Overheard in a Dream. Torey Hayden

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СКАЧАТЬ and everything made sense to me, but how did I catch him up on that when he didn’t know all the stuff that went before?

      “And I remember that sense of confusion. I lay there, studying his face in the gloom and not saying anything because I didn’t know what to say. I could tell by his expression he was hurt. He thought I was keeping things back from him on purpose, that I was probably sharing these stories with the Meckses because they were my everyday folks but not with him, because he wasn’t around enough. Which wasn’t true at all, because I didn’t share it with anyone, but I could tell he was thinking that. So I told him I was playing make-believe because I wasn’t sleepy yet, and was filling time until I was.

      “My dad gave me this special smile he always saved for whenever he was going to do something he thought would really please me, and he said, ‘You know what? I’ve got a good idea. I think you deserve a later bedtime. From now on, you can stay up an extra half-hour each night. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To stay up later?’

      “I said yes because I could tell he wanted me to be really happy about it, although the truth was, I didn’t want a later bedtime. I preferred going to bed when I did because I wanted to be with Torgon.

      “He smiled warmly. ‘And one of these days, you’ll grow up, Laurie. When you’re little, pretending is lots of fun, but as you get older, you don’t need to pretend anymore because you have real things to think about and real things are always much nicer.’”

      Laura leaned back in the chair. “I remember my father kissing me then and pulling up the covers. Tucking me in, and leaving. Torgon was gone for the moment and I was there alone, lying in the darkness.

      “I’d always known, of course, that people outgrew their imaginary games. By eight most of my friends already had. I’d convinced myself, however, that I was going to be an exception to this and it would never happen to me. I’d hold on to Torgon and the Forest forever. That night, however, was the first time it dawned on me that I might be wrong. Maybe I wouldn’t be different, and someday Torgon would be gone.

      “This huge, aching loneliness washed over me in that moment and I started to cry. I was thinking, if losing all this is growing up, then I don’t want to do it. But what if I had no choice? What if the time came when I could no longer see the Forest? What if my mind stopped being able to fill up with its sights and sounds and scents? What if I was no longer privy to the complexities of Torgon’s life? I remember thinking that I’d have too much mind for my head if Torgon wasn’t in it. She was different than my pretend games like Butterfly the Pony. Torgon was organic. She was not so much something I’d created as something I’d discovered. She was my other half, the part of me I needed in order to be whole. She was the union of me and not-me.”

      Laura’s session stayed with James in a way that didn’t usually happen. Part of it was undoubtedly the strangeness of this imaginary companion. People motivated to come into therapy because of the breakdown of a marriage usually talked about relationships. James had already noticed that Laura wasn’t going to be drawn into conversations about Conor. He could accept that perhaps that relationship had broken down so far that there was going to have to be some new groundwork laid before Laura could be coaxed back into a bond with her son. However, as the breakdown in her relationship with Alan had been the reason she herself had given for agreeing to therapy, James had assumed that was where they’d start. That she’d chosen instead to talk about her relationship in childhood with an imaginary person was curious but also gripping.

      Part of the session’s staying power was also the manner in which Laura spoke. While living in New York James had made the acquaintance of several writers, mainly because Sandy thought they made impressive guests at dinner parties. He had often been less than impressed. Most had seemed joyless and unpleasantly pretentious, forever fretting about the demands of their “gift” and, in equal measure, the world’s lack of appreciation thereof. Laura’s dissimilarity to those former dinner guests was starkly apparent straightaway. Here was such a natural storyteller that while James didn’t have trouble maintaining the appropriate professional objectivity with Laura herself, he was struggling to keep his distance from her story, to remember to stop the narrative occasionally to ask questions or analyse what was said instead of getting caught up in it.

      Going over to the bookshelves in his office, James took down one of Laura’s novels. He looked at the cover, which was unusually plain. The top four-fifths was pale blue and the bottom fifth was off-white. Spare as the design was, James still got a sense of the South Dakota plains from it. Too much sky against a flat, pale earth. Laura’s name was in a large plain font across the top. The title, The Wind Dreamer, was written small in comparison and in a handwriting font at an angle that slashed downwards through the blue into the minimalist earth like a spent arrow.

      Turning the book over, James looked at Laura’s photograph. She was smiling. Looking directly at the camera, she had a very appealing expression. Very open. James was struck by this openness because it had not yet been an expression he’d seen in real life. What crossed his mind was that perhaps it was here, in her books, that Laura truly was most herself.

      Sitting down in his office chair, he opened it.

      “Hey, you!” The door to James’s office pushed open and Lars popped his head in. “I’m off,” he said. He paused. “What are you reading?”

      James lifted the book.

      Lars raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Becoming a fan?”

      “Nah. Just doing homework.”

      “What’s she actually like?” Lars asked with curiosity.

      “Interesting,” James replied. “Complex.”

      “Well, yeah, I could guess that.” Lars paused. “My cousin knows her brother quite well. According to him, it was a very ordinary family. Clever. They all did extremely well at school. But no literary background, nothing especially creative. Her brother’s an insurance salesman. But that’s what he said too. ‘She’s complex’.”

      James nodded.

      “Extraordinary talent fascinates me. Especially when it comes out of nowhere,” Lars said. “I always wonder how it happens.”

      “Yes.”

      A pause.

      Lars shrugged. “Listen, what I actually came in to say was: when you come over tonight, would you bring that fishing reel you bought? That one you said you couldn’t get set up right? I got the rest of my ice fishing gear out last night and if we can’t get that reel sorted, I found another one you can use.”

      James grinned. “You’re determined to get me out there killing some innocent creature, aren’t you?”

      “Yeah, well, more just still trying to get the city stink off you,” Lars said and laughed. “Anyway the game on TV starts at eight, so the rest of the guys will be coming in about a quarter to. If you want to come over with the reel a little earlier, I can have a look at it.”

      “Okay, see you later,” James replied.

      When Lars had gone, James took the book over to the conversation centre. Settling back on the couch, he put his feet up on the coffee table and started reading.

      It was the story of a young Sioux named Billy, who was haunted by his native culture. Born into a family who had left the reservation for the amenities of the city, given a white man’s name at birth and a white man’s education, Billy was a model of “modern integration” when he assumed СКАЧАТЬ