'Okay.'
'I'm saying, you have to see this.'
'What's she saying?' he asked Tom.
'She has something she wants you to hear.'
As he rose from his chair, Barty began to reacquaint himself with the feeling of all the ways things are, began to bend his mind around the loops and rolls and tucks of reality that he had perceived on the roller coaster that day, and by the time he had followed Angel and Tom to the bottom of the stairs and into the oak-shaded yard behind the house, the day faded into view for him.
Mary was at play here, and the sight of her, his first in seven years, almost brought Barty to his knees. She was the image of her mother, and he knew that this must be at least a little bit what Angel had looked like when, at three, she had initially arrived here in 1968, when she explored the kitchen on that first day and found the toaster under a sock.
If the sight of his daughter almost drove him to his knees, the sight of his wife, also his first in seven years, lifted him until he was virtually floating across the grass.
On the lawn, Koko, their four-year-old golden retriever, was lying on her back, all paws in the air, presenting the great gift of her furry belly for the rubbing pleasure of young Mistress Mary.
'Honey,' Angel said to her daughter, 'show us that game you were just playing with Koko. Show us, honey. Come on. Show us. Show us.'
To Barty, Mary said, 'Mommy's all hyper about this.'
'You know Mommy,' Barty said, almost desperately sponging up the sight of his little girl's face and wringing the images into his memory to sustain him in the next long darkness.
'Can you really see right now, Daddy?'
'I really can.'
'Do you like my shoes?'
'They're cool shoes.'
'Do you like the way my hair-'
'Show us, show us, show us!' Angel urged.
'Okaaaay,' Mary said. 'Koko, let's play.'
The dog rolled off her back and sprang up, tail wagging, ready for fun.
Mary had a yellow vinyl ball of the type Koko would happily chase all day and, if allowed, chew all night, keeping the house awake with its squeaking. 'Want this?' she asked Koko. Koko wanted it, of course, needed it, absolutely had to have it, and leaped into action as Mary pretended to throw the ball.
After a few racing steps, when the dog realized that Mary hadn't thrown the ball, it whipped around and sprinted back.
Mary ran-'Catch me if you can! '-and darted away.
Koko changed directions with a fantastic pivot turn and bounded after the girl.
Mary pivoted, too, turning sharply to her left — and disappeared.
'Oh, my,' said Tom Vanadium.
One moment, girl and yellow vinyl ball. The next moment, gone as if they'd never been.
Koko skidded to a halt, perplexed, looked left, looked right, floppy ears lifted slightly to catch any sound of Mistress Mary.
Behind the dog, Mary walked out of nowhere, ball in hand, and Koko whirled in surprise, and the chase was on again.
Three times, Mary vanished, and three times she reappeared, before she led the bamboozled Koko to her mother and father. 'Neat, huh?'
'When did you realize you could do this?' Tom asked. 64 just a little bit ago,' the girl said. 'I was sitting on the porch, having a Popsicle, and I just figured it out.'
Barty looked at Angel, and Angel looked at Barty, and they dropped to their knees on the grass before their daughter. They were both grinning? and then their grins stiffened a little.
No doubt thinking about the land of the big bugs, into which she had pushed Enoch Cain, which was exactly what Barty had suddenly thought about, Angel said, 'Honey, this is amazing, it's wonderful, but you've got to be careful.'
'It's not scary,' said Mary. 'I just step into another place for a little, and then back. It's just like going from one room to the next. I can't get stuck over there or anything.' She looked at Barty. 'You know how it is, Dad.'
'Sorta. But what your mother means-'
'Maybe some of those are bad places,' Angel warned.
'Oh, sure, I know,' Mary said. 'But when it's a bad place, you feel it before you go in. So you just go around to the next place that isn't bad. No big deal.'
No big deal.
Barty wanted to hug her. He did hug her. He hugged Angel, too. He hugged Tom Vanadium.
'I need a drink,' Father Tom said.
Mary Lampion, little light, was home-schooled as her father and mother had been. But she didn't study just reading, writing, and arithmetic. Gradually she developed a range of fascinating talents not taught in any school, and she went exploring in a great number of the many ways things are, journeying to worlds right here but unseen.
In his blindness, Barty listened to her reports and, through her, saw more than he could have seen if never he had lost his eyes.
On Christmas Eve, 1996, the family gathered in the middle of the three houses for dinner. The living-room furniture had been moved aside to the walls, and three tables had been set end to end, the length of the room, to accommodate everyone.
When the long table was laden and the wine poured, when everyone but Mary settled into chairs, Angel said, 'My daughter tells me she wants to make a short presentation before I say grace. I don't know what it is, but she assures me it doesn't involve singing, dancing, or reading any of her poetry.' I Barty, at the head of the table, sensed Mary's approach only as she was about to touch him. She put a hand on his arm and said, 'Daddy, will you turn your chair away from the table and let me sit on your lap?'
'If there's a presentation, I assume then I'm the presentee,' he said, taming his chair sideways to the table and taking her into his lap. 'Just remember, I never wear neckties.'
'I love you, Daddy,' she said, and put the palms of her hands flat against his temples.
Into Barty's darkness came light that he had not sought. He saw his smiling Mary on his lap as she lowered her hands from his temples, saw the faces of his family, the table set with Christmas decorations and many candles flickering.
'This will stay with you,' Mary said. 'It's shared sight from all the other yous in all the other places, but you won't have to make any effort to hold on to it. No headaches. No problems ever. Merry Christmas, Daddy.'
And so at the age of thirty-one, after more than twenty-eight years of blindness with a few short reprieves, Barty Lampion received the gift of sight from his ten-year-old daughter. 1996 through 2000: Day after day, the work was done in memory of Agnes Lampion, Joey Lampion, Harrison White, Seraphim White, Jacob Isaacson, Simon Magusson, Tom Vanadium, Grace White, and most recently Wally Lipscomb, in memory of all those who had given so much and, though perhaps still alive in other places, were gone from here.
At Thanksgiving dinner, again at the three tables set end to end, in the year of the triple zero, Mary Lampion, now fourteen years old, made an interesting announcement over the pumpkin pie. In her travels where none but she could go, after seven fascinating years of exploring a fraction of all the infinite worlds, she said she sensed beyond doubt that, as Barty's mother had told him on her deathbed, there is one special place beyond all the ways things are, one shining place.
'And give me long enough, I'm going to find how to get there and see it. '
Alarmed, her mother said, 'Without dying first.'
'Well, sure,' said Mary, 'without dying first. That would be the easy way to get there. I'm a Lampion, aren't I? Do we take the easy way, if we can avoid it? Did Daddy take the easiest way up the oak tree?'
Barty set one other rule: 'Without dying first? and you have to be sure you can get back.'
'If I ever get there, I'll be back,' she promised the gathered family. 'Imagine how much we'll have to talk
