Gene Wolfe - War Beneath The Tree.pdf - fantasy - rhea137

WAR BENEATH THE TREE

By Gene Wolfe

It's Christmas Eve, Commander Robin," the Spaceman said. "You'd better

go to bed or Santa won't come."

Robin's mother said, "That's right, Robin. Time to say good night."

The little boy in blue pajamas nodded, but he made no move to rise.

"Kiss me," said Bear. Bear walked his funny, waddly walk around the

tree and threw his arms about Robin. "We have to go to bed. I'll come,

too." It was what he said every night.

Robin's mother shook her head in amused despair. "Listen to them," she

said. "Look at him, Bertha. He's like a little prince surrounded by his

court. How is he going to feel when he's grown and can't have

transistorized sycophants to spoil him all the time?"

Bertha the robot maid nodded her own almost human head as she put the

poker back in its stand. "That's right, Ms. Jackson. That's right for

sure."

The Dancing Doll took Robin by the hand, making an arabesque penche of

it. Now Robin rose. His guardsmen formed up and presented arms.

"On the other hand." Robin's mother said, "they're children only such a

short time."

Bertha nodded again. "They're only young once, Ms. Jackson. That's for

sure. All right if I tell these little cute toys to help me straighten

up after he's asleep?"

The Captain of the guardsmen saluted with his silver saber, the Largest

Guardsman beat the tattoo on his drum, and the rest of the guardsmen

formed a double file.

"He sleeps with Bear," Robin's mother said.

"I can spare Bear. There's plenty of others." .

The Spaceman touched the buckle of his antigravity belt and soared to a

height of four feet like a graceful, broad shouldered balloon. With the

Dancing Doll on his left and Bear on his right, Robin toddled off

behind the guardsmen. Robin's mother ground out her last cigarette of

the evening, winked at Bertha, and said, "I suppose I'd better turn in,

too. You needn't help me undress. Just pick up my things in the

morning."

"Yes um. Too bad Mr. Jackson isn't here, it bein' Christmas Eve and you

expectin' an' all."

"He'll be back from Brazil in a week-I've told you already. Bertha,

your speech habits are getting worse and worse. Are you sure you

wouldn't rather be a French maid for a while?"

"Maize none, Ms. Jackson. I have too much trouble talkin' to the men

that comes to the door when I'm French."

"When Mr. Jackson gets his next promotion, we're going to have a

chauffeur," Robin's mother said. "He's going to be Italian, and he's

going to stay Italian."

Bertha watched her waddle out of the room. "All right,

you lazy toys! You empty them ashtrays into the fire an' get everythin'

put away. I'm goin' to turn myself off, but the next time I come on

this room better be straight or there's goin' to be some broken toys

aroun' here."

She watched long enough to see the Gingham Dog dump the contents of the

largest ashtray on the crackling logs, the Spaceman float up to

straighten the magazines on the coffee table, and the Dancing Doll

begin to sweep the hearth. "Put - yourselves in your box," she told the

guardsmen, and then she turned off.

In the smallest bedroom, Bear lay in Robin's arms. "Be quiet," said

Robin.

"I am quiet," said Bear.

"Every time I am almost gone to sleep, you squiggle."

"I don't," said Bear.

"You do."

"Don't."

"Do."

"Sometimes you have trouble going to sleep, too, Robin," said Bear.

"I'm having trouble tonight," Robin countered meaningfully.

Bear slipped from his arms. "I want to see if it's snowing again." He

climbed from the bed to an open drawer and from the open drawer to the

top of the dresser. It was snowing.

Robin said. "Bear, you have a circuit loose." It was what his mother

sometimes said to Bertha.

Bear did not reply.

"Oh, Bear," Robin said sleepily a moment later. "I know why you're

antsy. It's your birthday tomorrow, and you think I didn't get you

anything."

"Did you?" Bear asked.

"I will," Robin said. "Mother will take me to the store."

In half a minute his breathing became the regular, heavy sighing of a

sleeping child.

Bear sat on the edge of the dresser and looked at him. Then he said

under his breath, "I can sing Christmas carols." It had been the first

thing he had ever said to Robin, one year ago. He spread his arms. All

is calm, all is bright. It made him think of the lights on the tree and

the bright fire in the living room. The Spaceman was there, but because

he was the only toy who could fly, none of the others liked the

Spaceman much. The Dancing Doll was there, too. The Dancing Doll was

clever, but . . . well-he could not think of the word.

He jumped down into the drawer on top of a pile of Robin's undershirts,

then out of the drawer, and softly to the dark, carpeted floor.

"Limited," he said to himself. "The Dancing Doll is limited." He

thought again of the fire, then of the old toys the Blocks Robin had

had beforehand the Dancing Doll and the rest had come, the Wooden Man

who rode a yellow bicycle, the Singing Top.

The door of Robin's room was nearly closed. There was only a narrow

slit of light, so that Robin would not be afraid. Bear had been closing

it a little more each night. Now he did not want to open it. But it had

been a long time since Robin had asked about his Wooden Man, his

Singing Top, and his "A" Block, with all of its talk of apples and

acorns and alligators.

In the living room, the Dancing Doll was positioning the guardsmen, and

all the while the Spaceman stood on the mantel and supervised. "We can

get three or four behind the bookcase," he called.

"Where they won't be able to see a thing," Bear growled.

The Dancing Doll pirouetted and dropped a sparkling

curtsy. "We were afraid you wouldn't come," she said.

"Put one behind each leg of the coffee table," Bear told her. "I had to

wait until he was asleep. Now listen to me, all of you. When I call,

`Charge!' we must all run at them together. That's very important. If

we can, we'll have a practice before hand."

The Largest Guardsman said. "I'll beat my drum."

"You'll beat the enemy or you'll go into the fire with the rest of us."

Bear said.

Robin was sliding on the ice. His feet went out from under him and

right up into the air so that he fell down with a tremendous BUMP that

shook him all over. He lifted his head, and he was not on the frozen

pond in the park at all. He was in his own bed, with the moon shining

in at the window, and it was Christmas Eve . . . no, Christmas Night

now . . . and Santa was coming. Maybe he had already come. Robin

listened for reindeer on the roof and did not hear the sound of any

reindeer steps. Then he listened for Santa eating the cookies his

mother had left on the stone shelf next to the fireplace. There was no

munching or crunching. Then he threw back the covers and slipped down

over the edge of his bed until his feet touched the floor. The gold

smells of tree and fire had come into his room. He followed them out of

the room, ever so quietly, into the hall.

Santa was in the living room, bent over beside the tree! Robin's eyes

opened until they were as big and as round as his pajama buttons. Then

Santa straightened up, and he was not Santa at all, but Robin's mother

in a new red bathrobe. Robin's mother was nearly as fat as Santa, and

Robin had to put his fingers in his mouth to keep from laughing at the

way she puffed and pushed at her knees with her hands until she stood

straight.

But Santa had come! There were toys-new toys-

everywhere under the tree.

Robin's mother went to the cookies on the stone shelf and ate half of

one. Then she drank half the glass of milk. Then she turned to go back

into her bedroom, and Robin retreated into the darkness of his own room

until she had passed. When he peeked cautiously around the door frame

again, the toys-the New Toys-were beginning to move.

They shifted and shook themselves and looked about. Perhaps it was

because it was Christmas Eve. Perhaps it was only because the light of

the fire had activated their circuits. But a clown brushed himself off

and stretched, and a raggedy girl smoothed her raggedy apron (with a

heart embroidered on it), and a monkey gave a big jump and chinned

himself on the next-to-lowest limb of the Christmas tree. Robin saw

them. And Bear, behind the hassock of Robin's father's chair, saw them,

too. Cowboys and Native Americans were lifting the lid of a box, and a

knight opened a cardboard door (made to look like wood) in the side of

another box (made to look like stone), letting a dragon peer over his

shoulder.

"Charge!" Bear called. "Charge!" He came around the side of the hassock

on all fours like a real bear, running stiffly but very fast, and he

hit the Clown at his wide waistline and knocked him down, then picked

him up and threw him halfway to the fire.

The Spaceman had swooped down on the Monkey; they wrestled, teetering,

on top of a polystyrene tricycle.

The Dancing Doll had charged fastest of all, faster even than Bear

himself, in a breathtaking series of jetes, but the Raggedy Girl had

lifted her feet from the floor, and now she was running with her toward

the fire. As Bear struck the Clown a second time, he saw two Native

Americans carrying a guardsman-the Captain of the guardsmen-

toward the fire, too. The Captain's saber had sliced through one of the

Native Americans, and it must have disabled some circuit because the

Native American walked badly. But in a moment more the Captain was

burning, his red uniform ablaze, his hands thrown up like tongues of

flame, his black eyes glazing and cracking, bright metal running from

him like sweat to harden among the ashes under the logs.

The Clown tried to wrestle with Bear, but Bear threw him down. The

Dragon's teeth were sunk in Bear's left heel, but Bear kicked himself

free. The Calico. Cat was burning, burning. The Gingham Dog tried to

pull her out, but the Monkey pushed him into the fire. For a moment

Bear thought of the cellar stairs and the deep, dark cellar, where

there were boxes and bundles and a hundred forgotten corners. If he ran

and hid, the New Toys might never find him, might never even try to

find him. Years from now Robin would discover him, covered with dust.

The Dancing Doll's scream was high and sweet, and Bear turned to face

the Knight's upraised sword.

When Robin's mother got up on Christmas Morning, Robin was awake

already, sitting under the tree with the Cowboys, watching the Native

Americans do their rain dance. The Monkey was perched on his shoulder,

the Raggedy Girl (programmed, the store had assured Robin's mother, to

begin Robin's sex education) in his lap, and the Knight and the Dragon

were at his feet. "Do you like the toys Santa brought you, Robin?"

Robin's mother asked.

"One of the Native Americans doesn't work."

"Never mind, dear. We'll take him back. Robin, I've got something

important to tell you."

Bertha the robot maid came in with cornflakes and milk and vitamins for

Robin and cafe au lait for Robin's mother. "Where is those old toys?"

she asked. "They done

a picky-poor job of cleanin' up this room."

"Robin, your toys are just toys, of course-"

Robin nodded absently. A red calf was coming out of the chute, with a

cowboy on a roping horse after him.

"Where is those old toys, Ms. Jackson?" Bertha asked again.

"They're programmed to self-destruct, I understand," Robin's mother

said. "But, Robin, you know how the new toys all came, the Knight and

Dragon and all your Cowboys, almost by magic? Well, the same thing can

happen with people."

Robin looked at her with frightened eyes.

"The same wonderful thing is going to happen here, in our home."

Gene Wolfe - War Beneath The Tree.pdf

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