Upwyr by Bill Bowler	Table of Contents
Chapter 6: Last in Line part 1

Eight years had passed since Yanosh Straker’s mortal remains had been laid to rest. The passing of time had, for the most part, healed the pain his loved ones felt at losing him. His image lived on in their memories but the memories were fading, losing clarity as they reduced to their essence. The violent conflicts that had wracked their lives and taken his had long subsided. For the most part, life had resumed its daily, humdrum patterns, imperceptibly, inexorably unfolding in all its beauty and futility towards our common end.

Only two souls remained troubled by what had passed. Hope, inconsolable, still clung to the broken fragments of lost happiness that her love for Straker had seemed to promise. And Straker’s namesake, Josey and Tricia’s boy, little Yanosh, was having difficulty.

* * *

Yanosh saw the snout first, the black, wet nostril, then the sharp fang curling the lower lip. The eyes looked straight at him, knowing, hungry, and Yanosh knew it was coming for him, that it wanted to kill him and eat him. He had to hide but realized he was lost. The landscape had turned unfamiliar. It was unstable and shifting subtly. Yanosh turned and ran for his life...

He woke up in darkness, his heart pounding. He was in bed, in his bedroom. It was dead of night. All was still and quiet. All around were shadows. His eyes searched the room. In his closet, he saw an outline of something dark with pointed ears and a long snout.

“Mommy!!!” Yanosh screamed.

Tricia rushed into to room and turned on the light. “It’s all right, honey.” She sat on the edge of his bed and put her hand on his cheek. “You were just having a bad dream. Go back to sleep, honey. Daddy and I are here...”

* * *

When Trish returned to bed, Josey was awake.

“How’s the little guy?” he asked.

“He had another nightmare.”

“Poor kid.”

“He’s really scared. Do you think it’s OK to leave him this weekend?”

“I think so,” said Josey. “He’ll be with Abe and Sonya. They’ll take good care of him. What could happen?”

* * *

Madame Sonya came through the curtains into the front parlor from her living quarters in the rear. She went to the window and drew open the drapes, letting the late morning sun into the room. She turned the hand-lettered sign around to “Open” and left it hanging in the window.

Humming quietly to herself, she dusted the glass display case that held her scales, her mortar and pestle, the many small, colored jars of herbs and ingredients, and the larger jars of potions already mixed and prepared.

She lit a piece of incense in the burner. A thread of smoke rose and a sweet fragrance wafted through the room. Taking her mortar and pestle from the shelf, she ground some wild rose petals and some newt bone into a fine powder, added extract of aloe, one drop at a time, and worked it until the mixture was a soft paste. She transferred the paste into a blue, wide-mouthed jar and sealed it.

Madame Sonya heard footsteps outside and saw three silhouettes in the doorway. She called out over her shoulder, “Abe! They’re here!”

“Hello, Sonya!” said Josey, coming in the doorway.

“Hello, dear.” Sonya hugged him tight.

“I’m sorry we’re late.”

“You’re right on time. I was just mixing some ‘Fountain of Youth’ for Hope.”

“How is she?” asked Tricia, coming in behind Josey.

“Still in mourning.” A fleeting sadness passed across Madame Sonya’s face. She hugged Tricia. “I’m so happy to see you. You look wonderful!”

Sonya turned and looked into a pair of shining eyes. “And who have we here?”

“Hi, Sonya! I’m staying with you.”

“I know!”

Sonya kissed little Yanosh on the cheek. He seemed awfully pale and thin. Yanosh pulled away and went off to explore the parlor.

“We’re so grateful you can take him,” said Tricia.

“I’m happy to have him, dear. We’re great friends, aren’t we, Yanosh... Yanosh?”

They looked around. The boy had disappeared.

“Yanosh!” called out Josey.

“What, dad?” Yanosh’s head popped out from under the thick purple velvet curtain that covered the table and fell in folds to the floor.

“What are you doing under there?” asked Josey.

“It’s like a fort.”

“Your pants!” said Tricia. “You’re getting the knees all dirty!”

“Aww...”

“Come out of there at once!”

Yanosh crawled out from under the table and submitted to a brisk knee brushing from his mother. In the back of the room, the curtains parted and Professor von Holzing entered the parlor from the rear apartment.

“Uncle Abe!” Yanosh cried out. “Uncle Abe!”

The boy ran to von Holzing and threw his arms around him. Von Holzing broke into a broad smile.

“Yanosh! I heard you were coming to stay with us. We’re going to have a splendid time, you and me and Sonya. How would you like to go to the Museum of Natural History?”

Josey glanced at his watch. “We better get going. Give me five, big guy.” Yanosh slapped his father’s outstretched palm. “So long, Abe, Sonya. Thanks again.”

Tricia kissed Yanosh. “Good bye, darling. We’ll be back Sunday.”

“Bye, mom.” Yanosh wriggled free and went to inspect the display case.

Tricia turned to Sonya. “Thanks again.” She lowered her voice. “There’s one thing.”

“What is it, dear?”

Tricia took Sonya aside and spoke in low tones. “He’s been having terrible nightmares.”

“The poor child!”

“He doesn’t want to sleep. He’s afraid of the dark.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Sonya softly, “but it happens with children. I’ll keep a close eye on him. I’m a light sleeper.”

“We have to go,” said Josey from the doorway.

They followed him up the steps to the street. He and Tricia got into their car and Tricia leaned out the window. “Now, Yanosh, I expect you to behave yourself and listen to Sonya and Uncle Abe.”

“Don’t worry about a thing,” said Madame Sonya.

Josey pulled away from the curb. The three of them on the sidewalk waved good-bye as the car merged into traffic and disappeared down the avenue.

* * *

His parents gone, Sonya and Uncle Abe making lunch in the rear kitchen, little Yanosh stood alone in Sonya’s parlor. His eyes scanned the shelves of the long glass cabinet along the wall. There was lots of interesting stuff. On one shelf, he saw the little, green head of a devil, hollowed out, its mouth wide open as if in a huge yawn, with a stick in its mouth, like a cigarette. Next to the devil’s head was a row of brightly colored jars. Blue, red, green, purple, tall and short, fat and thin, they were lit by sunlight coming through the front window.

Yanosh picked up the most alluring of the little jars, a bright red one. The label was handwritten in strange symbols he did not understand. The cap was loose. Yanosh unscrewed the cap and smelled the contents. It was sweet, like the flowers his mom put on the table at home. The rim of the jar was sticky. Yanosh licked the syrup off his finger tips. It tasted like cinnamon and something else.

He screwed the cap back on and took another jar, a tall, thin orange one. The jar itself was clear but the contents sparkled, golden orange in the sunbeams. Yanosh opened this one, tipped the bottle to his lips and took a little sip. This beautiful, golden orange juice was bitter. Yanosh wiped his mouth on his sleeve but felt a burning in his tongue and throat. He took the red bottle again and drank some more of the sweet syrup to wash the bitter orange taste from his mouth. Then he carefully put everything back where he had found it and closed the cabinet. His head was beginning to spin.

In the corner, he spied an old wooden bureau. The wood was cracked in places. It was carved with vines and grapes along the edge and the legs had paws for feet. Yanosh pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside lay a silver pistol and a big silver knife in a leather sheath with straps.

Yanosh picked up the pistol. The grip was big for his small hand. He saw the letter “S” was etched on the barrel. Yanosh ran his hand along the side of the gun and touched a switch. A red needle of light beamed from below the barrel and a little red dot ran along the wall.

He put the gun back in the drawer, picked up the knife and drew it from the sheath. Something tickled through his arm, like pins and needles. A faint ringing in Yanosh’s ears grew louder, like a siren inside his head. He heard a distant sound, a low roar, like waves on the beach or voices in a crowd. They were repeating something, something familiar, something he might already know, but he couldn’t quite make it out.

Yanosh ran his finger along the side of the blade. It was razor sharp and he felt a sting as a thin line of red appeared on his fingertip. Yanosh licked his finger, put the knife back in the sheath, and closed the drawer.

He was beginning to feel seriously dizzy. Looking around the room, his eyes fell on the silken cloth that covered Sonya’s crystal ball. He lifted the cloth and uncovered the beautiful glass sphere. Inside the ball, a milky cloud swirled and churned. As Yanosh watched, the cloud took on shapes: a castle, a flying bird, a wolf, a face.

At first the face was thin, with almond eyes and long, dark hair. Then it rippled and dissolved into a broader face with thick gray eyebrows, piercing eyes, and a false, wicked smile. The cloud swirled again and changed into a third face, brown like a dead leaf, dry skin stretched tight across the cheekbones, a paper thin covering for a toothless, grinning skull. Withered arms draped in rags were reaching towards him...

Yanosh felt the swirling cloud entering his own head and fogging his mind. His eyelids drooped. He fell back into the easy chair at the table. The brown, grinning skull hung in space before him. Yanosh felt bony fingers around his throat. He couldn’t breathe. The skull was laughing. Yanosh tried to scream but nothing came out.

“Yanosh, honey. Wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

Yanosh opened his eyes. Sonya was shaking him gently.

“You fell asleep.”

“I’m sorry, Sonya. I was scared.”

“It’s all right. I know all about sleep and dreams. What did you see in yours?”

“I don’t know. Animals. Faces and eyes. A brown skull.”

“A brown skull?”

“I think so. Like a skeleton. It was strangling me.”

“Don’t be afraid. You must be brave, even in dreams. You have to fight back, Yanosh, with all your strength and never give in. Life itself is just a waking dream. Things that seem to be are not, and things that couldn’t be, are real. More than once in my life, I’ve seen awake what haunts men in their dreams.

“Waking or dreaming, follow your conscience and trust your instincts. And never forget: you’re not alone. Your mom and dad love you. Abe and I are here. We’re all in this together. Now come and have lunch. It’s getting cold on the table and Uncle Abe is starving.”

* * *

The buzzer rang while they were eating. Madame Sonya went out to the parlor and came back with a guest.

Von Holzing rose from the table. “Hope!”

A slender woman, pale, dressed in black, smiled wanly at von Holzing. “Hello, Abe.” Her voice was so quiet, they had to strain to hear.

“I have the cream right here,” said Madame Sonya handing Hope a blue wide-mouthed jar. “Each application rolls back five years. I’ve used it myself for... well, I won’t tell you how long.”

Hope took the jar and said softly, “Thank you, Sonya.”

“Does that cream work for men, too?” asked von Holzing.

“Nothing works for men.” Sonya turned to Hope. “He wants me to mix a potion to restore the hair on his head. Can you stay for lunch?”

“No, thank you,” said Hope. Her eyes fell on the boy and she ran her fingers gently through his hair. “How have you been, Yanosh?” Her voice was a whisper. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”

“I’m fine, Hope.” Yanosh dropped his gaze, feeling shy. Hope’s eyes rested on him with a far away look. After a moment, she came back to the present. “Well, I’ve got to go. Thanks again, Sonya.”

“Here, let me see you out,” said Sonya. She took Hope by the elbow and the two women went out through the curtain to the parlor. “Can you stop by tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“I’m preparing a small batch of ‘Silver Tongue’. Used sparingly, it flavors one’s words and gives them a certain, irresistible persuasive effect. I find it most useful.”

“OK,” a fleeting smile crossed Hope’s lips. She opened the front door. “I’ll come by.”

* * *

Open part 2...

Copyright © 2008 by Bill Bowler