The Anything Box

"These ones with the green fur," she said and giggled. "People thinkthey're just hills, but they're beasts."
"If you say so." My fingers plucked at the grass. "And the green fur grewall around, all around—"
"That's why it feels warm," said Liesle. "Don't pull its fur, Gramma. Itmight hurt it. 'Nen it'd get up. And spill us on the ground. And open its bigmouth—and stick out its great big teeth—" She clutched me wildly. "Gramma!"she cried, "Let's go home!"
"Oh, botheration!" I said, sitting up. The chill of the evening was like asplash of cold water. "Say, it is getting cold. We'll catch our death oflive-forevers if we lie out here much longer."
"But it's so warm and nice down here," sighed Mrs. Davidson.
"Not up here," I shivered. "Come on, younguns, I’ll race you to the tent."
The moonlight wakened me. It jabbed down through a tiny rip in the tentabove me and made it impossible for me to go back to sleep. Even with my eyesshut and my back turned, I could feel the shaft of light twanging almostaudibly against my huddled self. So I gave up, and shrugging into afleece-lined jacket and wriggling my bare feet into my sneakers, I duckedthrough the tent flap. The night caught at my heart. All the shadow and silverof a full moon plus the tumble and swell, the ivory and ebony of cloudswelling up over Baldy. No wonder the moonlight had twanged through the tent.It was that kind of night—taut, swift, far and unfettered.
I sighed and tucked my knees up under the jacket as I sat on the stump.There are times when having a body is a big nuisance. Well, I thought, I'llstay out long enough to get thoroughly chilled, then I'll surely sleep when Icrawl back into my nice warm sleeping bag. My eyes followed the dark serratedtreetops along the far side of the creek to the velvety roll of the smallhills in the moonlight upstream, the thick silver-furredbeasts-who-slept-so-long. I smiled as I thought of Liesle.
Then there she was—Liesle—just beyond the tent, her whole body taut withstaring, her arms stiffly flexed at the elbows, her fingers crooked, her wholeself bent forward as though readying for any sudden need for pursuit—orflight.
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She made an abortive movement as though to go back into the tent, and thenshe was off, running towards the hills, her bare white feet flashing in themoonlight. I wanted to call after her, but something about the stillness ofthe night crowded the noise back into my throat, so I took after her, glad ofa good excuse to run, fleet-footed and free, through the crispness of thesilver night. A little farther, a little faster, a little lighter and Iwouldn't even have had to touch the ground.
I lost sight of Liesle, so I leaned against a tree and waited for my breathto catch up with me. Then I saw her, a wisp of darkness in her worn flannelpajamas, moving from one small hill to another, softly tiptoeing away acrossthem until the shadow of the aspen grove on the slope above swallowed her up.There was a pause as I wondered if I should follow, then she reappeared withthe same soft, careful step. She stopped just a few feet from me and plumpedherself down between two rounded knolls. She shivered in the icy air andsnuggled down tight in the curving corner. I could hear her talking.
"Move over, you. Keep me warm. There's eight of you. I counted. I like youin the night, but I'm scared of you in the day. You don't belong in the day."She yawned luxuriantly and I saw that she was sinking slowly between those twograssy hills. "You really don't belong in the night, either." Liesle went on."You better go back next time it's open." Only her head was visible now. Shewas all but swallowed up in the—in the what?
"Liesle!" I hissed.
She gasped and looked around. Suddenly she was sprawling out in the openagain on the sloping hillside, shivering. She glanced back quickly and thenbegan to cry. I gathered her up in my arms. "What's going on here, Liesle?"
“I had a dream!” she wailed.
I carried her back to the camp, sagging a little under her weight. Justbefore I dumped her down in front of her tent, I swear she waved over myshoulder, a furtive, quick little wave, back at the little sleeping hills.
Next day I determinedly stayed in camp when everyone else galloped off intothe far distance toward Katatki to look for arrowheads. I had to make a noise like elderly and weary, and I know my children suspected that I was up to somemischief, but they finally left me alone. The dust had hardly settled on thecurve downcreek before I was picking my way among the beast-hills.
I caught myself tiptoeing and breathing cautiously through my mouth,startled by the crunch of gravel and the sudden shriek of a blue jay. I satdown, as nearly as I could tell, between the same two hills where Liesle hadbeen. I pulled up a tuft of grass with a quick twinge of my thumb and fingers.Grass—that's all it was. Well, what had I expected? I unlimbered my shortprospector's pick and began to excavate. The sod peeled back. The sandy soilunderneath slithered a little. The pick clinked on small rocks. I unearthed abeer cap and a bent nail. I surveyed my handiwork, then shoved the dirt backwith the head of the pick. Sometimes it's fun to have too much imagination.Other times it gets you dirt under your fingernails.
I trudged back toward camp. Halfway there I stopped in mid-stride. Had Iheard something? Or felt something? A movement as of air displacing? I turnedand walked slowly back to the hillside.
Nowhere, nowhere, could I find the spot where I'd been digging. I kneltdown and picked up the only loose object around. A rusty beer cap.
The Davidsons' vacation was nearly over. We had another week after theywere to leave. I don't know how it happened—things like that are alwayshappening to us— but we ended up with Liesle and Jinnie jumping up and downecstatically together as all grownups concerned slowly nodded their heads. AndI had an extra grandchild for the next week.
Of course, Liesle was a little homesick the first night after her folksleft. After Jinnie had fallen asleep, she looked over at me in the glow of theColeman lantern, with such forlornness that I lifted the edge of my sleepingbag and she practically flung herself into it. It was a tight squeeze, butfinally she was snuggled on my shoulder, the crisp spray of her hair tickling
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my chin.
"I like you, Gramma," she said. "You're warm."
"You're warm, too," I said, feeling heat radiating from the wiry little
body. I don't know what prompted my next question. Maybe it was that I wanted
there to be something in Liesle's play-pretend. "Am I as warm as the beasts?"
I felt her startled withdrawal. It was like having a spring suddenly coil
beside me.
"What are they going to do when it starts snowing again?" I asked into the
awkward silence.
"I don't know," said Liesle slowly. "I don't know any beasts. Besides their
fur would keep them warm."
"It looks like just grass to me," I said. "Grass withers when cold weather
comes."
"It's 'sposed to look like grass," said Liesle. "So's no one will notice
them."
"What are they?" I asked. "Where did they come from?"
"I don't know any beasts," said Liesle. "I'm going to sleep."
And she did.
Liesle might as well have gone on home for all the outdoor activity she got
that week with us. Bad weather came pouring through the pass in the mountains,
and we had rain and fog and thunder and hail and a horrible time trying to
keep the kids amused. My idle words had stuck in Liesle's mind and festered in
the inactivity. She peered incessantly out of the tent flap asking, "How long