She had to be herself, but still play with a stranger’s hand. How did a person even begin to do that?
She concentrated again on what this place meant to her, distilling the input of sounds and smells and all to their essence. What, she asked herself, was the first thing she thought of when she came back here in the spring from her winter wanderings? She called up the fields in her mind’s eye, the forest and her meadow, hidden away in it, and it came to her.
Green.
Buds on the trees and new growth pushing up through the browned grasses and weeds that had died off during the winter. The first shoots of crocuses and daffodils, fiddlehead ferns and miliums growing in the forest shade.
She came here to immerse herself in a green world. Starting in April when the color was but a vague hue brushing the landscape through to deep summer when the fields and forest ran riot with verdant growth. Come September when the meadows browned and the deciduous trees began to turn red and gold and yellow, that was when she started to pack up the trailer, put things away, ready her knapsack, feet itchy to hit the road once more.
Eyes still closed, she lifted her fiddle back up under her chin. Pulling her bow across the strings, she called up an autumn music. She put into it deer foraging in the cedars. Her scarecrow standing alone, guarding the empty vegetable and herb beds. Geese flying in formation overhead. Frosts and naked tree limbs. Milkweed pods bursting open and a thousand seeds parachuting across the fields. Brambles that stuck to the legs of your overalls.
She played music that was brown and yellow, faded colors and grays. It was still this place. It was still her. But it was a groove she didn’t normally explore with her music. Certainly not here. This was her green home. A green world. But all you had to do was look under the green to see memories of the winter past. A fallen tree stretched out along the forest floor, moss-covered and rotting. A dead limb poking through the leaves of a tree, the one branch that didn’t make it through the winter. The browned grass of last autumn, covered over by new growth, but not mulch yet.
And it wasn’t simply memories. There were shadowings of the winter to come, too, even in this swelter of summer and green. She wasn’t alone in her annual migrations south, but those that remained were already beginning their preparations. Foraging, gathering. The sunflowers were going to seed. There were fruits on the apple trees, still green and hard, but they would ripen. The berry bushes were beginning to put forth their crop. Seeds were forming, nuts hardening.
It was another world, another groove.
She played it out until she could almost feel a change in the air—a crispness, dry and bittersweet. Opening her eyes, she turned to look at the trailer. Is this what you meant? she wanted to ask Robert. But he wasn’t there. She took bow from strings and stood there, silent, taking it all in.
Robert and William were gone, and so was the summer. The grass was browned underfoot. The fruit and leaves from her scarecrow’s apple limbs were fallen away, the garden finished for the year.
What had she done now? Called up the autumn? Lost a few months of her life, standing here in her meadow, playing an unfamiliar music?
Or had she called herself away?
She knew nothing of the otherworld except for what people had told her about it. Grandma. Malicorne. A man named Rupert who lived in the desert, far to the south. Beyond the fact that spirits lived there who could cross over into our world, everything they had to say about the place was vague.
Right now, all she knew was that this didn’t feel like her meadow so much as an echo of it. How it might appear in the other-world.
The place where the spirit people lived and her fiddle had come from.
Grandma had told her it was a place sensible people didn’t go. Rupert had warned her that while it was easy to stray over into it, it wasn’t so easy to leave behind once you were there.
How could this have happened? How—
Movement startled her. She took a step back as a hare came bounding out of the woods to take refuge under her trailer. A moment later a large dog burst into the meadow, chasing it. The dog rushed the trailer, bending low and growling deep in its chest as it tried to fit itself into the narrow space. Giving a sudden yelp, it scrabbled away as a rattler came sliding out from under the trailer. The snake took a shot at the dog, but the dog had changed into a mongoose, shifting so fast Staley never saw it happen. The mongoose’s teeth clamped on the rattler, but it, too, transformed, becoming a boa constrictor, fattening, lengthening, forcing the mongoose’s jaws open, wrapping its growing length around the smaller mammal’s body, squeezing.
Staley didn’t need a lot of considering time to work out what was going on here. Maybe she’d fiddled herself over into the other-world, but it was obvious that also she’d pulled those two hoodoo men along with her when she’d come.
“Hey, you!” she cried.
The animals froze, turned to look at her. She was a little surprised that they’d actually stopped to listen to her.
“Don’t you have no sense?” she asked them. “What’s any of this going to prove?”
She looked from one to the other, trapped by the dark malevolence in their eyes and suddenly wished she’d left well enough alone. What business of hers was it if they killed each other? She’d gotten them back here where they belonged. Best thing now was that they forgot she ever existed.
For a long moment she was sure that wasn’t going to happen. It was like playing in a bar when a fight broke out at the edge of the stage. The smart musician didn’t get involved. She just stepped back, kept her instrument safe, and let them work it out between themselves until the bouncer showed up. Trouble was, there was no bouncer here. It was just the three of them and she didn’t even have a mike stand she could hit them with.
She didn’t know what she’d have done if they’d broken off their own fight and come after her. Luckily, she didn’t have to find out. The mongoose became a sparrow and slipped out of the snake’s grip, darting away into the forest. A half second later a hawk was in pursuit and she was on her own again. At least she thought she was.
A low chuckle from behind her made her turn.
The newcomer looked like he’d just stepped down out of the hills, tall and lean, a raggedy hillbilly in jeans and a flannel shirt, cowboy boots on his feet. There were acne scars on his cheeks and he wore his dark hair slicked back in a ducktail. His eyes were the clearest blue she could ever remember seeing, filled with a curious mix of distant skies and good humor. He had one hand in his pocket, the other holding the handle of a battered, black guitar case.
“You ever see such foolishness?” he asked. “You think they’d learn, but I reckon they’ve been at it now for about as long as the day is wide.”
Staley liked the sound of his voice. It held an easygoing lilt that reminded her of her daddy’s cousins who lived up past Hazard, deep in the hills.
She laughed. “Long as the day is wide?” she asked.
“Well, you know. Start to finish, the day only holds so many hours, but you go sideways and it stretches on forever.”
“I’ve never heard of time running sideways.”
“I’m sure you must know a hundred things I’ve never heard of.”
“I suppose.”
“You new around here?” he asked.
Staley glanced back at her trailer, then returned her gaze to him.
“In a manner of speaking,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure how I got here and even less sure as to how I’ll get back to where I come from.”
“I can show you,” he told her. “But maybe you’d favor me with a tune first? Been a long time since I got to pick with a fiddler.”
The thing that no one told you about the otherworld, Staley realized, is how everything took on a dreamlike quality when you were here. She knew she should be focusing on getting back to the summer meadow where Robert and William were waiting for her, but there just didn’t seem to be any hurry about it.
“So what do you say?” he
asked.
She shrugged. “I guess. …”
I’m already feeling a little dozy from the sun and fresh air when Staley begins to play her fiddle. It doesn’t sound a whole lot different from the kinds of things she usually plays, but then what do I really know about music? Don’t ask me to discuss it. I either like it or I don’t. But Robert seems pleased with what she’s doing, nodding to himself, has a little smile starting up there in the corner of his mouth.
I can see his left hand shaping chords on the neck of his guitar, but he doesn’t strum the strings. Just follows what she’s doing in his head, I guess.
I look at Staley a little longer, smiling as well to see her standing there so straight-backed in her overalls, barefoot in the grass, the sun glowing golden on her short hair. After a while I lean back against the door of the trailer again and close my eyes. I’m drifting on the music, not really thinking much of anything, when I realize the sound of the fiddle’s starting to fade away.
“Shit,” I hear Robert say.
I open my eyes, but before I can turn to look at him, I see Staley’s gone. It’s the damnedest thing. I can still hear her fiddling, only it’s getting fainter and fainter like she’s walking away and I can’t see a sign of her anywhere. I can’t imagine a person could run as fast as she’d have to to disappear like this and still keep playing that sleepy music.
When Robert stands up, I scramble to my feet as well.
“What’s going on?” I ask him.
“She let it take her away.”
“What do you mean? Take her away where?”
But he doesn’t answer. He’s looking into the woods and then I see them, too. A rabbit being chased by some ugly old dog. Might be the same rabbit that ran off on us in the city, but I can’t tell. It comes tearing out from under the trees, running straight across the meadow toward us, and then it just disappears.
I blink, not sure I actually saw what I just saw. But then the same thing happens to the dog. It’s like it goes through some door I can’t see. There one minute, gone the next.
“Well, she managed to pull them back across,” Robert says. “But I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”
Hearing him talk like that makes me real nervous.
“Why?” I ask him. “This is what we wanted, right? She was going to play some music to put things back the way they were. Wasn’t that the plan?”
He nods. “But her going over wasn’t.”
“I don’t get it.”
Robert turns to look at me. “How’s she going to get back?”
“Same way she went away—right?”
He answers with a shrug and then I get a bad feeling. It’s like what happened with Malicorne and Jake, I realize. Stepped away, right out of the world, and they never came back. The only difference is, they meant to go.
“She won’t know what to do,” Robert says softly. “She’ll be upset and maybe a little scared, and then he’s going to show up, offer to show her the way back.”
I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about.
“But she’ll know better than to bargain with him,” I say.
“We can hope.”
“We’ve got to be able to do better than that,” I tell him.
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“You could call her back,” I say.
Robert shakes his head. “The devil, he’s got himself a guitar, too.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Think about it,” Robert says. “Whose music is she going to know to follow?”
The stranger laid his guitar case on the grass and opened it up. The instrument he took out was an old Martin D-45 with the pearl inlaid CD MARTIN logo on the headstock—a classic, prewar picker’s guitar.
“Don’t see many of those anymore,” Staley said.
“They didn’t make all that many.” He smiled. “Though I’ll tell you, I’ve never seen me a blue fiddle like you’ve got, not ever.”
“Got it from my grandma.”
“Well, she had taste. Give me an A, would you?”
Staley ran her bow across the A string of her fiddle and the stranger quickly tuned up to it.
“You ever play any contests?” he asked as he finished tuning.
He ran his pick across the strings, fingering an A minor chord. The guitar had a big rich sound with lots of bottom end.
“I don’t believe in contests,” Staley said. “I think they take all the pleasure out of a music.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean nothing serious. More like swapping tunes, taking turns till one of you stumps the other player. Just for fun, like.”
Staley shrugged.
“‘Course to make it interesting,” he added, “we could put a small wager on the outcome.”
“What kind of wager would we be talking about here?”
Staley didn’t know why she was even asking that, why she hadn’t just shut down this idea of a contest right from the get-go. It was like something in the air was turning her head all around.
“I don’t know,” he said. “How about if I win, you’ll give me a kiss?”
“A kiss?”
He shrugged. “And if you enjoy it, maybe you’ll give me something more.”
“And if I win?”
“Well, what’s the one thing you’d like most in the world?”
Staley smiled. “Tell you the truth, I don’t want for much of anything. I keep my expectations low—makes for a simple life.”
“I’m impressed,” he said. “Most people have a hankering for something they can’t have. You know, money, or fame, or a true love. Maybe living forever.”
“Don’t see much point in living forever,” Staley told him. “Come a time when everybody you care about would be long gone, but there you’d be, still trudging along on your own.”
“Well, sure. But—”
“And as for money and fame, I think they’re pretty much overrated. I don’t really need much to be happy and I surely don’t need anybody nosing in on my business.”
“So what about a true love?”
“Well, now,” Staley said. “Seems to me true love’s something that comes to you, not something you can take or arrange.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“That’d be sad, but you make do. I don’t know how other folks get by, but I’ve got my music. I’ve got my friends.”
The stranger regarded her with an odd, frustrated look.
“You can’t tell me there’s nothing you don’t have a yearning for,” he said. “Everybody wants for something.”
“You mean for myself, or in general, like for there to be no more hurt in the world or the like?”
“For yourself,” he said.
Staley shook her head. “Nothing I can’t wait for it to find me in its own good time.” She put her fiddle up under her chin. “So what do you want to play?”
But the stranger pulled his string strap back over his head and started to put his guitar away.
“What’s the matter?” Staley asked. “We don’t need some silly contest just to play a few tunes.”
The stranger wouldn’t look at her.
“I’ve kind of lost my appetite for music,” he said, snapping closed the clasps on his case.
He stood up, his gaze finally meeting hers, and she saw something else in those clear blue eyes of his, a dark storm of anger, but a hurting, too. A loneliness that seemed so out of place, given his easygoing manner. A man like him, he should be friends with everyone he met, she’d thought. Except…
“I know who you are,” she said.
She didn’t know how she knew, but it came to her, like a gauze slipping from in front of her eyes, like she’d suddenly shucked the dreamy quality of the otherworld and could see true once more.
“You don’t look nothing like what I expected,” she added.
“Yeah, well, you’ve had your fun. Now let me be.”
But something her grandmother had told her once
came back to her. “I tell you,” she’d said. “If I was ever to meet the devil, I’d kill him with kindness. That’s the one thing old Lucifer can’t stand.”
Staley grinned, remembering.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “Don’t go off all mad.”
The devil glared at her.
“Or at least let me give you that kiss before you go.”
He actually backed away from her at that.
“What?” Staley asked. “Suddenly you don’t fancy me anymore?”
“You put up a good front,” he said. “I didn’t make you for such an accomplished liar.”
Staley shook her head. “I never lied to you. I really am happy with things the way they are. And anything I don’t have, I don’t mind waiting on.”
The devil spat on the grass at her feet, turned once around, and was gone, vanishing with a small whuft of displaced air.
That’s your best parting shot? Staley wanted to ask, but decided to leave well enough alone. She gave her surroundings a last look, then started up fiddling again, playing herself back into the green of summer where she’d left her friends.
Robert’s pretty impressed when Staley just steps out of that invisible door, calm as you please. We heard the fiddling first. It sounded like it was coming from someplace on the far side of forever, but getting closer by the moment, and then there she was, standing barefoot in the grass, smiling at us. Robert’s even more impressed when she tells us about how she handled the devil.
After putting her fiddle away, she boils up some water on a Coleman stove and makes us up a pot of herbal tea. We take it out through the woods in porcelain mugs, heading up to the top of the field overlooking the county road. The car’s still there. The sun’s going down now, putting on quite a show, and the tea’s better than I thought it would be. Got mint in it, some kind of fruit.