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//-->A Red Heart of MemoriesHouse, Book 1Nina Kiriki Hoffman1999ISBN: 0-441-00768-6Praise for Nina Kiriki Hoffman“A Nina Hoffman story is, by definition, a thing of high quality and mesmeric appeal.”—Roger Zelazny“Nina Kiriki Hoffman is a magician. Her words create worlds no one has seen before. Hercharacters are charming, her prose lyrical. She is one of the fantasy field’s greatest talents.”—Kristine Kathryn Rusch“Most writers show and tell. Nina Hoffman sings.”—Algis Budrys“There is absolutely no other voice in contemporary fantasy like Hoffman’s.”—Ed Bryant“Nina Kiriki Hoffman is enormously talented.”—Kate Wilhelm“Is Nina Hoffman a genius? Oh, yes. Yes, indeed.”—The Magazineof Fantasy & Science Fiction“[Nina Kiriki Hoffman’s] stories are like fire—some are sparks that shoot in the night and catch yousideways when you’re not looking, others glow like red hot coals that make you all toasty on one sideand sensitive to the cold around you.”—RaveReviewsDedicationThis book is for:Jenny, and Nancy E.,M. J. Engh, owlwoman,and the Poetry Lunch crowd:Holly Arrow, Martha Bayless,Bruce Holland Rogers,Ray Vukcevich, and Leslie Whatand for Lois Tilton, who asked for more about MattChapter OneMATTBlack met the moss man on Christmas Eve.She was sitting on a stone bench in a pioneer cemetery, with a wall of ivy-covered brick at her backand a brown paper bag full of past-their-expiration-date plastic-wrapped sandwiches beside her. Theshort cool daylight faded. Mist bred in the low spots and spread. The damp in the air smelled like winter,dead leaves, iced water, chill and no comfort. Matt was glad of her thick olive-drab army jacket.She liked the look of the old mossy gravestones in the brushy grass, some tilted and some broken,but all mute against the wet shrubs and vanishing distance. The people who had come here to communewith the dead had all died, too; no fresh dreams troubled the stillness. This was as close to nature as sheliked to get, a tamed wilderness only a short walk away from a town where she could go to find warmthand comfort after she had had her supper. Here, there were still plenty of human-made things she couldtalk with if she wanted conversation, but she could see a forest too, gauzed in mist and twilight.She unwrapped one of the sandwiches and sniffed it. Roast beef and yellow cheese. It smelled fine.She took a sample bite, waited to see if her stomach would tell her anything, and then ate the rest of thesandwich. The bread was dry and the edges of the cheese hard, but it was better than a lot of otherthings she had eaten.Her stomach thanked her. She opened another sandwich, ham and Swiss, tested it, and ate it.She was sitting and feeling her own comfort when she noticed there was some dreaming going on toher left, a quiet swirl of leafy images emerging from the layers-thick ivy on the wall. She wondered if shewere seeing the dream of a plant. She had never seen a plant dream before, though she could see whatpeople dreamed, and what things shaped by people dreamed. This seemed like a strange time to startunderstanding plants.She turned to get a better look at the dream, and it changed. The leaves wove together into greenskin, the skin smoothed and formed a man, and then a man all green stepped away from the wall, shakinghis head slowly.Some texture in the sound and smell of him told her he was no dream at all.Matt grabbed the loose plastic wrap on the bench beside her and asked it if it would cover the man’sface if she threw it. It said yes. If he came at her ... she touched the bench she was sitting on. It was tooold and sleepy to mobilize. She put her feet on the ground and tensed to run.The man blinked. His face looked like a mannequin’s, no real expression, no movement of the tinymuscles, a polished and unreal perfection to the features. He turned and stared at her.“Who are you?” she asked after the silence had stretched.“Edmund,” he said.“What do you want?”“Nothing,” he said.“Nothing? Why’d you move if you don’t want anything? You could of just stayed in the wall.” Shehad never met anybody who wanted nothing.“It was time to move,” he said. Something was happening to his skin in the waning light; the greenfaded, left tan behind. His clothes and curly hair stayed green. She hadn’t noticed the clothes until the restof him changed. T-shirt, pants—green, mossy even; tan arms and face, hands and feet. It was freezing,but he didn’t seem to feel the cold.“Want a sandwich?” she said.He stretched and yawned. He came closer. She had thought his expression was wooden, but nowshe saw it was more like ice, frozen ... though thaw was coming. He blinked. He finally smiled. Itchanged her image of him completely: he looked friendly and almost goofy.Still gripping the plastic wrap just in case, she scooted over, leaving room on the bench. He satdown.She peered into the brown paper bag. “Looks like I got a tuna and a ham-and-cheese left. The tunamight be bad. Fish goes bad faster than cured meat.”“I’ll try the ham-and-cheese,” he said. “Thanks.”She gave him the sandwich. He struggled with the plastic wrap. His fingers didn’t bend right yet. Shegrabbed the sandwich and unwrapped it for him. “How long you been part of a wall, anyway?”“I don’t know,” he said. “I wonder if my car will run.” He bit the sandwich and chewed, abstracted,as though he were listening to his mouth. “Hmm.”“It’s Christmas Eve,” Matt said when he had finished the sandwich and sat watching her, smilingfaintly.“Huh,” he said. “Been a wall a couple months then, I guess.”She opened dream-eyes and pecked at his mental landscape. A forest clearing, with a single treerising from the center, sunlight stroking one side of its trunk. Wind blew and the tree leaned into it asthough its bark were skin, its core supple. The leaves wavered and flickered, winking diamonds of light.Not threatening, but not clear, either. “What were you doing in the wall?”“Standing still.”“How come?”“That’s how the spirit moved me.”“Huh?”He shrugged. “I just wander around until something tells me to act. I happened to stop here a whileback, and the wall spoke to me.”Matt felt a stir inside. She traveled far and often and had been talking with human-made things allover the country for years. She’d never met anyone else who talked with them. “What did it say?”‘“Come here.’”She glanced back at the wall under its cloak of ivy.—Did you say “come here” to this guy?—sheasked it.—Yes,—said the wall.—Why?——I wanted him.—Nothing ever seemed to want Matt, though lots of things enjoyed meeting her, and most of themwere nice to her.—Why?——He’s a certain kind of brick. He’s hot. He makes everything fit better.—Matt looked at Edmund. His eyebrows rose.“You’re a brick?” she said.“A brick,” he repeated, with a question in it.“Wall says you’re a brick. A hot brick.”“What?” He glanced at the wall. He reached out and placed his palm flat against it.Seemed like he hadn’t heard her conversation, then. Matt felt better. She had been talking toeverything for a long time without other human beings hearing her. She didn’t want to be overheard.Edmund’s arm stained brick red.—What’s he doing?—Matt asked the wall.—Connecting,—the wall said.—Are you talking to me?—Its voice had changed slightly.—Am I?—Matt looked at Edmund. His mouth opened slightly, and his eyebrows stayed up.—Yes,—said the wall. “Yes,” said Edmund.Matt swallowed.—This is so strange.——Yes.—Slowly he pulled his hand away from the wall. His skin faded to tan again. He held his hand out toMatt. She stared at it without touching it.“What do you want?” he asked her. “What do you need?”“Me? I don’t need anything,” she said.“I’m here for you.”“What?”He dropped his hand to his thigh. “I follow as the spirit leads me,” he said, “It led me to you. Let meknow when you figure out what you want.”“I take care of myself,” she said.“Yes,” he said.“I don’t need anything else.”“All right.”“What do you want?” she asked him again.He smiled wide. “Nothing,” he said again. “Guess that makes us a match.”“I don’t turn into a brick,” said Matt, unnerved. She hadn’t realized until this moment how much shevalued being different and special, even if no one else knew just how special. She knew, and that hadbeen enough. She didn’t want this man to be anything like her.He said, “Would you like to be a brick? I like it. It’s nice being part of something so solid.”“No.” Matt shook her head. “No, no.”“Okay,” he said. He pulled his legs up, bent knees against his chest, and gripped his feet.She watched him for a while. His feet and hands started to gray to match the stone bench, and thenthe dark grew too heavy for her to make out details.“Uh,” she said. “I’m going back to town now. Nice to meet you.”“I’ll come with you.”“I’d rather you didn’t.”“Oh. All right. Thanks for the sandwich.”“You’re welcome.” She stood and walked away, chasing mist whenever she could.She found a newspaper in a phone booth and scanned the page of church services, picked an earlyone. She liked churches on Christmas Eve, the pageantry, the carols, the candles and greenery, thewarmth, the smells of hot wax and pine and incense and perfume and even mothballs from some of thefancy clothes people wore. She liked the idea that a kid born in a cave could be important.She settled in a back pew and watched everything with interest. Children thought about presents,those opened and those still waiting, full of promises. Some of the grown-ups did too. Some people werethinking about the service, and some were thinking about going to sleep. Some were remembering theirdinners. Some were worried because they hadn’t finished wrapping things or they hadn’t found the rightpresents, and others were happy because they had done what they could.A woman in front of Matt kept thinking about washing a mountain of dishes. She would sigh, andstart the task in her mind again, go through it dish by dish, each spoon and fork and knife; and sigh, andstart again.Matt tuned her out and focused on a child who was watching the candles and listening to the singingand thinking about the words of the songs and making the flames go in and out of focus, flames, flat disksof light, flames.A child in another place looked at every scrap of red clothing, hoping to glimpse Santa Claus.A man cradled a sleeping child. When he looked down at her he saw his arms full of golden light.Another child looked at the priest and saw angels behind him. Matt wondered if the angels werereally there. They had beautiful smiles and kind eyes.The church was full. It lived and breathed, a big organism full of different cells and tissues, everythingcooperating.Matt kept an eye out for the moss man. What did he want from her? He wasn’t a normal human. Shecouldn’t guess which way he’d jump.She didn’t see him again until she left the church. She was walking through a quiet neighborhoodtalking to houses she passed, asking if any of them would like some extra company tonight, and listeningto their stories about the festivities they had hosted, the lighted trees they held inside, the way theirhumans had dressed them in jewelry of lights, when an old rust-blotched brown Volvo station wagonpulled up beside her, its engine surprisingly quiet considering its exterior, and Edmund leaned along theseat and said out the rolled-down passenger-side window, “Want a ride?”“What?” she said.“Want a ride?”“No,” she said. She wondered if she should run.He pulled the car over to the curb and turned off the engine. “Want company?” he said, and got out.He had on hiking boots and a dark jacket now.—What’s with this guy?—she asked the car.—He won’t hurt you,—the car said. Its voice was gentle and warm and somehow feminine.—Do you know what hurts?——Yes,—said the car.—At least I know some of the things that hurt people. Edmund won’t hurtyou.—“What do you want?” Matt asked Edmund for the third time.He rounded the front of the car and stood near her. “I want to walk around with you. I want to takeyour hand. I want to make sure you’re warm enough tonight, and safe.”“Why?”“Because that’s where spirit is leading me.”She reached out her gloved hand and he took it, his own warm through the leather of her glove, hisgrip firm without threatening. “Thank you,” he said.“I don’t get it,” she muttered.“That’s okay.” He moved to stand beside her, still holding her hand, and said, “Would you like towalk?”“All right.”They walked without speaking for a while. Matt watched the way their breaths misted in front ofthem, and the way the mist globed the orange streetlights, as though fires floated on air, or small clumsystars dipped low. He was tall beside her, his hand warm in hers, his footsteps almost silent. It took awhile for her defenses to gentle down, and then she realized that it felt good to walk with another person.She couldn’t remember the last time she had done it like this—if ever.“Sometimes I feel like I might just float away,” he said presently. “I have a sister. I visit her once in awhile. It keeps my feet on the ground.”“I saw my sister last spring.” Matt had talked to her sister last Christmas for the first time in years. Inthe spring Matt had hitchhiked across the top of the country from Ohio to Seattle, catching ridessometimes from people and sometimes from friendly trucks, who opened their back doors to her attruckstops and let her out at other truckstops when they were about to turn away from her route.Seeing Pam had been strange and difficult. Matt and her sister had started out from the same placeand gone such different directions that they had almost no common ground left. Pam and her husbandhad offered Matt a room to stay in, and help finding a job. Matt had fixed a broken dishwasher andrepaired a reluctant vacuum cleaner and a tired clothes dryer, and then she had hugged Pam and left.“Mostly I just wander from one place to the next,” said Edmund, “waiting to be needed forsomething, then trying to figure out what it is.”Matt wandered too, always looking at things. Sometimes she helped people, but she didn’t goaround looking for people to help. “What about what you want?”“I don’t know,” he said. They walked farther. “I used to do what I wanted, and then one time I didwhat I wanted and it was the wrong thing. Scared me. I wasn’t the person I wanted to be. So I decidedto be the opposite.”“And things want you?”He nodded. “Sometimes it’s nothing urgent. The cemetery wall had been falling to pieces for ages,and it could have gone on disintegrating without disturbing the integrity of the local space-timecontinuum.” She looked up at him. He smiled. “I know, I can’t believe I talk like that either. Especiallywhen I’m not used to talking at all. The wall wanted to be pulled back together. I wasn’t busy, so Imelted in and helped the wall collect itself and strengthen its bonds with its pieces. Then just as I finished,there you were.”“What makes you think I’m your next project?”“That’s the way spirit works. I finish one task and then comes another.”“So what are you supposed to do about me?”He shook his head and smiled. “Maybe nothing. I know you don’t need me or anybody.”She stopped in the darkness between streetlights and stared across the street at a house draped withcolored blinking lights, realizing that the lights blurred because her eyes had heated with tears. Somethinginside her tremored, small shakes at first, which worked their way outward to her edges and turned intobig shakes.“What is it?” he murmured. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]