Kesh Read online

  Kesh stopped and gasped for breath, looking all around him. In the daylight, Kesh knew the park well enough to know where he was and where his house would be. Now, the bright familiar paths and neatly arranged maple and birch trees felt strange and ominous. His thin clothes provided him no protection from the driving rain and cold, and his jaw shivered in spite of his trying to make it stop.

  He looked around trying to find his bearings – to figure out where he was, and where he had come from, but in the darkness and weather, the world seemed eerily strange and unfamiliar. A chill surged through his body, and he began to run again, along what he thought was still the path.

  Even in the near blackness, he could sense the thick trees off to the side. His fingers were stiff, and icy streams trickled down his back. He stopped, his heart thundering in his chest, and he panted for breath. He stood gathering his thoughts and, under his breath, reassured himself. “Okay, Kesh, you’re not really lost. It’s just the park. You’re going to be okay.” He corrected himself. “I’m going to be okay. I just need to get out of the rain until I can figure out where I am.”

  Kesh had read about people suffering from exposure where the body temperature dropped until, in the worst cases, they died. He felt much calmer now and, in spite of the danger, he moved slowly, scanning the trees as he went. He noticed he was no longer shivering and the woods and path were brighter, clearer although dawn was many hours off, and the sky remained shrouded in dense black clouds.

  He could make out the leaves of the trees, and even the outline of neat little picnic areas arranged just off the road in neatly manicured camping areas seemed almost illuminated.

  The rain now seemed to roll off his back and he felt much warmer than he had. It was as if the barrier between his skin and the atmosphere, the air and water, had disappeared. He scanned the area for one of the small utility shacks he had remembered seeing that summer.

  His nose caught a familiar odor, and he glanced to his right where a small, narrow shed was set back from the path off of the road. At this point, he would willingly spend the night in a dry outhouse, but that hope was dashed when he saw the padlock on the wooden door. He circled the building looking for a way in, but the door was securely latched and locked and the windows were covered by a thick steel mesh.

  He sniffed again. Then he padded back to the main trail. He looked up to get his bearings and a new, different shiver went through his body. Eyes, like glowing embers, peered back at him from far inside the woods. In an instant, they were gone and Kesh began to run.

  By now, he was reconsidering the wisdom of taking off so rashly. He was starting to think maybe he should go home, but his mind brought him back to the terrifying image of the big cat, and he kept moving. He looked at the surrounding dark woods, and he suddenly realized how far his panic had brought him. He wondered if he would ever be able to go back to his troubled home.

  The rain began to come down again, intensifying with every second until the downpour pounded hard against his skin. The comfort he had imagined a moment before was washed away by the storm’s ferocity. His teeth chattered, and his body shook with a damp cold that had settled around and into his bones. More than anything else, he knew he needed to get warm. So, when he saw a glow ahead just beyond the curve of the bank, he quickened his step, hoping for some place to get out of the cold, and some place to get safely out of the storm and whatever else his imagination might conjure.

  Then a new, surprising odor stung him so suddenly that he stopped. He would not remember it as a smell. It was more like a feeling, a mixture of confusion and fear. He tried to locate the smell to help him get a bearing on where he was. Something moved in the bushes just off the trail, and he sprinted.

  It wasn’t a house or a store. It wasn’t even much of a building, little more than a crude lean-to, but just then, it looked pretty good. A blazing orange fire greeted Kesh. It was set under an overhang, in front of the crude shack of cast off plywood, aluminum and plastic sheeting, closed on three sides, covered on top, the open side facing the river.

  The fire burned brightly, invitingly, just inside the opening. In most circumstances, a fresh fire and a ready shelter would have seemed too good to be true, but Kesh was tired, freezing, frightened, and verging on exhaustion. Right now it didn’t matter that ready appearance of a fresh fire and shelter in his moment of need made no sense. Kesh’s normal caution and fear were overridden by his need for warmth, so he eased into the dry, warm nest.

  He scanned the tiny hut; there didn’t appear to be anyone there. Still, it was obvious somebody had been in the hut, and probably just moments before. He called out, “Hello!” The word came out in a chattering, raspy whisper. He cleared his throat and called out again, “Hello! Is anybody here?”

  Maybe I scared whoever it was away, he thought. On any other none of this would have seemed possible, but today was not any other day. So he crawled into the back of the hut and lay down. He told himself he would not sleep and was determined to keep a close watch on the opening. Then his head dropped to the blankets and, wrapped in the warmth, he drifted off to sleep.

  “So you’ve finally come.” The voice startled Kesh and he jumped up from a deep sleep. It came from a pile of rags at the back of the makeshift hut. To Kesh’s astonishment, the rags sat up, and the messy pile of dirt became a grizzled face, peering out through a pair of neat little spectacles over a disheveled graying beard. The rags spoke again. “How did you come to be out on such a terrible night?”

  Kesh jumped up from his makeshift bed and began to back away from the fire and the strange creature. “I don’t know.” The words jumped out between Kesh’s chattering teeth. “I just know I was cold, and I needed to get warm.” He backed away half a step as he spoke, but the rain pelted his back urging him to move inside again just enough to keep dry. The man cocked his head to the side as if her were studying the boy.

  Kesh said, “I’m freezing and wet. I need a place to dry off.” He realized that he probably looked as weird to the little man as the man looked to him. He was still soggy, lost in the too-big, lime green robe his mother had bought for him, and he was painfully small. He had to admit to himself that he did not look so different from the shrunken creature before him. It was a wonder the odd little man hadn’t asked him what he was.

  “Fair enough, boy. In any case, well done, and welcome.” The creature’s small eyes stared at Kesh intently. “Tell me young fellow, what is your name?”

  Kesh hesitated, but he was here, and telling the man his name wasn’t going to make his situation any worse. “My name is Kesh, Kesh Jones.”

  “Ah, Kesh Jones. I see.” Kesh thought he said it as if he recognized the name. The man looked at him over his glasses and seemed to study the boy for a long moment. “Tell me, Kesh Jones, do you know where you are and why you’ve come to me on this awful night?”

  Kesh shrugged. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s glasses. Everything else about him suggested rags and filth to Kesh, but his glasses were crystal clear, and the small, squinty eyes behind them were a deep, dark brown that glistened in the firelight. “I think this must be a dream. This whole night is a dream.”

  The rag man sighed and said, “You’re such a small boy. I did not expect such a small boy.”

  Kesh shrugged. “You don’t even know me, old man. And you’re not so big yourself, so don’t you start.” He huffed with indignation. “I don’t need this. I’m going home.” He turned and stepped out of the shack. Thunder and lightning exploded simultaneously, and the rain blasted his body. Once more, he ducked back into the shelter. He was suddenly terribly tired. His head felt heavy, he was wet, and he had an overwhelming desire to lie down.

  “Okay, okay. Don’t do anything rash. We’ll talk later about what did and did not happen. For the moment, I can see you’re cold and tired, and more than a little scared. Come on, Kesh Jones. You need to get out of this blasted weather. You have nothing to fear from me.” He sighed. “I will say one thing
, my boy. It is not accident, your being here on this night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The rag man stood, his small form bent over, and put a dark hand out to lead the boy farther into the toasty little shelter. Kesh considered stepping back, but his body let itself be drawn in. Something told him he could trust this weird little man. “Now sit down here, young man. Once you’re warm and dry, we’ll talk. Everything will be clear soon enough.”

  The heat from the fire melted the shivers and the misgivings right out of Kesh. He’d heard about kids being picked up by strangers and never being seen again or found murdered in a ditch or shallow grave deep in the woods. He was as careful as any kid he knew…usually.

  I should be scared to death, he thought, but I’m not. The rag man looked like some kind of wild creature. He looked like some hairy thing that had crawled out of a hole, his eyes were dark and wild like the eyes of a forest animal, and something in the shack smelled like damp fur and rotting leaves after a rain. Still, Kesh wasn’t afraid. He couldn’t explain it, but the rag man felt safe to him.

  “Drink some of this. It’ll warm you up.” The rag man offered him a faded yellow plastic cup, and Kesh smelled warm chocolate. The sweet liquid went deep into him and thawed him from the inside out.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You’re welcome. Now that you’re thawed out, maybe we should have a chat.” He let out a long breath, as if he were gathering his thoughts. “Do you have any idea of what compelled you to run out into this nasty night, when you should be warm and safe at home with your mother and father?”

  “I can’t say. It’s crazy. It couldn’t have happened.” Kesh wondered if the whole thing had been a dream. Besides, how do you tell someone that you running away from the wild animals that had appeared in your living room? Who would believe him anyway when he didn’t quite believe it himself?

  “Can’t say, huh? That’s all right, but even if you don’t know where you’ve been or where you belong, it sometimes helps to know how you got there.” The rag man’s voice was raspy, but it had a strange music in it. “Can I tell you a story?”

  “A story? A story about what? I don’t understand.”

  The rag man laughed. “Please bear with me, Kesh Jones. My story might help you understand.”

  Kesh nodded. The man’s reassurance settled his nerves. He should have been sobbing. He was in terrible trouble and he didn’t even know if his parents were alive or dead. Instead, he was feeling contented, pleasantly drowsy and warm. He was also utterly confused by the rag man’s riddles. Maybe a story would make it clear after all. “Please.” His hand felt the familiar shape of his notebook in his robe pocket, and he smiled as he sank into the warmth of the moment.

  “All right, then. Just relax and listen.” He pulled a thick green blanket over the boy, and began to speak in a low, hypnotic voice.

  Chapter Two

  The Rag Man’s Tale

  Kesh kept his distance. He stood just inside the hut, sideways to the rag man and ready to run.

  “When I was a young boy, like you, I lived in a small, pretty town a long, long way from here. Did I say ‘pretty?’ It was more than pretty. It was a beautiful little village, tucked in between a great sea to the south and the woods that ran up to the foothills of towering mountains to the east. It was a good place to live, especially for the boys and girls of the town.”

  Kesh shifted closer to the man, not wanting to miss a single detail. “What made it so special?”

  “Ah, ah, I’m getting to that. You see, it was a cold place in winter and summers brought soft, pine nights and warm days. For us, the weather was always fine. In the warm times, we’d swim in the great lake and run through the woods playing tag and catch-me-if-you-can. In the rainy times, we played splash games in the streets or lay indoors playing games, making skits, reading about great adventures, and talking endlessly about our dreams. In the coldest time of the year, we would hike through the deep snows like heroes and adventurers, coming in late in the day, our faces red, and our tired bodies ready to be warmed by a blazing fire. It didn’t matter to us. We were happy children, and all weather was good weather to us.”

  Kesh smiled and inched closer.

  “One day a man came into town to talk to the grown-ups about building a factory. In his honor, the mayor and all of the old big shots dressed up in their finest clothes. The city leaders held a great parade with horses hauling bright, painted carriages, and the city band playing well…as well as they could. They never were very good anyway, but that day they were less bad than at any time I could recall.”

  Kesh snickered a little as he thought about the band at his school.

  “The man presented grand plans to the city for a giant factory that would make all kinds of wonderful things come to the town. He assured the mayor and the other grown-ups that people all over the country, even all over the world, would flock to our little village to buy all the wonderful things we could make in his factory. And so the mayor signed an agreement with the factory man.”

  The rag man sighed noisily, shifted his body and blew his nose into his sleeve. Kesh said, “Are you okay, mister?”

  “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” He wiped his nose once more, and then continued. “Before long, big digging machines were cutting into the ground on the outskirts of town. At first, they cleared a huge swath of forestland, shipping the great trees away to other, distant towns to make things. Then they began digging into the side of the mountain, slicing away the soil, gouging out the rocks and the bones of the cliffs. We were told the land was rich with silver, nickel and copper. As soon as the forests were cleared, they began cutting through the hills, until even the mountain had been split wide open like a watermelon. They dug and tore into her and pulled out her heart. Then more men came with steel and wood and brick and mortar, and they built their stone, mountain factory on the edge of town just under the scarred mountain. The factory rose from the ground like a huge box, a terrible dark coffin at the bottom of the mountain.”

  Kesh had moved even closer to the man. “Why would the townspeople let them that to such a beautiful place?”

  “That, my boy, is a good question. I suppose it was partly because the factory man seemed to be a good enough man, and the grown-ups thought it would all be worth it when the town became rich. But then there came the most terrible thing of all. The factory man had told the mayor and the other grown-ups that if they wanted his wonderful factory in their town, they would have to find more workers, and that the best workers for a factory like this would be children.”

  “Holy crap!”

  “Holy crap, indeed. You see, he told them children worked very hard and did very good work, and he told them that children loved working in his factories. His voice cracked as he said this. He convinced the grownups that working in his factory would get the kids off of the streets and into a safe place. He said they would learn new skills and become productive members of the community.

  The rag man turned away for a moment and wiped his face with his dry sleeve. Kesh said, “The parents didn’t let him take the kids, did they?”

  The man sighed again and sniffled. “I’m ashamed to tell you that they did. Let me say that the streets of my town were safe and we were very productive. We produced scads and scads of happiness. Some of the parents protested that children were meant to be children, not productive factory workers, but most of the grown-ups were anxious to get the brand new factory. It would bring new jobs new things, new ideas, and a new prosperity to the town. Before long, almost everyone in the town used the word like a magical incantation: Prosperity.”

  He shook his head slowly, took a deep breath, and continued.

  And so, when I was nine years old, my friends and I, all of the children old enough to work with our hands, were marched through the town in a festive parade to the place where the trees used to be, and into the great coffin. At first, it didn’t seem so bad. We were together, all friends, and we loved the big ma
chines and the noise. We had never seen such wonders and, for a while, it was exciting.”

  He paused. “Then we learned what it meant to be a worker in a factory. We would spend our days inside the great buildings, screwing screws, bolting bolts, bending, hammering metal, twisting wires, wiring circuits, soldering connections, polishing finishes. We were making things for the factory man. Most of the time, we didn’t even know what we were making. We just had little bits of this and pieces of that…you know, a little board covered in copper wire, a metal bar, some kind of handle.”

  The rag man turned his palms up and studied them for a moment. Then he put them down and went on. “So day after day, we went to the factory from first sun to after dark. It happened quickly—the town that had been so wonderful, so perfect, the child’s place, became a place of drudgery and sadness. And the grown-ups, the mothers and fathers who loved us, could not see what had happened to their village, to their children.”

  “Every day I would walk to and from the box with my best friend, Louis. It wasn’t long before we were getting home well after dark, and my mother and father were beginning to become concerned. I overhead my mother telling my father, ‘The children are not happy. They work too much.’ She said in airy whispers. ‘I’m afraid about the changes, afraid for all of us.’ Dad didn’t answer that night, but I knew he had understood.”

  “I was miserable. Most of the kids were. We had abandoned our gentle world for a dark world of work and more work, and I was beginning to feel hopeless.”

  He raised his head and smiled. Kesh thought it was a sad smile.