Barker, Clive - The Thief of Always

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The Thief of Always
Copyright 1992 by Clive Barker
All Illustrations by Clive Barker
I
Harvey, Half-Devoured
The great gray beast February had eaten Harvey Swick alive. Here he was,
buried in the belly of that smothering month, wondering if he would ever find
his way out through the cold coils that lay between here and Easter.
He didn't think much of his chances. More than likely he'd become so bored
as the hours crawled by that one day he'd simply forget to breathe. Then maybe
people would get to wondering why such a fine young lad had perished in his
prime. It would become a celebrated mystery, which wouldn't be solved until some
great detective decided to re-create a day in Harvey's life.
Then, and only then, would the grim truth be discovered. The detective
would first follow Harvey's route to school every morning, trekking through the
dismal streets. Then he'd sit at Harvey's desk, and listen to the pitiful drone
of the history teacher and the science teacher, and wonder how the heroic boy
had managed to keep his eyes open. And finally, as the wasted day dwindled to
dusk, he'd trace the homeward trek, and as he set foot on the step from which he
had departed that morning, and people asked him-as they would-why such a sweet
soul as Harvey had died, he would shake his head and say: "It's very simple."
"Oh?" the curious crowd would say. "Do tell."
And, brushing away a tear, the detective would reply: "Harvey Swick was
eaten by the great gray beast February."
It was a monstrous month, that was for sure; a dire and dreary month. The
pleasures of Christmas, both sharp and sweet, were already dimming in Harvey's
memory, and the promise of summer was so remote as to be mythical. There'd be a
spring break, of course, but how far off was that? Five weeks? Six? Mathematics
wasn't his strong point, so he didn't irritate himself further by attempting-and
failing-to calculate the days. He simply knew that long before the sun came to
save him he would have withered away in the belly of the beast.
"You shouldn't waste your time sitting up here," his mom said when she came in
and found him watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass of his
bedroom window.
"I've got nothing better to do," Harvey said, without looking around.
"Well then, you can make yourself useful," his mom said.
Harvey shuddered. Useful? That was another word for hard labor. He sprang
up, marshaling his excuses-he hadn't done this; he hadn't done that-but it was
too late.
"You can start by tidying up this room" his mom said.
"But "
"Don't sit wishing the days away, honey. Life's too short."
"But-"
"That's a good boy."
And with that she left him to it. Muttering to himself, he stared around
the room. It wasn't even untidy. There were one or two games scattered around; a
couple of drawers open; a few clothes hanging out: It looked just fine.
"I am ten," he said to himself (having no brothers and sisters, he talked
to himself a good deal). "I mean, it's not like I'm a kid. I don't have to tidy
up just because she says so. It's boring."
He wasn't just muttering now, he was talking out loud.
"I want to...I want to..." He went to the mirror, and quizzed it. "What do
I want?" The straw-haired, snub-nosed, brown-eyed boy he saw before him shook
his head. "I don't know what I want," he said. "I just know I'll die if I don't
have some fun. I will! I'll die!"
As he spoke, the window rattled. A gust of wind blew hard against it-then
a second; then a third-and even though Harvey didn't remember the window being
so much as an inch ajar, it was suddenly thrown open. Cold rain spattered his
face. Half-closing his eyes, he crossed to the window and fumbled to slam it,
making sure that the latch was in place this time.
The wind had started his lamp moving, and when he turned back the whole
room seemed to be swinging around. One moment the light was blazing in his eyes,
the next it was flooding the opposite wall. But in between the blaze and the
flood it lit the middle of his room, and standing there-shaking the rain off his
hat-was a stranger.
He looked harmless enough. He was no more than six inches taller than
Harvey, his frame scrawny, his skin distinctly yellowish in color. He was
wearing a fancy suit, a pair of spectacles and a lavish smile.
"Who are you?" Harvey demanded, wondering how he could get past this
interloper to the door.
"Don't be nervous," the man replied, teasing off one of his suede gloves,
taking Harvey's hand and shaking it. "My name's Rictus. You are Harvey Swick,
aren't you?"
" Yes..."
"I thought for a moment I'd got the wrong house"
Harvey couldn't take his eyes off Rictus's grin. It was wide enough to
shame a shark, with two perfect rows of gleaming teeth.
Rictus took off his spectacles, pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of
his waterlogged jacket, then started to mop off the raindrops. Either he or the
handkerchief gave off an odor that was far from fragrant. The smell, in truth,
was flatulent.
"You've got questions, I can see that," Rictus said to Harvey.
"Yeah."
"Ask away. I've got nothing to hide."
"Well, how did you get in, for one thing?"
"Through the window, of course."
"It's a long way up from the street"
"Not if you're flying."
"Flying?"
"Of course. How else was I going to get around on a foul night like this?
It was either that or a rowboat. We short folk gotta watch out when it's raining
this hard. One wrong step and you're swimming." He peered at Harvey quizzically.
"Do you swim?"
"In the summer, sometimes," Harvey replied, wanting to get back to the
business of flying.
But Rictus took the conversation in another direction entirely. "On nights
like this," he said, "doesn't it seem like there'll never be another summer?"
"It sure does" said Harvey.
"You know I heard you sighing a mile off, and I said to myself `There's a
kid who needs a vacation.'" He consulted his watch. "If you've got the time,
that is."
"The time?"
"For a trip, boy, for a trip! You need an adventure, young Swick.
Somewhere...out of this world."
"How'd you hear me sighing when you were a mile away?" Harvey wanted to
know.
"Why should you care? I heard you. That's all that matters."
"Is it magic of some kind?"
"Maybe."
"Why won't you tell me?"
Rictus gave Harvey a beady stare. "I think you're too inquisitive for your
own good, that's why," he said, his smile decaying a little. "If you don't want
help, that's fine by me."
He made a move toward the window. The wind was still gusting against the
glass, as though eager to come back in and carry its passenger away.
"Wait," Harvey said.
"For what?"
"I'm sorry. I won't ask any more questions."
Rictus halted, his hand on the latch. "No more questions, eh?"
"I promise," said Harvey. "I told you: I'm sorry."
"So you did. So you did." Rictus peered out at the rain. "I know a place
where the days are always sunny," he said, "and the nights are full of wonders."
"Could you take me there?"
"We said no questions, boy. We agreed."
"Oh. Yeah. I'm sorry."
"Being a forgiving sort, I'll forget you spoke, and I'll tell you this: If
you want me to inquire on your behalf, I'll see if they've got room for another
guest."
"I'd like that."
"I'm not guaranteeing anything," Rictus said, opening the latch.
"I understand."
The wind gusted suddenly, and blew the window wide. The light began to
swing wildly.
"Watch for me," Rictus yelled above the din of rain and wind.
Harvey started to ask him if he'd be coming back soon, but stopped himself
in the nick of time.
"No questions, boy!" Rictus said, and as he spoke the wind seemed to fill
up his coat. It rose around him like a black balloon, and he was suddenly swept
out over the windowsill.
"Questions Trot the mind!" he hollered as he went. "Keep your mouth shut
and we'll see what comes your way!"
And with that the wind carried him off, the balloon of his coat rising
like a black moon against the rainy sky.
II
The Hidden Way
Harvey said nothing about his peculiar visitor to either his mom or his
dad, in case they put locks on the windows to stop Rictus returning to the
house. But the trouble with keeping the visit a secret was that after a few days
Harvey began to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing. Perhaps he'd fallen
asleep at the window, he thought, and Rictus had simply been a dream.
He kept hoping nevertheless. "Watch for me," Rictus had said, and Harvey
did just that. He watched from the window of his room. He watched from his desk
at school. He even watched with one eye when he was lying on his pillow at
night. But Rictus didn't show.
And then, about a week after that first visit, just as Harvey's hope was
waning, his watchfulness was rewarded. On his way to school one foggy morning he
heard a voice above his head, and looked up to see Rictus floating down from the
clouds, his coat swelled up around him so that he looked fatter than a prize
pig.
"Howya doin'?" he said, as he descended.
"I was starting to think I'd invented you," Harvey replied. "You know,
like a dream."
"I get that a lot," Rictus said, his smile wider than ever. "Particularly
from the ladies. You're a dream come true, they say" He winked. "And who am I to
argue? You like my shoes?"
Harvey looked down at Rictus's bright blue shoes. They were quite a sight,
and he said so.
"I got given 'em by my boss," Rictus said. "He's very happy you're going
to come visit. So, are you ready?"
"Well..."
"It's no use wasting time," Rictus said. "There may not be room for you
tomorrow."
"Can I just ask one question?"
"I thought we agreed-"
"I know. But just one."
"All right. One."
"Is this place far from here?"
"Nah. It's just across town."
"So I'd only be missing a couple of hours of school?"
"That's two questions," Rictus said.
"No, I'm just thinking out loud."
Rictus grunted. "Look," he said, "I'm not here to do a great song and
dance persuading you. I got a friend called Jive does that. I'm just a smiler. I
smile, and I say: Come with me to the Holiday House, and if folks don't want to
come-" He shrugged. "Hey, it's their hard luck."
With that, he turned his back on Harvey.
"Wait!" Harvey protested. "I want to come. But just for a little while."
"You can stay as long as you like," Rictus said. "Or as little. All I want
to do is take that glum expression off your face and put one of these up there."
His grin grew even larger. "Is there any crime in that?"
"No," said Harvey. "That's no crime. I'm glad you found me. I really am."
So what if he missed all of the morning at school, he thought, it'd be no
great loss. Maybe an hour or two of the afternoon as well. As long as he was
back home by three. Or four. Certainly before dark.
"I'm ready to go," he said to Rictus. "Lead the way."
Millsap, the town in which Harvey had lived all his life, wasn't very big, and
he thought he'd seen just about all of it over the years. But the streets he
knew were soon behind them, and though Rictus was setting a fair speed Harvey
made sure he kept a mental list of landmarks along the way, in case he had to
find his way home on his own. A butcher's shop with two pigs' heads hanging from
hooks; a church with a yard full of old tombs beside it; the statue of some dead
general, covered from hat to stirrups in pigeon dung: All these sights and more
he noted and filed away.
And while they walked, Rictus kept up a stream of idle chatter.
"I hate the fog! Just hate it!" he said. "And there'll be rain by noon.
We'll be out of it, of course..." He went on from talk of rain to the state of
the streets. "Look at this trash, all over the sidewalk! It's shameful! And the
mud! It's making a fine old mess of my shoes!"
He had plenty more to say, but none of it was very enlightening, so after
a while Harvey gave up listening. How far was this Holiday House, he began to
wonder. The fog was chilling him, and his legs were aching. If they didn't get
there soon, he was going to turn back.
"I know what you're thinking," said Rictus.
"I bet you don't."
"You're thinking this is all a trick. You're thinking Rictus is leading
you on a mystery tour and there's nothing at the end of it. Isn't that true?"
"Maybe a little."
"Well, my boy, I've got news for you. Look up ahead."
He pointed, and there-not very far from where they stood-was a high wall,
which was so long that it disappeared into the fog to right and left.
"What do you see?" Rictus asked him.
"A wall," Harvey replied, though the more he stared at it the less certain
of this he was. The stones, which had seemed solid enough at first sight, now
looked to be shifting and wavering, as though they'd been chiseled from the fog
itself, and piled up here to keep out prying eyes.
"It looks like a wall," Harvey said, "but it's not a wall."
"You're very observant," Rictus replied admiringly. "Most people just see
a dead end, so they turn around and take another street."
"But not us."
"No, not us. We're going to keep on walking. You know why?"
"Because the Holiday House is on the other side?"
"What a mir-ac-u-lous kid you are!" Rictus replied. "That's exactly right.
Are you hungry, by the way?"
"Starving."
"Well, there's a woman waiting for you in the House called Mrs. Griffin,
arid let me tell you, she is the greatest cook in all of Americaland. I swear,
on my tailor's grave. Anything you can dream of eating, she can cook. All you
have to do is ask. Her deviled eggs" He. smacked his lips. "Perfection."
"I don't see a gate," Harvey said.
"That's because there isn't one."
"So how do we get in?"
"Just keep walking!"
Half out of hunger, half out of curiosity, Harvey did as Rictus had
instructed, and as he came within three steps of the wall a gust of balmy,
flower-scented wind slipped between the shimmering stones and kissed his cheek.
Its warmth was welcome after his long, cold trek, and he picked up his pace,
reaching out to touch the wall as he approached it. The misty stones seemed to
reach for him in their turn, wrapping their soft, gray arms around his
shoulders, and ushering him through the wall.
He looked back, but the street he'd stepped out of, with its gray
sidewalks and gray clouds, had already disappeared. Beneath his feet the grass
was high and full of flowers. Above his head, the sky was midsummer blue. And
ahead of him, set at the summit of a great slope, was a house that had surely
been first imagined in a dream.
He didn't wait to see if Ricer was coming after him, nor to wonder how the
gray beast February had been slain and this warm day risen in its place. He
simply let out a laugh that Rictus would have been proud of, and hurried up the
slope and into the shadow of the dream house.
III
Pleasure and the Worry
What a fine thing it would be, Harvey thought, to build a place like this.
To drive its foundations deep into the earth; to lay its floors and hoist its
walls; to say: Where there was nothing, I raised a house. That would be a very
fine thing.
It wasn't a puffed-up peacock of a place, either. There were no marble
steps, no fluted columns. It was a proud house, certainly, but there was nothing
wrong with that; it had much to be proud of. It stood four stories high, and
boasted more windows than Harvey could readily count. Its porch was wide, as
were the steps that led up to its carved front door; its slated roofs were steep
and crowned with magnificent chimneys and lightning rods.
Its highest point, however, was neither a chimney nor a lightning rod, but
a large and elaborately wrought weathervane, which Harvey was peering up at when
he heard the front door open and a voice say:
"Harvey Swick, as I live and breathe."
He looked down, the weathervane's white silhouette still behind his eyes,
and there on the porch stood a woman who made his grandmother (the oldest person
he knew) look young. She had a face like a rolled-up ball of cobwebs, from which
her hair, which could also have been spiders' work, fell in wispy abundance. Her
eyes were tiny, her mouth tight, her hands gnarled. Her voice, however, was
melodious, and its words welcoming.
"I thought maybe you'd decided not to come," she said, picking up a basket
of freshly cut flowers she'd left on the step, "which would have been a pity.
Come on in! There's food on the table. You must be famished."
"I can't stays long," Harvey said.
"You must do whatever you wish," came the reply. "I'm Mrs. Griffin, by the
way."
"Yes, Rictus mentioned you."
"I hope he didn't bend your ear too much. He loves the sound of his own
voice. That and his reflection."
Harvey had climbed the porch steps by now, and stopped in front of the
open door. This was a moment of decision, he knew, though he wasn't quite
certain why.
"Step inside," Mrs. Griffin said, brushing a spider-hair back from her
furrowed brow.
But Harvey still hesitated, and he might have turned around and never
stepped inside the House except that he heard a boy's voice yelling:
"I got ya! I got ya!" followed by uproarious laughter.
"Wendell!" Mrs. Griffin said. "Are you chasing the cats again?"
The sound of laughter grew even louder, and it was so full of good humor
that Harvey stepped over the threshold and into the House just so that he could
see the face of its owner.
He only got a brief look. A goofy, bespectacled face appeared for a moment
at the other end of the hallway. Then a piebald cat dashed between the boy's
legs and he was off after it, yelling and laughing again.
"He's such a crazy boy," Mrs. Griffin said, "but all the cats love him!"
The House was more wonderful inside than out. Even on the short journey to
the kitchen Harvey glimpsed enough to know that this was a place built for
games, chases and adventures. It was a maze in which no two doors were alike. It
was a treasurehouse where some notorious pirate had hidden his blood-stained
booty. It was a resting place for carpets flown by djinns, and boxes sealed
before the Flood, where the eggs of beasts that the earth had lost were wrapped
and waiting for the sun's heat to hatch them.
"It's perfect!" Harvey murmured to himself.
Mrs. Griffin caught his words. "Nothing's perfect," she replied.
"Why not?"
"Because time passes," she went on, staring down at the flowers she'd cut.
"And the beetle and the worm find their way into everything sooner or later."
Hearing this, Harvey wondered what grief it was Mrs. Griffin had known or
seen to make her so mournful.
"I'm sorry," she said, covering her melancholy with a tiny smile. "You
didn't come here to listen to my dirges. You came to enjoy yourself, didn't
you?"
"I guess I did," Harvey said.
摘要：

TheThiefofAlwaysCopyright1992byCliveBarkerAllIllustrationsbyCliveBarkerIHarvey,Half-DevouredThegreatgraybeastFebruaryhadeatenHarveySwickalive.Herehewas,buriedinthebellyofthatsmotheringmonth,wonderingifhewouldeverfindhiswayoutthroughthecoldcoilsthatlaybetweenhereandEaster.Hedidn'tthinkmuchofhischance...

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