The Anything Box

Then there she was—Liesle—just beyond the tent, her whole body taut withstaring, her arms stiffly flexed at the elbows, her fingers crooked, her wholeself bent forward as though readying for any sudden need for pursuit— orflight.
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She made an abortive movement as though to go back into the tent, and thenshe was off, running towards the hills, her bare white feet flashing in themoonlight. I wanted to call after her, but something about the stillness ofthe night crowded the noise back into my throat, so I took after her, glad ofa good excuse to run, fleet-footed and free, through the crispness of thesilver night. A little farther, a little faster, a little lighter and Iwouldn't even have had to touch the ground.
I lost sight of Liesle, so I leaned against a tree and waited for my breathto catch up with me. Then I saw her, a wisp of darkness in her worn flannelpajamas, moving from one small hill to another, softly tiptoeing away acrossthem until the shadow of the aspen grove on the slope above swallowed her up.There was a pause as I wondered if I should follow, then she reappeared withthe same soft, careful step. She stopped just a few feet from me and plumpedherself down between two rounded knolls. She shivered in the icy air andsnuggled down tight in the curving corner. I could hear her talking.
'Move over, you. Keep me warm. There's eight of you. I counted. I like youin the night, but I'm scared of you in the day. You don't belong in the day.'She yawned luxuriantly and I saw that she was sinking slowly between those twograssy hills. 'You really don't belong in the night, either.' Liesle went on.'You better go back next time it's open.' Only her head was visible now. Shewas all but swallowed up in the—in the what?
'Liesle!' I hissed.
She gasped and looked around. Suddenly she was sprawling out in the openagain on the sloping hillside, shivering. She glanced back quickly and thenbegan to cry. I gathered her up in my arms. 'What's going on here, Liesle?'
“I had a dream!” she wailed.
I carried her back to the camp, sagging a little under her weight. Justbefore I dumped her down in front of her tent, I swear she waved over myshoulder, a furtive, quick little wave, back at the little sleeping hills.
Next day I determinedly stayed in camp when everyone else galloped off intothe far distance toward Katatki to look for arrowheads. I had to make a noise like elderly and weary, and I know my children suspected that I was up to somemischief, but they finally left me alone. The dust had hardly settled on thecurve downcreek before I was picking my way among the beast-hills.
I caught myself tiptoeing and breathing cautiously through my mouth,startled by the crunch of gravel and the sudden shriek of a blue jay. I satdown, as nearly as I could tell, between the same two hills where Liesle hadbeen. I pulled up a tuft of grass with a quick twinge of my thumb and fingers.Grass—that's all it was. Well, what had I expected? I unlimbered my shortprospector's pick and began to excavate. The sod peeled back. The sandy soilunderneath slithered a little. The pick clinked on small rocks. I unearthed abeer cap and a bent nail. I surveyed my handiwork, then shoved the dirt backwith the head of the pick. Sometimes it's fun to have too much imagination.Other times it gets you dirt under your fingernails.
I trudged back toward camp. Halfway there I stopped in mid-stride. Had Iheard something? Or felt something? A movement as of air displacing? I turnedand walked slowly back to the hillside.
Nowhere, nowhere, could I find the spot where I'd been digging. I kneltdown and picked up the only loose object around. A rusty beer cap.
The Davidsons' vacation was nearly over. We had another week after theywere to leave. I don't know how it happened—things like that are alwayshappening to us— but we ended up with Liesle and Jinnie jumping up and downecstatically together as all grownups concerned slowly nodded their heads. AndI had an extra grandchild for the next week.
Of course, Liesle was a little homesick the first night after her folksleft. After Jinnie had fallen asleep, she looked over at me in the glow of theColeman lantern, with such forlornness that I lifted the edge of my sleepingbag and she practically flung herself into it. It was a tight squeeze, butfinally she was snuggled on my shoulder, the crisp spray of her hair tickling
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my chin.
'I like you, Gramma,' she said. 'You're warm.'
'You're warm, too,' I said, feeling heat radiating from the wiry little
body. I don't know what prompted my next question. Maybe it was that I wanted
there to be something in Liesle's play-pretend. 'Am I as warm as the beasts?'
I felt her startled withdrawal. It was like having a spring suddenly coil
beside me.
'What are they going to do when it starts snowing again?' I asked into the
awkward silence.
'I don't know,' said Liesle slowly. 'I don't know any beasts. Besides their
fur would keep them warm.'
'It looks like just grass to me,' I said. 'Grass withers when cold weather
comes.'
'It's 'sposed to look like grass,' said Liesle. 'So's no one will notice
them.'
'What are they?' I asked. 'Where did they come from?'
'I don't know any beasts,' said Liesle. 'I'm going to sleep.'
And she did.
Liesle might as well have gone on home for all the outdoor activity she got
that week with us. Bad weather came pouring through the pass in the mountains,
and we had rain and fog and thunder and hail and a horrible time trying to
keep the kids amused. My idle words had stuck in Liesle's mind and festered in
the inactivity. She peered incessantly out of the tent flap asking, 'How long
will it rain? Is it cold out there? It won't snow will it? Will there be ice?'
And when we had a brief respite after a roaring hailstorm and went out to
gather up the tapioca-sized stones by the buckets-full, Liesle filled both
hands and, clutching the hail tightly, raced over to the small hills. I caught
up with her as she skidded to a stop on the muddy trail.
She was staring at the beast-hills, frosted lightly with the hail. She
turned her deep eyes to me. 'It's ice,' she said tragically.
'Yes,' I said. 'Little pieces of ice.'
She opened her hands and stared at her wet palms. 'It's gone,' she said.
'Your hands are warm,' I explained.
'Warmness melts the ice,' she said, her eyes glowing. 'They're warm.'
'They could melt the little ice,' I acknowledged. 'But if it really froze—'
'I told them to go back,' said Liesle. 'The next time it's open.'
'What's open?' I asked.
'Well,' said Liesle. 'It's down the path to the Little House. It's the
rock—it's a empty—it's to go through—' She slapped her hand back and forth
across her pants legs, ridding them of the melted hail. Her bottom lip was
pouted, her eyes hidden. 'It doesn't go into any place,' she said. 'It only
goes through.' Anger flared suddenly and she kicked the nearest hill. 'Stupid
beasts!' she cried. 'Why didn't you stay home!'
We started packing the day before we were to leave. Liesle scurried around
with Jinnie, getting under foot and messing things up generally. So I gave