The Anything Box

'Hey!' I cried indignantly, and then remembered I wasn't at home. I heardan odd whimpering sob and then Mrs. Klevity backed slowly away, still kneelingon the floor.
'Only the lock on the suitcase,' she said. 'Here's your jamas.' She handedme the bag and ponderously pulled herself upright again.
We went silently to bed after she had limped around and checked the house,even under the bed again. I heard that odd breathy whisper of a prayer and layawake, trying to add up something shiny and the odd eyes and the whisperingsob. Finally I shrugged in the dark and wondered what I'd pick for funny whenI grew up. All grownups had some kind of funny.
The next night Mrs. Klevity couldn't get down on her knees to look underthe bed. She'd hurt herself when she plumped down on the floor after yankingme away from the bed.
'You'll have to look for me tonight,' she said slowly, nursing her knees.'Look good. Oh, Anna, look good!'
I looked as good as I could, not knowing what I was looking for.
'It should be under the bed,' she said, her palms tight on her knees as sherocked back and forth. 'But you can't be sure. It might miss completely.'
'What might?' I asked, hunkering down by the bed.
She turned her face blindly toward me. 'The way out,' she said. 'The wayback again—'
'Back again?' I pressed my cheek to the floor again. 'Well, I don't seeanything. Only dark and suitcases.'
'Nothing bright? Nothing? Nothing—' She tried to lay her face on her knees,but she was too unbendy to manage it, so she put her hands over her faceinstead. Grownups aren't supposed to cry. She didn't quite, but her handslooked wet when she reached for the clock to wind it.
I lay in the dark, one strand of her hair tickling my hand where it lay onthe pillow. Maybe she was crazy. I felt a thrill of terror fan out on myspine. I carefully moved my hand from under the lock of hair. How can you finda way out under a bed? I'd be glad when Mr. Klevity got home, eggs or no eggs,dime or no dime.
Somewhere in the darkness of the night, I was suddenly swimming towakefulness, not knowing what was waking me but feeling that Mrs. Klevity was
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awake too.
'Anna.' Her voice was small and light and silver. 'Anna—'
'Hummm?' I murmured, my voice still drowsy.
'Anna, have you ever been away from home?' I turned toward her, trying inthe dark to make sure it was Mrs. Klevity. She sounded so different.
'Yes,' I said. 'Once I visited Aunt Katie at Rocky Butte for a week.'
'Anna . . .'I don't know whether she was even hearing my answers; her voicewas almost a chant '. . . Anna, have you ever been in prison?'
'No! Of course not!' I recoiled indignantly. 'You have to be awfully bad tobe in prison.'
'Oh, no. Oh, no!' she sighed. 'Not jail, Anna. Prison—prison. The weight ofthe flesh—bound about—'
'Oh,' I said, smoothing my hands across my eyes. She was talking to asomething deep in me that never got talked to, that hardly even had words.'Like when the wind blows the clouds across the moon and the grass whispersalong the road and all the trees pull like balloons at their trunks and onestar comes out and says 'Come' and the ground says 'Stay' and part of youtries to go and it hurts—' I could feel the slender roundness of my ribs undermy pressing hands. 'And it hurts—'
'Oh Anna, Anna!' The soft, light voice broke. 'You feel that way and youbelong Here. You won't ever—'
The voice stopped and Mrs. Klevity rolled over. Her next words camethickly, as though a gray film were over them as over her eyes. 'Are youawake, Anna? Go to sleep, child. Morning isn't yet.'
I heard the heavy sigh of her breathing as she slept. And finally I slepttoo, trying to visualize what Mrs. Klevity would look like if she looked likethe silvery voice in the dark.
I sat savoring my egg the next morning, letting thoughts slip in and out ofmy mind to the rhythm of my jaws. What a funny dream to have, to talk with asilver-voiced someone. To talk about the way blowing clouds and windymoonlight felt. But it wasn't a dream! I paused with my fork raised. At leastnot my dream. But how can you tell? If you're part of someone else's dream,can it still be real for you?
'Is something wrong with the egg?' Mrs. Klevity peered at me.
'No—no—' I said, hastily snatching the bite on my fork. 'Mrs. Klevity—'
'Yes.' Her voice was thick and heavy-footed.
'Why did you ask me about being in prison?'
'Prison?' Mrs. Klevity blinked blindly. 'Did I ask you about prison?'
'Someone did—I thought—' I faltered, shyness shutting down on me again.
'Dreams.' Mrs. Klevity stacked her knife and fork on her plate. 'Dreams.'
I wasn't quite sure I was to be at Klevity's the next evening. Mr. Klevitywas supposed to get back sometime during the evening. But Mrs. Klevitywelcomed me.
'Don't know when he'll get home,' she said. 'Maybe not until morning. If hecomes early, you can go home to sleep and I'll give you your dime anyway.'
'Oh, no,' I said, Mom's teachings solidly behind me. 'I couldn't take it ifI didn't stay.'
'A gift,' said Mrs. Klevity.
We sat opposite one another until the silence stretched too thin for me tobear.
'In olden times,' I said, snatching at the magic that drew stories fromMom, 'when you were a little girl —'
'When I was a girl—' Mrs. Klevity rubbed her knees with reflective hands.'The other Where. The other When.'
'In olden times,' I persisted, 'things were different then.'
'Yes.' I settled down comfortably, recognizing the reminiscent tone ofvoice. 'You do crazy things when you are young.' Mrs. Klevity leaned heavilyon the table. 'Things you have no business doing. You volunteer when you're
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young.' I jerked as she lunged across the table and grabbed both my arms. 'But
I am young! Three years isn't an eternity. I am young!'
I twisted one arm free and pried at her steely fingers that clamped the
other one.
'Oh.' She let go. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.'
She pushed back the tousled brush of her hair.
'Look,' she said, her voice almost silver again. 'Under all this—this
grossness, I'm still me. I thought I could adjust to anything, but I had no
idea that they'd put me in such—' She tugged at her sagging dress. 'Not the
clothes!' she cried. 'Clothes you can take off. But this—' Her fingers dug
into her heavy shoulder and I could see the bulge of flesh between them.
'If I knew anything about the setup maybe I could locate it. Maybe I could
call. Maybe—'
Her shoulders sagged and her eyelids dropped down over her dull eyes.
'It doesn't make any sense to you,' she said, her voice heavy and thick
again. 'To you I'd be old even There. At the time it seemed like a perfect way
to have an odd holiday and help out with research, too. But we got caught.'
She began to count her fingers, mumbling to herself. 'Three years There,
but Here that's—eight threes are—' She traced on the table with a blunt
forefinger, her eyes close to the old, worn-out cloth.