“There’s not much to say. We went to the store for salt. But I saw a school and a church, and we swiped a bottle of milk.” I reached into my pocket and brought out a soft, overripe pear. “I brought this back, too.”
She set the pear on the ground. “Tell me more. What else did you see? How did the world make you feel?”
“Like I was remembering and forgetting at the same time. When I stepped into lamplight, my shadow appeared, sometimes several shadows, but once outside the circle, they all disappeared.”
“You’ve seen shadows before. Brighter lights throw harder shadows.”
“It is a strange light, and the world is full of straight lines and edges. The corners of their walls looked as sharp as a knife. It is unreal and a bit scary.”
“That’s just a trick of your imagination. Write your impressions in your book.” Speck fingered the hem of her sweater. “Speaking of books, did you see the library?”
“Library?”
“Where they keep the books, Aniday. You didn’t see the library?”
“I had forgotten all about it.” But as we talked, I could recall the stacks of well-worn books, the hushing librarian, quiet men and intent women bowing forward, reading. My mother had taken me there. My mother. “I used to go there, Speck. They let me take home books and bring them back when I was finished. I got a paper card and signed my name on a slip at the back of the book.”
“You remember.”
“But I don’t remember what I wrote. I didn’t write ‘Aniday.’ ”
She picked up the pear and inspected it for soft spots. “Get me a knife, Aniday, and I’ll cut this in half. And if you’re good, I’ll take you to the library to see the books.”
Rather than leaving in the middle of the night as before, we walked out of camp at noon on a crisp October day without so much as a fare-thee-well. Luchóg, Speck, and I followed the same trail into town, but we took our time, as if strolling through the park, not wanting to reach the streets until dusk. A broad highway severed the woods, and we had to wait for a long break in the traffic. I scanned the cars on the chance that the lady in the red coat might drive by, but our vantage point was too far from the road to make out any of the drivers.
At the gas station on the edge of town, two boys circled the pump on their bicycles, tracing lazy arcs, enjoying their last fun in the remnant sunlight. Their mother called them for dinner, but before I could see her face, she vanished behind a closing door. Luchóg leading, we moved across the road in single file. Halfway across the asphalt, he froze and pricked his ears to the west. I heard nothing, but in my bones sensed the electric approach of danger moving quickly as a summer storm. A moment’s indecision, and we lost our advantage. Springing from the darkness, the dogs were nearly upon us before Speck grabbed my hand and shouted, “Run!”
Teeth snapping, the pair split to chase us in a melee of barks and growls. The bigger dog, a muscular shepherd, went after Luchóg as he sprinted toward town. Speck and I raced back to the woods, a hound yelping in pursuit. When we reached the trees, she yanked me forward and up, so that I was six feet off the ground before realizing I was climbing a sycamore. Speck turned and faced the dog, which leapt for her, but she stepped to the side, grabbed the beast by the scruff of the neck, and flung it into the bushes. The dog cried in the air, snapped branches when it landed, and scrambled to its feet in great pain and confusion. Looking back over its shoulder at this girl, he tucked his tail between his legs and slunk away.
Coming down the road from the other direction, the German shepherd trotted alongside Luchóg as if he were a longtime pet. They stopped as one in front of us, and the dog wagged its tail and licked Luchóg’s fingers. “Do you remember the last changeling, Speck? The German boy?”
“You’re not supposed to mention—”
“He came in handy with this bloody canine. I was running for my life when I suddenly remembered that old lullaby our man used to sing.”
“ ‘Guten Abend’?”
He sang, “Guten Abend, gut’ Nacht, mit Rosen bedacht,” and the dog whimpered. Luchóg stroked the shepherd between the ears. “Turns out music doth soothe the savage beast.”
“Breast,” she said. “The quote is: ‘Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast.’ ”
“Don’t tell him,” Luchóg burst out. “Auf Wiedersehen, Schatzi. Go on home.” The dog trotted off.
“That was scary,” I said.
Feigning nonchalance, Luchóg rolled a cigarette. “Could have been worse. Could have been people.”