bla
ck and white television with the telescoping antennas spread wide to grab even a hint of signal. Static and fuzz-balls of light danced across the screen; the reception out here wasn
’
t nearly as good as it had been in the city.

“
Come on, Danny
—
move!”
He abs
ently scooted out of the way. Danny had helped her with the unpacking for the first hour, but he quickly lost interest. The superheroes rescued him from boredom every afternoon; he still didn
’
t know how to tell time, but some inner clock always told him w
h
en cartoons would be on.

“
Who do you think the next one will be about, Mom?”
He didn
’
t take his eyes from the TV, didn
’
t notice that his harried mother paid little attention to him. “
I hope it
’
s Spiderman
—
he
’
s my favorite!”

Mom picked up the box with a tir
ed sigh. Danny waited imp
a
tiently for the end of A Word From Our Sponsor. “
Danny, come and open the door for Mom.”
She stood by the door, cradling the box in her arms, balancing it against her left thigh.

“
Just a minute.”

“
Danny
—
now!”

He got up and listle
ssly opened the door for her, with his full attention still fixed on the television. “
Aww, it
’
s only Captain America anyway.”

A few moments later she reentered the room with a box co
n
taining ancient encyclopedias, volumes A through J-K, which his dad had p
urchased “
for when Danny goes to college.”

“
Why don
’
t you go play outside?”
she said, throwing some of her frustration at him. “
When I was seven, I didn
’
t sit around and watch TV all afternoon.”
Dad would have watched superheroes with him…
Dad sometimes eve
n bought him comic books to look at. “
Outside
, Daniel!”

“
But, Mom, don
’
t you want me to help you?”

She pushed a sweat-curled strand of hair out of her eyes and managed a small smile. “
No, Danny. Mom can do it by herself. Why don
’
t you go and explore our bi
g back yard?”

“
Okay…”
he said, after a long pause. He let the screen door slam behind him even though he knew he wasn
’
t supposed to.

Here, miles out of town, the previous owners had built an out-of-place tri-level house with beautiful landscaping and smal
l islands of flower beds. Behind the house, green rows of corn stretched to infinity; off to the other side, a narrow alfalfa field separated them from the rundown farm that belonged to Mr. Rossa, their closest neighbor.

Danny still hadn
’
t sufficiently exp
lored his new yard, but the mere fact that it was his
own
yard made it a great deal less inte
r
esting than the neighboring farm. He ran across the alfalfa field.

The old farmer lived alone. Mr. Rossa
’
s drab house was old and peeling white; the yard was infe
sted with clover and dand
e
lions, and the weed-overgrown gravel driveway was almost i
n
distinguishable from the rest of the yard. In front of the house sat the carcass of an ancient tractor, decaying into rust as if it had collapsed there and died; the weeds
grew up to surround it, see
k
ing new footholds among the crumbling gears and sprockets.

This was how old farms were supposed to be.

Prismatic light reflected from the crystalline stalactites inside the cave, making even the air seem to sparkle. Barbarossa
saw with some amazement that time and dampness had turned his armor into a thin coating of reddish soot on his body. Alongside the stone table, the Angel had provided him with a heavy white robe and sandals.

He looked for his sword,
his one true friend through a tho
u
sand battles. The blade still gleamed, unnotched and razor sharp, untouched by the centuries, protected by the Angel. The waters of the Calycadnus River had washed away the bloodstains and brought eternal life to the jewel
s on the hilt. Seeing his sword, his companion, he felt happy again.

He used the blade to chop off all but a span of his red beard, leaving the rest to lie in long coils on the cave floor. He washed himself in the hot spring at the back of the grotto, donn
ed the robe and sandals, and lovingly picked up his sword. The Angel would not help him again, would never so much as contact him whether he succeeded or failed. He went bravely to the mouth of the cave, and prepared himself to go out into the world at la
s
t.

The giant old trees around the farmhouse fascinated Danny. The thin saplings in the new landscaping of his own yard were too small to climb…
but these! They had to be at least a hundred years old. Huge, gnarled, and chapped trunks with a circumfe
r
ence l
arger then he could embrace, oaks and box elders with abundant knobs and sucker branches for footholds. Danny had seen trees this big in parks, of course, but his parents had never let him climb them. Only once, with one of his babysitters, had he been ab
l
e to. He told his mother how much fun it was, looking down from so high. Mom had never called that babysitter again.

Danny stood before the challenge of the first tree, looking up into the sea of leafy branches, the hidden world high above the ground. He w
alked around the trunk, contemplating, and then grabbed a clump of small branches, hoisting himself upward. He jammed his left sneaker against a bald lump on the trunk and fought with his fingers in the wide cracks in the bark, trying to find another hand
h
old.

He reached up to grab a real branch, not a twig, and climbed again, wedging his foot into the first handhold. The tree seemed to cooperate now, offering many branches to assist him. His fi
n
gers were sore and his arms were tired, but this was wonderful
! He could hear birds somewhere higher in the tree. He went up to the next branch, and looked down to see how far he had climbed. This was triumph! This was scary! He felt like Spiderman.

Above him, one branch jutted tantalizingly out of his reach. He shim
mied out farther on the branch, stretched his arm up, afraid he would fall at any moment, and then grabbed the branch. Danny inched forward, then stopped, panting, as high as he could go.

And that
’
s when he knew he would never be able to get down.

His hear
t seemed to stop; he had thought only grown-ups knew how to sweat. He moved his eyes slowly down to where his sneaker balanced on a small bulge, and he couldn
’
t move it. Danny felt like crying, although he knew he was going to.

“
There
’
s a little branch bel
ow your left foot. If you rest your weight on that, you can come down
—
no trouble at all.”

Danny was so startled he almost fell from the tree. Below him, with hands on his hips and peering up into the tree, stood a large old man with a huge, bushy beard, sq
uinting as if the sun were in his eyes. Danny knew it must be Mr. Rossa, and tried not to look at the farmer
’
s fierce expression as he searched for the small branch. He found it, but it was too small, and too far away.

“
I can
’
t reach!”

Mr. Rossa hemmed and
bit on his lip, running his fingers through the thick mass of his beard. “
Just a minute
—
I
’
ll get you down. Just you wait right there!”

The old farmer jogged out of sight. Danny waited, and waited, and felt like crying again. What if Mr. Rossa called the p
olice? He shivered and wished he were back home watching cartoons.

Mr. Rossa reappeared, puffing and carrying a weathered gray ladder. Danny held his breath and waited as the farmer mane
u
vered the end of the ladder up into the mass of branches. He heard th
e thump as the ladder banged against a branch and came to rest, just a little below him.

“
Now can you climb down?”
Mr. Rossa looked up at him e
x
pectantly.

Danny saw the ladder, just below him, but his fingers were cramping and wouldn
’
t let him relea
se his hold. He knew he could easily reach the ladder, but his body didn
’
t. “
No.”
His voice sounded thin and small.

“
All right then…”
Mr. Rossa grunted. Danny heard the ladder creak as the old man began to climb up. The farmer made puffing sounds as he asc
ended, rung by rung, muttering to himself pro
b
ably out of habit rather than in anger at Danny.

“
Come on, now, can you reach? That
’
s a good boy. Come on.”
Mr. Rossa was just below him, stretching out a hand that was strong and calloused, not the least bit a
rthritic and frail as his grandmother
’
s had once been. Danny looked down into the old man
’
s eyes
—
deep, ancient eyes, older than he could imagine, filled with more knowledge and more memories than Danny could ever hope to know, or want to know. The distanc
e
to the bottoms of those pupils was far greater than the distance to the ground.

“
All right then.”
Mr. Rossa broke the trance and climbed two rungs higher until he could pluck the boy from his perch. After a long and toiling descent from the rickety ladder
, Danny shivered until Mr. Rossa stood firmly on the ground again. And then the fear piled up on him, expressing itself in long sobs. He bawled and clung to the old man
’
s neck, burying his face deep in the bushy, streaked beard. It was a tangled brownish-
g
ray color now, but all the rampant red hairs dotted throughout testified that it had once been a flaming scarlet color.

He didn
’
t notice the old man stiffen. Mr. Rossa stood for a long time, holding the boy and finally pulled Danny away from him and set hi
m back on the ground. “
Come on now
—
it
’
s not all that bad. Come on, stop your crying.”
Danny sniffled, but the sobs had already begun to fade. The old farmer frowned at him, and Danny realized he wasn
’
t going to get yelled at for climbing the tree. “
Now, y
o
ung man, you
’
d better introduce yourself. I don
’
t think I
’
ve seen you before.”

“
I
’
m Danny…
I
—”
His voice convulsed with a leftover sob, and he managed to point across the alfalfa field. “
You live next to us.”

Mr. Rossa smiled, and the crows feet around his
eyes folded together. “
Ah! And does your mother know you
’
re here?”