Matty, at the sink, remembered something. “Mentor’s birthmark is completely gone,” he called to Seer.
Eight
The puppy was ready. So was Matty. The other little dog, the one who had been his childhood companion for years, had lived a happy, active life, died in his sleep, and had been buried with ceremony and sadness beyond the garden. For a long time Matty, missing Branch, had not wanted a new dog. But now it was time, and when Jean summoned him—her message was that Matty had to come right away to pick up the puppy, because her father was furious at its mischief—he hurried to her house.
He had not been to Mentor’s homeplace since Trade Mart the previous week. The flower garden, as always, was thriving and well tended, with late roses in bloom and fall asters fat with bud. He found Jean there, kneeling by her flower bed, digging with a trowel. She smiled up at him, but it was not her usual saucy smile, fraught with flirtatiousness, the smile that drove Matty nearly mad. This morning she seemed troubled.
“He’s shut in the shed,” she told Matty, meaning the puppy. “Did you bring a rope to lead him home?”
“Don’t need one. He’ll follow me. I have a way with dogs.”
Jean sighed, set her trowel aside, and wiped her forehead, leaving a smear of earth that Matty found very appealing. “I wish I did,” she said. “I can’t control him at all. He’s grown so fast, and he’s very strong and determined. My father is beside himself, wanting such a wild little thing gone.”
Matty grinned. “Mentor deals with lots of wild little things in the schoolhouse. I myself was a wild little thing once, and it was he who tamed me.”
Jean smiled at him. “I remember. What a ragged, naughty thing you were, Matty, when you came to Village.”
“I called myself the Fiercest of the Fierce.”
“You were that,” Jean agreed with a laugh. “And now your puppy is.”
“Is your father home?”
“No, he’s off visiting Stocktender’s widow, as usual,” Jean said with a sigh.
“She’s a nice woman.”
Jean nodded. “She is. I like her. But, Matty . . .”
Matty, who had been standing, sat down on the grass at the edge of the garden. “What?”
“May I tell you something troubling?”
He felt himself awash with affection for Jean. He had for a long time been attracted to her girlish affectations, her silly charms and wiles. But now, for the first time, he felt something new. He perceived the young woman behind all those superficial things. With her curly hair tumbling over her dirt-streaked forehead, she was the most beautiful person Matty had ever seen. And now she was talking to him in a way that was not foolish and childlike, designed to entrance, but instead was human and pained and adult. He felt suddenly that he loved her, and it was a feeling he had never known before.
“It’s about my father,” she said in a low voice.
“He’s changing, isn’t he?” Matty replied, startling himself, because he had not spelled it out in his mind before, had not said it aloud yet, yet here it was, and he was saying it to Jean. He felt an odd sense of relief.
Jean began to cry softly. “Yes,” she said. “He has traded his deepest self.”
“Traded?” That part took Matty by surprise because he had not thought it through to there. “Traded for what?” Matty asked in horror, and realized he was repeating the phrase from Trade Mart.
“For Stocktender’s widow,” she said, weeping. “He wanted her to love him, so he traded. He’s becoming taller and straighter. The bald spot at the back of his head has grown over with hair, Matty. His birthmark has disappeared.”
Of course. That was it. “I saw it,” Matty told her, “but I didn’t understand.” He put his arm around the sobbing girl.
She caught her breath finally. “I didn’t know how lonely he was, Matty. If I had known . . .”
“So that’s why . . .” Matty was trying to sort through it in his head.
“The puppy. Once he would have loved a naughty puppy, Matty, the way he loved you when you were a raggedy boy. I knew it all for certain yesterday when he kicked the puppy. Till then I only suspected.” Jean wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and left another endearing streak of dirt.
“And the petition!” Matty added, thinking of it suddenly.
“Yes. Father always welcomed new ones. It was the most wonderful part of Father, how he cared for everyone and tried to help them learn. But now . . .”
They heard a loud whimpering from the shed, and a scratching sound.
“Let him out, Jean, and I’ll take him home before your father gets back.”
She went to the shed door, opened it, and though her face was tear-streaked now, she smiled at the eager, ungainly puppy who bounded forth, jumped into Matty’s arms, and licked his cheeks. The white tail was a whir.
“I need time to think,” Matty said, subduing the puppy with a rhythmic scratch below his chin.
“What’s to think about? There’s nothing to be done. Trades are forever. Even if a stupid thing like a Gaming Machine breaks down, or if you tire of it—you don’t get to reverse.”
He wondered if he should tell her. She had seen the effect of his power on the puppy and its mother, but hadn’t understood. Now, if he chose, perhaps he could explain. But he was uncertain about this. He did not know how far his power went and he did not want to promise this beloved girl something impossible. To repair a man’s soul and deepest heart—to reverse an irreversible trade—might be far, far more than Matty could possibly undertake.
So he stayed silent, and took his lively puppy away.
“Look! He sits now when I tell him to.” Then Matty groaned and said, “Oh, sorry.”
When would he ever learn to stop saying “Look” to a man who had no eyes?
But the blind man laughed. “I don’t need to be able to look. I can hear that he sits. The sounds of his feet stop. And I don’t feel his teeth on my shoes.”
“He’s smart, I think,” Matty said optimistically.
“Yes, I think you’re right. He’s a good little puppy, Matty. He’ll learn quickly. You don’t need to worry about his mischief.” The blind man reached out his hand and the puppy scampered to it and licked his fingers.
“And he’s quite beautiful.” In truth, Matty was trying to convince himself. The puppy was a combination of several colors, big feet, a whirligig of a tail, and lopsided ears.
“I’m sure he is.”
“He’ll need a name. I haven’t thought of the right one yet.”
“His true name will come to you.”
“I hope I get my own soon,” Matty said.
“It will come when the time comes.”
Matty nodded and turned back to the dog. “First I thought of Survivor, because he was the only one of the puppies that did. But it’s too long. It doesn’t sound like the right one.” Matty picked up the puppy and scratched its belly as it lay on his lap.
“So then . . .” Matty began to laugh. “Since he was the one that lived? I thought of Liver for a name.”