looked at Germaine, whose lower lip was captured in her teeth; I knew what she was thinking. Lydia, rocking in her wheelchair, appeared to be mesmerized by the onesided phone conversation; Ethel held the candlestick like a weapon.
'WHAT THE PART REQUIRES IS A CERTAIN PRESENCE,' Owen told Dan. 'THE GHOST MUST TRULY APPEAR TO KNOW THE FUTURE. IRONICALLY, THE OTHER PART I'M PLAYING THIS CHRISTMAS-YES, YES, I MEAN THE STUPID PAGEAJSTIWflCW-ICALLY, THIS PREPARES ME FOR THE ROLE. I MEAN, THEY'RE BOTH PARTS THAT FORCE YOU TO TAKE COMMAND OF THINGS, WITHOUT WORDS . . . YES, YES, OF COURSE I MEAN ME!' There was a rare pause, while Owen listened to Dan. 'WHO SAYS THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS YET TO TO COME HAS TO BE TALL?' Owen asked angrily. 'YES, OF COURSE I KNOW HOW TALL MISTER FISH IS. DAN, YOU'RE NOT USING YOUR IMAGINATION.' There was another brief pause, and Owen said: 'THERE'S A SIMPLE TEST. LET ME REHEARSE IT. IF EVERYBODY LAUGHS, I'M OUT. IF EVERYONE IS SCARED, I'M THE ONE. YES, OF COURSE- 'INCLUDING MISTER FISH.' LAUGH, I'M OUT. SCARED, I'M IN.'
But I didn't need to wait to know the results of that test. It was necessary only to look at my grandmother's anxious face, and at the attitudes of the women surrounding her-at the fear of Owen Meany that was registered by Lydia's transfixed expression, by Ethel's whitened knuckles around the candlestick, by Germaine's trembling lip. It wasn't necessary for me to suspend my belief or disbelief in Owen Meany until after his first rehearsal; I already knew what a presence he could summon-especially in regard to the future. That evening, at dinner, we heard from Dan about Owen's triumph-how the cast stood riveted, not even knowing what dwarf this was, for Owen was completely hidden in the black cloak and hood; it didn't matter that he never spoke, or that they couldn't see his face. Not even Mr. Fish had known who the fearful apparition was. As Dickens wrote, 'Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command, for this is thy dominion!'
Owen had a way of gliding across stage; he several times startled Mr. Fish, who kept losing his sense of where Owen was. When Owen pointed, it was all of a sudden, a convulsive, twitchy movement-his small, white hand flashing out of the folds of the cloak, which he flapped. He could glide slowly, like a skater running out of momentum; but he could also skitter with a bat's repellent quickness. At Scrooge's grave, Mr. Fish said: ' 'Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point, answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be or are they shadows of the things that May be, only?' '
As never before, this question seemed to seize the attention of every amateur among The Gravesend Players; even Mr. Fish appeared to be mortally interested in the answer. But the midget Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come was inexorable; the
tiny phantom's indifference to the question made Dan Need-ham shiver. It was then that Mr. Fish approached close enough to the gravestone to read his own name thereon.'' 'Ebenezer Scrooge ... am / that man?' ' Mr. Fish cried, falling to his knees. It was from the perspective of his knees-when Mr. Fish's head was only slightly above Owen Meany's-that Mr. Fish received his first full look at the averted face under the hood. Mr. Fish did not laugh; he screamed. He was supposed to say, ' 'No, Spirit! Oh, no, no! Spirit, hear me! I am not the man I was!' ' And so on and so forth. But Mr. Fish simply screamed. He pulled his hands so fiercely away from Owen's cowl that the hood was yanked off Owen's head, revealing him to the other members of the cast-several of them screamed, too; no one laughed.
'It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, just to remember it!' Dan told us, over dinner.
'I'm not surprised,' my grandmother said. After dinner, Mr. Fish made a somewhat subdued appearance.
'Well, at least we've got one good ghost,' Mr. Fish said. 'It makes my job a lot easier, really,' he rationalized. 'The little fellow is quite effective, quite effective. It will be interesting to see his ... effect on an audience.'
'We've already seen it,' Dan reminded him.
'Well, yes,' Mr. Fish agreed hastily; he looked worried.
'Someone told me that Mr. Early's daughter wet her pants,' Dan informed us.
'I'm not surprised,' my grandmother said. Germaine, clearing one teaspoon at a time, appeared ready to wet hers.
'Perhaps you might hold him back a little?' Mr. Fish suggested to Dan.
'Hold him back?' Dan asked.
'Well, get him to restrain whatever it is he does,' Mr. Fish said.
'I'm not at all sure what it is he does,' Dan said.
'I'm not either,' Mr. Fish said. 'It's just ... so disturbing.'
'Perhaps, when people are sitting back a few rows-in the audience, I mean-it won't be quite so ... upsetting,' Dan said.
'Do you think so?' Mr. Fish asked.
