Little, Big

“Yes,” Sophie said. “I told him first.”

That hurt, that Smoky hadn’t told her: the first sensation that could be called pain since Sophie had entered. She thought of him, burdened with that knowledge, and she innocent of it; the thoughts stabbed her. “And what does he intend to do?” she asked next, as in a catechism.

“He wasn’t… He didn’t…”

“Well, you’d better decide, hadn’t you? The two of you.”

Sophie’s lip trembled. The store of bravery she had started out with was running out. “Oh, Alice, don’t be this way,” she pleaded. “I didn’t think you’d be this way.” She took Alice’s hand, but Alice looked away, the knuckles of her other hand pressing her lips. “I mean, I know it was hateful of us,” she said, watching Alice’s face, trying to gauge it. “Hateful. But, Alice…”

“Oh, I don’t hate you, Soph.” As though not wishing to, but unable not to, Alice’s fingers curled themselves closely among Sophie’s, though still she looked away. “It’s just, well.” Sophie watched a struggle taking place within Alice; she didn’t dare speak, only held her hand tighter, waiting to see what issue it would have. “See, I thought…” She fell silent again, and cleared her throat of an obstruction that had just arisen there. “Well, you know,” she said. “You remember: Smoky was chosen for me, that’s what I used to think; I used to think that’s what our story was.”

“Yes,” Sophie said, lowering her eyes.

“Only lately, I can’t seem to remember that very well. I can’t remember them. How it used to be. I can remember, but not… the feeling, do you know what I mean? How it used to be, with Auberon; those times.”

“Oh, Alice,” Sophie said. “How could you forget?”

“Cloud said: when you grow up, you trade what you had as a child for what you have as a grown-up. Or if you don’t, you lose it anyway, and get nothing in return.” Her eyes had grown tears, though her voice was steady; the tears seemed less part of her than part of the story she told. “And I thought: then I traded them for Smoky. And they arranged that trade. And that was okay. Because even though I couldn’t remember them any more, I had Smoky.” Now her voice wavered. “I guess I was wrong.”

“No!” Sophie said, shocked as if by a blasphemy.

“I guess it’s just-ordinary,” Alice said, and sighed a tremulous sigh. “I guess you were right, when we were married, that we wouldn’t ever have what you and I had once; wait and see, you said…”

“No, Alice, no!” Sophie gripped her sister’s arm, as if to hold her back from going further. “That story was true, it was true, I always knew it. Don’t, don’t ever say it wasn’t. It was the most beautiful story I ever heard, and it all came true, just as they said it would. Oh, I was so jealous, Alice, it was wonderful for you and I was so jealous…”

Alice turned to face her. Sophie was shocked by her face: not sad, though tears stood in her eyes; not angry; not anything. “Well,” Alice said, “I guess you don’t have to be jealous any more, anyway.” She pulled Sophie’s nightgown up over the ball of her shoulder from which it had slipped. “Now. We have to think what to do…”

“It’s a lie,” Sophie said.

“What?” Alice looked at her, puzzled. “What’s a lie, Soph?”

“It’s a lie, it’s a lie!” Sophie almost shouted, tearing it out from within her. “It isn’t Smoky’s at all! I lied to you!” Unable any longer to bear her sister’s foreign face, Sophie buried her head in Alice’s lap, sobbing. “I’m so sorry… I was so jealous, I wanted to be part of your story, that’s all; oh, don’t you see he never would, he couldn’t, he loves you so much; and I wouldn’t have, but I—I missed you. I missed you. I wanted to have a story too, I wanted… Oh, Alice.”

Alice, taken by surprise, only stroked her sister’s head, automatically comforting her. Then: “Wait a minute, Sophie. Sophie, listen.” With both her hands she raised Sophie’s face from her lap. “Do you mean you never…”

Sophie blushed; even through her tears that could be seen. “Well, we did. Once or twice.” She held up a forestalling palm. “But it was all my fault, always. He felt so bad.” She brushed back, with a furious gesture, her hair, glued to her face with tears. “He always felt so bad.”

“Once or twice?”

“Well, three times.”

“You mean you…”

“Three—and a half.” She almost giggled, wiping her face on the sheet. She sniffed. “It took him forever to get around to it, and then he always got so tied in knots it almost wasn’t any fun.”

Alice laughed, amazed, couldn’t help it. Sophie seeing her, laughed too, a laugh like a sob, through her sniffing. “Well,” she said, throwing up her hands and letting them fall in her lap; “well.”

“But wait a minute,” Alice said. “If it wasn’t Smoky, who was it?

“Sophie?”

Sophie told her.

“No,”

“Yes.”

“Of all people. But—how can you be sure? I mean…”

Sophie told her, counting off the reasons on her fingers, why she was sure.

“George Mouse,” Alice said. “Of all people. Sophie, that’s practically incest.”

“Oh, come on,” Sophie said dismissively. “It was only one time.”

“Well, then he…”

“No!” Sophie said, and put her hands on Alice’s shoulders. “No. He’s not to know. Never. Alice, promise. Cross your heart. Don’t ever tell, ever. I’d be so embarrassed.”

“Oh, Sophie!” What an amazing person, she thought, what a strange person. And realized, with a rush of feeling, that she had for a long time missed Sophie, too; had forgotten what she was like, even; had even forgotten she missed her. “Well what do we tell Smoky then? That would mean he…”

“Yes.” Sophie was shivering. Tremors ran around her ribcage. Alice moved aside, and Sophie pulled down the bedclothes and scrambled in, her nightgown riding up, into the pocket of warmth Alice had made. Her feet against Alice’s legs were icy, and she wiggled her toes against Alice to warm them.

“It’s not true, but it wouldn’t be so terrible, would it, to let him think so? I mean it’s got to have a father Somehow,” Sophie said. “And not George, for heaven’s sake.” She buried her face against Alice’s breasts, and said, after a time, in a tiny voice, “I wish it was Smoky’s.” And after another time: “It ought to be.” And after a longer time still: “Just think. A baby.”

It seemed to Alice that she could feel Sophie smile. Was that possible, to feel a smile when someone’s face was pressed against you? “Well, I guess, maybe so,” she said, and drew Sophie close. “I can’t think what else.” What a strange way to live, she thought, the way they lived; if she grew to be a hundred she’d never understand it. She smiled herself, bewildered, and shook her head in surrender. What a conclusion! But it had been so long since she had seen Sophie happy—if this was happiness she felt, and damn if it didn’t seem to be—she could only be happy with her. Night-blooming Sophie had flowered in the day.

“He does love you,” Sophie’s muffled voice said. “He’ll love you for ever.” She yawned hugely, shuddering. “It was all true. It was all true.”

Maybe it was. A kind of perception was stealing over her, entwining itself in her as Sophie’s long, familiar legs were twining in hers: perhaps she had been wrong, about the trade; perhaps they had stopped teasing her to follow them only because she had long since arrived wherever it was they had been teasing her to come. She hadn’t lost them, and yet needn’t follow any more because here she was.

She squeezed Sophie suddenly, and said “Ah!”

But if she was here, where was she? And where was Smoky?

A Gift They Had to Give

When it was Smoky’s turn, Alice sat on the bed to receive him, as she had Sophie, but propped up on