Room: A Novel

Officer Oh, “How did you find where—?” “We’ve got soil-sensitive probes.”

“We’ll put her somewhere better,” Ma tells me.

“Grandma’s garden?”

“Tell you what, we could — we could turn her bones into ash and sprinkle it under the hammock.”

“Will she grow again then and be my sister?”

Ma shakes her head. Her face is all stripey wet.

There’s more rain on me. It’s not like a shower, softer.

Ma’s turned around, she’s looking at a gray shed in the corner of the yard. “That’s it,” she says.

“What?”

“Room.”

“Nah.”

“It is, Jack, you’ve just never seen it from the outside.”

We follow Officer Oh, we step over more yellow tape. “Notice the central air unit is concealed in these bushes,” she tells Ma. “And the entrance is at the back, out of any sight lines.”

I see silvery metal, it’s Door I think but the side of him I never saw, he’s halfway open already.

“Will I come in with you?” says Officer Oh.

“No,” I shout.

“OK.”

“Just me and Ma.”

But Ma’s dropped my hand and she’s bending over, she makes a strange noise. There’s stuff on the grass, on her mouth, it’s vomit I can smell. Is she poisoned again? “Ma, Ma—”

“I’m OK.” She wipes her mouth with a tissue Officer Oh gives her.

“Would you prefer—?” says Officer Oh.

“No,” says Ma and she takes my hand again. “Come on.”

We step in through Door and it’s all wrong. Smaller than Room and emptier and it smells weird. Floor’s bare, that’s because there’s no Rug, she’s in my wardrobe in our Independent Living, I forgot she couldn’t be here at the same time. Bed’s here but there’s no sheets or Duvet on her. Rocker’s here and Table and Sink and Bath and Cabinet but no plates and cutlery on top, and Dresser and TV and Bunny with the purple bow on him, and Shelf but nothing on her, and our chairs folded up but they’re all different. Nothing says anything to me. “I don’t think this is it,” I whisper to Ma.

“Yeah, it is.”

Our voices sound not like us. “Has it got shrunk?”

“No, it was always like this.”

Spaghetti Mobile’s gone, and my octopus picture, and the masterpieces, and all the toys and Fort and Labyrinth. I look under Table but there’s no web. “It’s gone darker.”

“Well, it’s a rainy day. You could put the light on.” Ma points to Lamp.

But I don’t want to touch. I look closer, I’m trying to see it how it was. I find my birthday numbers marked beside Door, I stand against them and put my hand flat at the top of my head and I’m taller than the black 5. There’s thin dark on everything. “Is that the dust of our skins?” I ask.

“Fingerprinting powder,” says Officer Oh.

I bend and look in Under Bed for Eggsnake curled up like he’s sleeping. I can’t see his tongue, I reach down all careful till I feel the little prick of the needle.

I straighten up. “Where did Plant be?”

“You’ve forgotten already? Right here,” says Ma, tapping the middle of Dresser and I see a circle that’s more coloredy than the rest.

There’s the mark of Track around Bed. The little hole rubbed in Floor where our feet used to go under Table. I guess this really was Room one time. “But not anymore,” I tell Ma.

“What?”

“It’s not Room now.”

“You don’t think so?” She sniffs. “It used to smell even staler. The door’s open now, of course.”

Maybe that’s it. “Maybe it’s not Room if Door’s open.”

Ma does a tiny smile. “Do you—?” She clears her throat. “Would you like the door closed for a minute?” “No.”

“OK. I need to go now.”

I walk to Bed Wall and touch it with one finger, the cork doesn’t feel like anything. “Is good night in the day?” “Huh?”

“Can we say good night when it’s not night?”

“I think it would be good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Wall.” Then I say it to the three other walls, then “Good-bye, Floor.” I pat Bed, “Good-bye, Bed.” I put my head down in Under Bed to say “Good-bye, Eggsnake.” In Wardrobe I whisper, “Good-bye, Wardrobe.” In the dark there’s the picture of me Ma did for my birthday, I look very small. I wave her over and point to it.

I kiss her face where the tears are, that’s how the sea tastes.

I pull the me picture down and zip it into my jacket. Ma’s nearly at Door, I go over. “Lift me up?”

“Jack—”

“Please.”

Ma sits me up on her hip, I reach up.

“Higher.”

She holds me by my ribs and lifts me up up up, I touch the start of Roof. I say, “Good-bye, Roof.”

Ma puts me down thump.

“Good-bye, Room.” I wave up at Skylight. “Say good-bye,” I tell Ma. “Good-bye, Room.”

Ma says it but on mute.

I look back one more time. It’s like a crater, a hole where something happened. Then we go out the door.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my beloved Chris Roulston and my agent, Caroline Davidson, for their responses to the first draft, as well as Caroline (aided by Victoria X. Kwee and Laura Macdougall) and my U.S. agent, Kathy Anderson, for their exuberant commitment to this novel from day one. Judy Clain at Little, Brown, Sam Humphreys at Picador, and Iris Tupholme at HarperCollins Canada for their intelligent editing. Also my friends Debra Westgate, Liz Veecock, Arja Vainio-Mattila, Tamara Sugunasiri, Helene Roulston, Andrea Plumb, Chantal Phillips, Ann Patty, Sinead McBrearty, and Ali Dover for their suggestions about everything from child development to plot development. Above all, my brother-in-law Jeff Miles for his unnervingly insightful advice on the practicalities of Room.