“Joseph looked, and to his astonishment saw a fine sleigh drawn by four white ponies. ‘What do you see?’ Jacob asked him.
“‘I see a magnificent sleigh,’ Joseph answered. ‘It’s bright with gilt and dancing golden bells.’
“‘Ah! Continue, please,’ said Jacob. ‘Give me more, dear brother.’
“‘A big coachman in a high fur hat and a big brown fur coat cracks his long, black whip above the ponies. Beside him sits a tiny groom in a scarlet jacket, so that they look like a bear and a monkey in the circus. Riding in the sleigh is a woman wrapped in white furs.’
“‘Wonderful!’ Jacob exclaimed, and his pen danced over the paper so busily that he seemed not to hear the tinkle of sleigh bells as the sleigh stopped before their little house.”
“Open this other drawer,” Tina instructed him. “And when I jump across, you can shut this one. I think she’s the editor of the Schwarzwald Gazette.”
He pulled out the drawer that held his socks. “Maybe,” he said.
“Joseph saw that the woman was a princess, and he bowed to the ground. ‘Are you Jacob?’ she inquired. ‘The publisher of our little paper has sent all your stories to me, knowing that they are just the sort of thing I like. I forbade him to tell you of it until I had rewarded you.’
“‘No, Highness,’ Joseph said honestly, ‘it’s my brother who writes the stories. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll bring him out to pay his respects to you.’
“‘That’s certainly not necessary,’ said the princess. ‘I shall go in to pay my respects to him.’
“But when Joseph hastened to open the door, he found that Jacob was already in the doorway. ‘Your Highness,’ Jacob said, ‘what my brother has told you is not wholly true. It is indeed he who writes my stories—I, as you see, am blind. I merely write them down.’”
“That was a sad story,” Tina said. “Sometimes fairy tales are too much like real life. But I liked it.”
He nodded and closed the book. “So did I.”
There was a knock at the door.
Magic!
There was another knock. A voice muffled by the door announced, “UPS.”
“All right,” he said, and opened it.
The UPS driver was short and dark, and looked angry. “This Seven C?”
He nodded.
“Here it is. You want it out here or in there?” It was a big, solid-looking crate on a handcart.
“Is that for me?” he asked.
“This is Seven C? It’s for Seven C.”
“I wasn’t expecting—”
The driver snarled. “Your name Green?”
“Yes, but—”
“Want me to take it off my buggy and leave it in the hall?”
He shook his head. “I guess you’d better bring it inside.”
The driver grasped the handles of the handcart and gave a mighty heave, tilting the cart back enough to put the center of gravity of the crate over its axle. “You should have seen me getting this bastard in that elevator. You’d have laughed your head off. Usually a thing like this goes to a loading dock.”
He asked, “Who sent it?”
“Hell, I don’t know. It says on the side someplace.”
He bent to look. “It’s just an address.”
“If you read it, you know everything I do. Here, I’ll move it over so it don’t block your TV.”
“Leave it in front of the TV,” he said. “If you put it over there, I won’t be able to get into the dinette.” He got a bill from his wallet and extended it to the driver, who accepted it in silence.
Tina called, “You should say thank you.” She was standing in the bedroom doorway, apparently having climbed from his sock drawer.
The driver glanced around uneasily. “You say that?”
“No,” he said.
“I guess it was something on TV.” The driver studied the black screen. “Maybe from the next apartment.”
He was looking at the thick, rough boards of the crate and the shiny heads of their four-penny nails. “How am I—?”
His question was cut off by the shutting of the door as the driver went out.
Tina came over to examine the crate. “You should say thank you,” she repeated.
“I thought you were talking to the UPS man,” he told her.
“I was talking to you. I was the one who found the charm and got you to wear it. You should say thank you.”
He pulled it from the neck of his shirt; it had not changed color or become larger or smaller. “Maybe we ought to wait till we see what’s in the box,” he said.
“Something nice,” she told him. “It’s almost Christmas, and Christmas presents are always nice.”
He smiled faintly. “I don’t think you’d like it if I got a puppy.”
“Or another doll—I’d be jealous. Lift me onto the couch if we’re going to talk. I was born on Christmas—have I told you about that?”
He took her tiny waist between his thumb and forefinger and stood her on the cushion beside him. “No, you’ve never told me much about your past.”
“Now you’re jealous.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are. I can tell. You’re a jealous god, like the one they talk about.”
“I’m not jealous, and I’m not a god,” he told her absently. Another part of his mind was wrestling with the problem of the crate. The custodian would be in the musty basement apartment that came with the job, perhaps. But the custodian did not like being disturbed so late, and might already be asleep.
Tina said, “Not to you, you’re not. And not to other big people. But to me.”
“I see.”
“I used to have a goddess.”
That got his full attention. “What was her name?”
Tina shook her head. “That’s the part I can’t remember. I remember a tree—so pretty—and the kitten, because the goddess got a kitten too. I didn’t like it, and when you said about the puppy, that made me think of it.”
“I’ll bet your goddess went to school.”
“Uh huh. After Twelfth Night she did.”
“Do you remember what grade?” He tried to guess Lara’s age; twenty-eight, perhaps. No, she would be older now.
Tina shook her head again. “But she could walk by herself, I remember that, and she used to show me things she made out of paper. Once she made a paper crown, and when she came home she made a little crown for me.”
“And then?” he prompted.
“And then something happened. I don’t know what—something bad. Then you were holding me and crying.”
He nodded. “I remember. Do you know how long you were in the doll hospital?”
“Was I in a hospital? I don’t remember that.”
“Yes,” he said. “I know how it is.” He got up and walked around the crate. It seemed to him that there should have been directions of some kind: PULL HERE. There was only his name and address on the UPS label, with a return address in the northern suburbs.
“Is that where you got me? From the hospital?”
“Yes,” he said.
The telephone rang. He stared at it. It rang again.
“I’d like to answer—I really would. Only I’m not strong enough to pick up the thing you talk with.”
It rang a third time. He said, “Sure, no problem,” and picked it up. “Hello?”
“It’s you. That’s wonderful. You’ve moved.”
It was Lara, as he had somehow known from the ring; as he had known all along. “That’s right,” he said. He wanted to say more, but the words stuck in his throat.
“How are you? Everything all right?”
“I’m fine. Where are you, Lara?”
“It’s Lora. I’m at home, Mr. Green, and I’m flattered you remember my voice. Naturally you’re surprised that I’m calling you from home, but I knew you worked days and didn’t want us to phone you at work. Anyway, I looked you up and tried the number before I left the office; but no one answered. Did you tell Dr. Nilson you’d moved?”