The Garden of Darkness

Clare could feel Mirri getting restive as the story went on. Finally she broke in.

“I’m going to look in the store for some Pretty Ponies,” she said. “I only have two Pretty Ponies, and they’re both at the house.”

Jem waited until Mirri was out of earshot.

“Her story is hard,” he said.

“Tell it,” said Sarai. “But before she gets back.”

“Sarai and I found Mirri,” said Jem. “She didn’t talk much then.”

Mirri’s mother had come down with Pest first. She had gone to the hospital and never come back. Mirri’s father bolted the door against the pandemic, but Pest found the rest of them anyway. By the third day, Mirri found herself locked in with her father’s body and that of her older sister. Mirri’s sister didn’t have delayed onset Pest; she died of the disease in three long days, thus doing what Mirri found unthinkable and unforgiveable—she left Mirri behind. By the time Jem and Sarai found Mirri, she had become too afraid to face the outside world. She preferred the reek of decay. She told them, through the closed window, that she was waiting for her turn to go dead.

Jem had forced the door with his hammer. Mirri was dehydrated. She stank. They cleaned her up and took her with them.

“And here we are,” Sarai said. “What about you?”

But before Clare could begin, Mirri came running across the playground from the store, yelling. Jem looked alarmed and started up from the curb, but it was soon clear she was happy about something.

“Look what I found!” Mirri held up her arms. “I found these in the back of the store.” She had a Pretty Pony in each hand.

The three of them settled down around Clare. Mirri clutched the Pretty Ponies. Her eyes were on Clare’s face.

“Your eyes—” she started to say.

“Shush,” said Jem. “Clare’s going to tell her story.”

“My mother was a painter,” said Clare. She moved uneasily on the curb. She found it hard to talk about her mother. “But she died and my father married Marie, who’s an interior decorator. Who was an interior decorator.”

“What’s an ‘interior decorator’?” asked Mirri.

“Someone who decorates the inside of things, idgit,” said Sarai.

“My father wrote books,” Clare continued. “He won awards and stuff. The best book was called Bridge Out Ahead.”

“I’ve read that,” said Jem. “The end of it just about killed me.”

“Happy stories just stop in the middle,” said Clare. “That’s what he used to say.”

She told them about Michael, which didn’t hold Mirri and Sarai’s attention, although Jem listened carefully. Then she told them about Bear. Finally Clare told them about leaving Robin behind, and she felt grief well up inside her.

They did their best to comfort her, huddling close.

“My mother was a doctor, and my father was a sociologist,” said Jem. “If my father had lived, I bet he would have studied everybody’s reaction to Pest.”

“There’s nobody left to study,” said Sarai.

“There’s us,” said Mirri.

Sarai’s father had worked long hours at his grocery store, and her mother made Indian sweets for a bakery. Sarai’s grandparents had all come from India.

“My mother had black hair that went down to her knees,” said Sarai. “Really. Sometimes she would wear a sari.”

Mirri’s father was a fireman, according to Jem, but Mirri corrected him.

“A fire fighter,” she said. “That’s what he did. He fought fires. My mom took care of me and my sister, Liz.” Mirri grew thoughtful; she let her Pretty Ponies fall into the dirt.

“You’re with us now,” said Jem. And he picked up the Pretty Ponies, dusted them off and made them gallop on the curb. By and by, Mirri took the ponies from him and started brushing her fingers through their pink and green polyester manes.

“I miss Liz,” she said. Then she peered into Clare’s face.

“Your eyes are very blue,” she said factually. “That’s what I was going to say when Jem shushed me.”

Bear chose that moment to arrive. He bounded to Clare’s side and then paused, as if waiting for instructions. She had a strong and uneasy feeling that he would have cheerfully torn the others’ throats out if she had asked him to.

Jem, reacting to Bear’s sudden appearance, pulled Mirri to her feet and gave her a push. Sarai was already running for the swings, and when she got there, she stood up on one of them. Mirri joined her. Only Jem didn’t move.

“It’s all right, Bear,” said Clare. “Sit down. Now.” He sat immediately, yellow eyes fixed on her. Bear’s muzzle was tacky with blood, and some of it came off on Clare’s arm as she scratched his ears.