Overheard in a Dream. Torey Hayden

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      “You want to know precisely what that animal is. You don’t like not knowing,” he interpreted.

      “Ehhh-ehhh-ehhh-ehhh! Ehhh-ehhh-ehhh-ehhh!” Conor sputtered frantically. Bringing up the stuffed cat, he pressed it over his eyes. “Meow? Meow?”

      James picked up the plastic animal and examined it. “Perhaps it’s a wildebeest. Or a yak. No, I don’t think it’s a yak. They have lots of hair. Perhaps it’s an auroch. That’s a kind of wild cow.”

      Without warning Conor took the cat by its hind leg and swung it like a weapon in a broad arc that cleared the table entirely. All the plastic animals went flying, as did James’s notebook. Making a shrill, piercing noise that caused the inner parts of James’s ears to vibrate, Connor screamed. His complexion went from white to red to a deep blotched colour like clotted blood in milk. He slid off the chair onto the floor and pressed the cat over his eyes.

      Emotional upset was an expected part of play therapy and as long as the child was not hurting himself in any way, James found the best response was to remain in his chair, calm and composed, to show things were still in control and then endeavour to put words to the child’s inarticulate distress.

      “You’re feeling very frightened,” he said quietly as Conor lay on the floor and howled. “You feel so scared you want to scream and cry.”

      His words seemed to upset Conor more, because the boy began to shriek even louder.

      “In here, it’s all right to scream, if that’s what you need to do,” James said. “No one will be angry. No one will be upset. It’s safe to cry in here. Nothing bad will happen.”

      Minutes ticked by. Still Conor thrashed and shrieked. Temper? James wondered. He didn’t think so. There hadn’t been any precipitating event that he could discern. Panic? Just plain terror at a world full of things the boy didn’t know? Or frustration, perhaps, at his wordlessness?

      Conor grew hoarse. Pulling himself into a foetal position, knees up, head down, arms around his legs, the stuffed cat tucked in against his heart, Conor at last fell into hiccupping silence.

      Several more minutes passed with James still sitting quietly at the table and the boy curled up on the floor. Then finally Conor struggled slowly to his feet. Carefully he checked the status of his four strings and adjusted them at his waist, then he looked over at James, staring him straight in the eye. Tears were still wet over his cheeks and snot ran onto his upper lip. In an unexpectedly normal, boy-like gesture, Conor raised his free arm and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

      “Here,” James said, getting a box of tissues. “Would you like one of these?”

      Suspiciously, Conor regarded the box.

      James pulled out a tissue and lay it on the table near where Conor was standing.

      For a long moment Conor simply regarded it, his brow furrowing as if it were a mysterious object. Then he reached out for it. With great care he began to smooth the tissue out flat on the tabletop, a difficult task given that he was still clutching the stuffed cat against him with the other hand.

      “York?” Conor said unexpectedly. Reaching down on the floor, he picked up the small plastic cow-like animal. He examined it carefully. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, the cat says yes.” He nodded. “York.”

      “You mean ‘auroch’?” James ventured.

      “Yeah,” the boy responded in his typical high-pitched singsong voice. He didn’t lift his head to acknowledge James had spoken. “York. Ee-york.”

      “Aur-och,” James murmured.

      “Oar-ock. Auroch. Yes. The cat says yes. An auroch. A wild cow.” The words were spoken very deliberately, as if they took effort. He set the plastic animal on the table. “The cat knows.”

      James felt excited. They had communicated. In his mind’s eye he saw himself as one of those scientists who operated the big satellite dishes that listened for signs of alien life in outer space, that were alert for the slightest variant crackle that might indicate conscious intelligence. You heard it and that was enough to go on, to keep up the belief it existed. The slightest crackle, the smallest sign.

       Chapter Four

      From the moment James saw Mikey emerging from the skyway wearing only his underpants, he knew things weren’t getting off on the right foot. Becky came mincing along behind in that way she had when she found her brother totally disgusting. Then she saw James and virtually bowled Mikey over in her excitement to reach him. “Daddy!” she cried and threw herself into his arms.

      James scooped his eight-year-old daughter up into a bear hug.

      “Guess what?” she said gleefully. “Mikey threw up. That’s how come he’s got no clothes on. Look. He got throw-up on my dress.”

      “Hey, Michael, buddy, what happened to you? Too many yummy airplane meals?” James endeavoured to lift both children at once which made them squeal.

      “He had too many M&Ms,” Becky replied. “Because Mum bought the bag for both of us, but then I went to the bathroom and Mikey pigged down practically all of them while I was gone. So it’s his own fault. I don’t feel sorry for him.”

      “You should, you little monster,” James said playfully and smooched her on the nose. “He’s your brother, no matter what.” Then he whisked Mikey up in his arms again. “I bet you threw up polka dots, huh, if it was M&Ms?” Mikey giggled. “Your mum should know better than to give you a whole bag of candy.”

      “I’ve got a surprise for you,” James said, as he collected their bags and headed for the car.

      “What is it?” Becky asked as they left the terminal building.

      “Just wait and see. Out here. In the car park.”

      “A pony?” Becky asked hopefully.

      James laughed and ruffled her hair. “No, silly, I wouldn’t come to pick you up riding a pony, would I?”

      “Uncle Joey says everybody rides horses out here.”

      “No, look at Daddy’s cool car!” James pointed to the copper-coloured ’71 Ford Mustang convertible. “Isn’t that beautiful?”

      Sandy had kept the Range Rover because it was a safe car for the kids. James drove out to South Dakota in a clapped-out Ford Taurus his brother Jack had picked up off eBay. Buying the convertible with its over-sized, futuristic bonnet and powerful Boss 429 engine was James’s first acknowledgement that his old life was over.

      Becky wasn’t quite so impressed. “It’s just a car,” she said with disappointment.

      “It’s a classic car.”

      “It’s an old car,” she replied disdainfully. “It’s a cool car. For cool people. Like us, huh, Mike? What do you think? Does your dad drive a cool car or what?”

      “Yeah, I like it,” he said and ran СКАЧАТЬ