"I think I understand, but-".
"Do not forget again."
"But-"
"And you must neither eat, nor drink, nor must you sleep."
"Not eat or drink? Not sleep? That is impossible."
"Not for you."
"Why?"
"Fool! Do what I say!"
"Who are you, and how can I help you?"
"Who am I? You know who I am, you have asked the Wolf to set me free. And to help me, here, you must make a spinning wheel from the mist, and send it to me. It will keep the fair Lady from tormenting me while I do what I must."
The Gypsy began to make his hands spin, and soon the mist was spinning with them. As he did so, he said, "Is there anything you can tell me, that will help me drive the Fair Lady back to Her own realm?"
"You must find the Coachman."
"But where?"
"Where? You'll find him driving a coach, fool." The voice was very faint now. "And you must find your brothers. And you can do nothing if the Wolf eats you,and eat you he will unless you place yourself within his jaws. But only at the right time. Too early and he will devour you, too late and he won't protect you."
"How will I know the right time?" he asked.
But there was no answer. A soft breeze blew the mist away, and he was staring at a foggy street and the beginnings of the morning traffic.
I don't know why
You don't cry
For freedom.
"IF I HAD THE VOICE"
The fair Lady puts down Her knitting and frowns. The midwife glances up and says, "What is it, mistress?"
"I don't know," says the fair Lady. "Something is wrong."
The midwife, who has also been knitting, sticks her tongue out and wags it around. Perhaps she tastes the thickness of the air, perhaps the flavor of the woodsmoke."Perhaps it is the prisoner, mistress. I will check on her."
But before she can move, the nora comes scampering into the room on his hands and feet. "Mistress, mistress," he cries.
"Well, what is it?"
"The woman has gotten a piece of garlic from somewhere, and she rubs it on her breast so I can't go near her!"
The Fair Lady smiles and pats the nora's head. "Is that all? Well, that must be what I noticed. Come, I will attend to that nasty young woman."
But when she gets there. She finds that She cannot enter,for the room in which the prisoner sits has been tied shut with a piece of trouser cord.
"What do you think you're doing in there?" She cries,but there is no answer. She calls to the midwife, who sings a gentle song to the trouser cord, and at last it unties itself.When the Fair Lady enters the room. Her prisoner is still there, but she is smiling now, and with her hands she works a spinning wheel, and she is spinning, though nothing appears upon the wheel.
"Now, though I am a prisoner, you can't touch me,"says the old woman.
The Fair Lady gnashes Her teeth with anger, and stamps Her feet until the nora is afraid She will stomp them right through to Hell, but at last She is calm again. "I know who did this," She says. "And he will pay for it. And though I can't touch you, here you will remain until you fall asleep at your work, and then you will be mine again."And the Fair Lady slams the door.
After a while, She goes back to her knitting.
The Coachman smiled down at me
When he saw I was behind him.
He said, "Your brother Raven lives,
But I think you'll never find him."
"RAVEN, OWL, AND I"
"Is that what I think it is?" said Daniel.The Coachman looked up at the green-clad gypsy,who had just come back from walking around the city,and smiled.
The brothers looked somewhat alike, the Coachman decided, and some would say he looked similar,although he knew of no gypsy blood in himself. Daniel was thinner and his mustaches longer and his hair shorter, yet they could have been brothers. The Coachman strained his memory to when he had last seen the three brothers together. They had been young, then, but still the one now called Daniel had been thinner, frailer. The youngest brother was as pale as his yellow shirt, and the other brother, who wore red, was the largest. They had all the same pointed chin, though, and the same deep, dark eyes,and brows that met over the nose. The same hooked nose, for that matter, even as young men.
The Coachman nodded. "It is, indeed. Help yourself. I'm not drinking just at the moment." He passed the brandy over and Daniel took a healthy swallow,grimaced.
"You didn't pay too much for it, I hope."
The Coachman shrugged. "Didn't have much to pay. Is that a fiddle case?"
"Yes."
"Ah. The same fiddle as when we first met?"
Daniel nodded. "I've had work done on it. A new bridge, mechanical pegs, and I had a chin rest added. But it was good work. Sandi would have approved."
"Sandi?"
"He taught me to play. Back before-" Daniel's voice caught, then he turned away.
"Play something for me," said the Coachman.
Daniel hesitated. "The neighbors-"
"Can go hang." He looked around at the cheap plaster walls, the single, narrow bed, and the plywood chest of drawers. "In a place like this, one doesn't have neighbors."
Daniel shrugged, took the fiddle from its wooden case and set it to his chin. He drew forth a low, tentative, hollow sound, with just a hint of vibrato, then began one of the simplest dance tunes- The Coachman smiled and wished for a tambourine player. These gypsies, whatever else one thought of them,could play.
Daniel began another pass through the melody, this time more boldly, with surprising grace notes, and sometimes holding back the melody for a beat longer than expected. The Coachman sat back and nodded,and Daniel played through it once more, this time accenting the high, piercing notes, sometimes nearly leaving the melody behind altogether, in the improvisations of gypsy dance steps, of gypsy life, of travels through lands foreign and mundane, meeting people dangerous and friendly, harmless and cold. The Coachman wasn't aware of when the original melody had been entirely left behind, save for faint hints and echoes of phrasing; by this time he was seeing colors swirl before his eyes: Hard blue in the rumbling low notes, yellows and greens in the slow,mournful passages, vibrant reds and violets in staccato high notes.
Then it was no longer colors, but scenes and faces he saw: The roads in the Old Country he had traveled a thousand times before he had met the three gypsy boys, the passage from There to Here, the old man in the gutter asking for coins, the walls and ceiling of the hotels he had stayed in, drunk, night after night.
Then he saw that which he knew had not happened, yet might happen soon, and he sat transfixed,watching it unfold with horror and fascination, until he became aware at last that Daniel had returned,somehow, to the original, simple dance melody; the music trailed off into silence.
"Did you show me that on purpose?" he asked.
Daniel seemed startled. "I showed you something?No, I wasn't aware of it. Perhaps it was your-"
The Coachman stood. "I must go."
"Huh?"
"That you have no notion of what you said makes it no less true, my friend. If I don't return-" He shrugged. "Learn to drive a coach."
Daniel started to speak, but the Coachman was already gone, his feet fairly flying down the stairs. He took the stairs three at a time, then out the door, into the street, and through the early morning mist.
"… And Owl still watches all around
And listens more than speaks.
But he'll never understand
That it isn't you he seeks."
"RAVEN, OWL, AND I"
A lonely, middle-aged salesman had driven Raymond all the way through Ohio, and had left him off in Ashtabula County, just an hour after sunrise, less than fifty miles from his destination. They had gone through twenty-eight small towns along the lake on I-90, and seen three Highway Patrol cars.