“How do you do?” I asked slowly. At first it seemed they did not understand me. I repeated myself, both in English and German. Both were still uneasy, so I began to talk.
I said much about my own family, my children and my husband. I spoke of my own childhood, and how I came to America with my parents. How I grew up and went to school, how I began working, and when I met my husband. And how, when I was young, I heard stories in my village of people like themselves, the Wise Old Ones, the craftwise, who did good or evil as it pleased them; and when I had told one of the tales, the little man spoke slowly for the first time.
“Are there of them any left?” he asked me with hope.
“I do not know,” I admitted. “I never did see them myself.”
I knew that he was disappointed. He did not pursue the subject; instead, he asked me most seriously, “Why do you offer charity to us?”
So proud he was. Here there were secrets of his which I was keeping, and yet he was still challenging me. I pretended to be offended, and told him, “It is not charity to give gifts to new neighbors. I am a good neighbor.” I kept my face solemn.
For the first time, he laughed. It made his face brighten. “Even so,” he said, smiling. “But it must not be unreturned.”
First they did give me this plate for my cakes and breads upon to sit. Never will any grow moldy or stale while seated here. When I protested it was too much to give me for a little milk and meat, they only smiled.
They told me how it was that they had come to central Illinois, and how they found this place of shelter, which was warm, and yet not filled to brimming with people. They thought that here they could be safe. It had been many, many years since they crossed the ocean, but I know not how, nor where they lived until then. Of the Great War which was being fought, they knew little. Midwestern University had its lowest enrollment and fewest teachers, as all had gone to fight in the War. I said that I would help them establish a home, and they took me to meet the others.
It was a leap in my mind to go from believing in one child, to a little family, but nearly a miracle it took for my poor mind to understand thirty or more poor beings, huddled together in the abandoned basement, fearful of discovery. Immediately, I thought of the newsreels, of the European horrors. Under cover of night they traveled, facing many dangers, avoiding cities, eating crops from the fields. But from where had they come, I asked? They never told me. But this place was here, in the heart of generous farmlands, and it seemed made for them, so they intended to stay.
O O O
“And so, it was my insistence that they closed off the lowest level of the library in which to live. The ceiling was too low for any classes to be held there. I think perhaps it was built by the government to use as a secret office, but it was too old; the government felt a closed door was enough, then. Tens of years had it been neglected. All that remained there were boxes of rotted wood, containing old books and other school property. The janitors were all old men, and they forgot that the place was there. Here I suspect magic, for one of these was Franklin Mackay, and Mr. Mackay had never forgotten one thing in his long life. I believe that after a time only I and my little ones knew there had ever been a lowest floor.” Mrs. Hempert placed her tea-cup into the saucer with a resolute click.
“I sure didn’t,” Keith admitted. “How did Lee get involved?”
“The same way you have. A kind heart and a willingness to help. Since I retired, he has done all that which I used to do. He orders extra goods. No one notices the missing supplies, ever, for there is always so much wasted. But he was never closer to them than he is. He trades food for education. They were eager to exchange what they had in plenty, knowledge, for that which they needed. I helped to work that out. Their pride I could circle around, once I knew that. Lee was doing poorly, now he does very well. But he will soon graduate; then he will be gone. You will take his place. I am glad you are here.”
“Me, too,” Keith said, thinking deeply. “Tell me, where does their light come from? I mean, on the ceiling?”
Mrs. Hempert was amused. “I do not know. If I say magic, and you believe me, you do not know more than if I said nothing at all. Now tell me, how did you find your way into their home? I know it is well hidden. I watched as it disappeared.”
“Well, there was a girl.…”
The old woman smiled. “One whom you like a great deal?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. She has another guy who is interested in her. Except that might not last too much longer. He’s bullying her and she doesn’t like it.”
“A bully,” she repeated thoughtfully. “No, that is not right. I shall have to speak about that. But I tell you I am glad you have found my little ones, and that you are friends.”
“Why are you telling me all this, Mrs. Hempert?” Keith asked earnestly. “I’m really grateful to you, but … I’m a stranger. I could be a fraud, or a reporter who just happened to hear something. Why are you trusting me?”
“Are you not trusting me?” she asked, a twinkle lighting the blue of her eyes into sapphire. “If I went to a reporter and told him, ‘I have seen elfs,’ they vould tell me I am a crazy old voman, yes? And I trust you. At my age I have learned something about character. You are honest. I can tell. I can tell.”
“Just one thing: what are they doing here?”
“Just living, like you, or like me.”
Keith nodded, and got up to go. “Thanks for talking to me. Um, may I come back again?”
“Of course,” she smiled, also rising. “And bring your young lady, too. We are in one another’s confidence now. What will you do now with your new knowledge?”
“I’m not sure. Help out if I can. I won’t tell anyone else.” Keith stuck out a hand. Ludmilla put her right hand into his, and enfolded both of theirs with her other hand. She had a strong, warm clasp, and he realized that she had plenty of residual strength from years at her job. However fragile she may look, she was not feeble. “I’ll tell ’em you said ‘hi.’ Hmm,” he scowled as he remembered Holl’s warning. “Maybe I won’t.”
“If you can, you will. Good bye, Keith.”
O O O
Catra continued paging through the weekly Midwestern gazette. Nothing new had caught her eye since the first article, though she had been especially vigilant. She was relieved. However time-consuming her task was, it was easier to bear than the fear of discovery once their presence was suspected there in the basement of this big building. Then, as she was passing up the advertisement pages for used cars, she found a two-inch column with the headline, “Circus Midget Colony?”, that went on to describe “miniature adults in a Midwestern Illinois town.”
This article was still reasonably vague. Probably it was just an echo of the one from the time before; these little journals read one another’s copy, and it was clear from week to week where the sources were found. It had no detail, only rumor, but it would still worry the elders. With a deep sigh she marked it with a sharp fingernail and put the newspaper back into its folder. Later on, she could make a Xerox copy of it, when the librarians had gone home for the night.
***
Chapter 13
Keith leaned conspiratorially over the secretary’s desk at the office of the School of Nursing. “Hiya, Louise, baby,” he purred, twitching one eyebrow, a la Humphrey Bogart. “We’re goin’ over the wall tonight. I need your help.”
“What do you want?” Louise Fowler demanded, pushing Keith’s hands off a pile of carbon paper. “Keep your paws off my desk. I’m going to search your pockets before you leave.”
Keith bounced off, and dashed around the desk to kneel beside her. She deliberately cultivated a starched-stiff attitude in her duties as administrative assistant to the Nursing School, but Keith had a way of disarming her, and it usually meant trouble; either something he was planning, or something he was already in. He took her hand in his and said mournfully, “Such a lack of trust.”
Louise pulled her hand back. “I don’t have time for this. Do you want something?”
“Of course!”
“Well, what?”
“For a start, sheets. Gotta have something to tear up for rope ladders,” he said, going over a list he had rehearsed in his head.
“Why? Haven’t you ever heard of doors?”
“Whose jailbreak is this, anyway?” he insisted. “Maybe I’ll use the surplus for my Halloween costume.”
“A ghost, right?”
Keith shook his head in mock dismay. “You’re too quick for me, baby. I’ll have to take you with me. Wanna be a moll?”
“Nope.”
“Look, I’m serious. What happens to the medical center’s old sheets and pillowcases when they get worn out?”
“Well, they go to the school, for nurses’ training.”
“And they come in like that whenever the med center gets new ones? Have they had any recent replacements?” Louise nodded. “Can I have some of them?”
“No!”
“Oh, come on. Please. It’s to make some kids happy.”
Louise stared at him suspiciously. “Are you serious?”
“Honest. May I never go to Mars if I’m not. It’s a … Junior Achievement group,” Keith announced after a moment’s pause.
“Okay,” she sighed. “Come back this afternoon, and I’ll see what I can find.”
“May Allah bless you and all your children. And all the ones you don’t know about, too.” He departed, kissing his fingertips and bowing low to her as he backed out the door. Louise groaned and drew out her inventory card file.
O O O
“Sure I have fabric left over from earlier semesters,” Mrs. Bondini said, accepting the can of cola from Keith. She slid the plate containing her tuna melt and French fries off the tray. Keith set down his own fries and a pair of turkey sandwiches, and put the plastic tray out of the way on an adjoining table. He had headed Mrs. Bondini off from the entrance to the Faculty lunchroom, pleading the need for a personal audience. Amused, she had accepted his invitation to eat with him in the University Deli. Evidently, she had memories of the course she had taught in three-dimensional sculpture in which he’d enrolled a couple of semesters back. “Why?”
“It’s this Junior Achievement group I’m working with,” Keith said, popping open his own can and unwrapping a sandwich. “As I’m not too familiar with this kind of project, I thought I’d come to someone who is.”
“And ‘this kind of project’ is…?”
“Um … Cabbage Patch Kids’ clothes. All kinds of doll clothes. It’ll be a big hit. They’ve something really different in mind. Costumes, ethnic dress from other nations, that sort of thing.” Keith smiled politely at her. After all, he was
almost
telling the truth.
“Well, aren’t they supposed to sell shares and get their operating capital that way?”
“Well, first they need money to print the shares with. And I remembered you also taught the costuming course, so …”
“… So you figured I might be a soft touch,” Mrs. Bondini finished cynically. “Remembering, of course, that the college owns those bolts of fabric.”
“Mm-hmm,” Keith agreed innocently, tucking a quarter sandwich into his mouth. He tried to talk around it, struggled to swallow quickly. “And the thing is, I’m sure there’s some, well … undesirable prints or something hanging around that you might be willing to throw to me instead of the dumpster.”
“Maybe.” Mrs. Bondini rolled up the cellophane from her lunch and dusted her hands together. “Well, come with me, and we’ll see what I might have for your future tycoons.”
With an innocent smile, Keith followed her.
O O O
He had one more stop to make. In the History Department, he spent a little time going through the local archives. Everyone was away from their desks at lunch except a student aide, so he was able to root through the drawers undisturbed. Satisfied with his findings, he used the phone in one of the empty offices to put through a couple of calls, all the time looking around nervously to make sure no one was overhearing him.
O O O
Keith was in such a good mood that he didn’t even flinch when Dr. Freleng handed out a new research assignment that threatened to cut into his dwindling free time. When the other students in the class shared their ideas for investigation he smiled vaguely and maddeningly. Even to Marcy, who knew, or thought she knew, the reason for Keith’s behavior, he seemed more ridiculous than ever.
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed in his ear as they left the classroom.
“Wait and see, my pet,” he smirked.
O O O
That evening, he was late making his way to the class. The librarian on duty at the entrance to the stacks was not convinced when he told her that his two huge plastic-wrapped bales contained drop sheets for the painters that were coming in the morning. The bags were obviously heavy, and full of slippery bulks that showed a tendency to slump to one side.
“You cannot bring those things in here! Absolutely not!” she insisted so vigorously that her glasses slid off her nose. They dropped to the end of their tether, and bumped against her chest on every stressed syllable, especially the
nots
.
Keith sighed, trying to look patient and martyred, and wishing he could carry the bundles in through the elves’ back door, though it would spoil the surprise. “I told you, Mrs. Hansen wants these on level ten. They won’t be in anyone’s way. I’ll just put ’em where she told me to.”
The librarian seemed taken aback by his evocation of a higher authority than herself “Well, we’ll see. I’ll go ask Mrs. Hansen myself!”
Keith waited until she was out of sight, and then rushed himself and his two bundles into the stairwell.
O O O
It was far less harrowing, but no less clumsy an entrance than his first one into the hidden classroom. The bags wouldn’t fit through the doorway at the same time, so he had to hold one in his arms and propel the other before him with a foot. The session had already begun. With a newly developed awareness of what to listen for, he could hear voices long before he ever got into the room. Carl Mueller was on his feet, red faced, with one hand in the air. Keith had most likely interrupted him in the middle of another deathless speech. He kicked the two bags into a corner and sat down. They sloshed against each other, and subsided.
Holl glanced over his shoulder and looked curiously at Keith, who gestured to him to wait. The Elf Master favored him with the same expression, but Keith sat up attentively, hands folded, and displayed ingenuous interest in class proceedings. The Master was not distracted. He turned away from Carl and came to lean over Keith.
“Vhat haf ve here, Mr. Doyle?” he inquired, eyebrows raised.
“Urn, nothing much,” Keith answered, shrinking back in spite of himself.
“If it is nothing, then why is it so large?”
“Well, I
brought
them.…”
“Obviously.”
“… To see if you wanted them,” Keith finished, his mouth dry. Suddenly his attack of generosity didn’t seem like the good idea it had been the night before.
The thick red eyebrows climbed nearly all the way into the hairline.
“Vhich ‘you’ do you mean?”
Keith swallowed. This was not going at all the way he had wanted it to. He had hoped to bring the matter of the parcels up quietly at the end of class, when he could fade away without making a big fuss. And why was the old guy being so touchy? “Well, you all,” he gestured, indicating the elves, then flipping the hand and shrugging uncomfortably, his carefully prepared speech deserting his memory. He had been positive the Master would be pleased. “Just some things I picked up here and there. Thought you could use.”
He knew he was saying all the wrong things. After listening to Ludmilla explain to him how touchy they were about accepting favors, he had just spat out every buzz-word in the lexicon. The other students remained silent. The young elves were expressionless, but the humans looked positively irate. Lee had a bloodthirsty look in his eye that made Keith very nervous. He smiled hopefully at everyone. Whatever he had interrupted, it was a dilly. The others just watched him uncomfortably. Seeking to diffuse the tension, Holl got out of his seat, clearing his throat loudly, and dragged the bags into the center of the room. The young elves were around him in a moment, leaving the Elf Master pinning Keith to the back of his chair with a needle-sharp gaze of disapproval. There were exclamations of interest and approval from the Little Ones as they opened the bags. Holl made a great show of presenting the contents to the others.
“Look how useful these’d be,” Holl said, championing Keith. He held up a white hospital sheet and tested its strength. “Still in best condition. The Big Ones are always tossing out things with life left in them.”
“That’s a truth,” said Catra, tossing her long, taffy-colored braid out of the way. She rubbed the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. “Ah, percale. Nice fabrics. The one thing I’ve been wishing for. I’ll have that. My mother will be able to do much with a sheet that big.”
Her sister, the little blond elf, reached for the sheet’s edge, a sour look on her face. Holl reached into the bag, and found it was full of sheets. He put another into her hands. “Candlepat, here’s one for you.” She beamed, tucking the bundle under one arm.
“Ahh.” The others were sorting through the plastic sacks. The sheets were counted and divided up. Candlepat and Catra unfolded bolts of fabric and tried them together for style. Most of them were Christmas materials, red stars on white background, white stars on red, blue and white stripes, green and white, red and green. When they came to the green fabric decorated with small white stars, it looked like the two sisters might come to blows.
“I want that,” Candlepat wailed a protest, holding on to the bolt. “You bully me because you’re the older. It isn’t fair.”
“It’d look better on me than it would on you. You have fine clothes in plenty because you’re the prettiest. And you have a whole counterpane, the newest in the household. I do not. This will do me well. You can go without, for a change.”
Marm pushed his way between the two of them. With a reproachful look at each, he unwound the bolt, found the midpoint, and tore it into two equal pieces. Eying each other like a pair of angry hens, they accepted their halves from him, and went on pecking through the contents of the sacks. Marm himself nodded pleasantly over a short piece of tweedy brown, and tucked the end into his tunic belt.
The floor was soon strewn with lengths of cloth, most of them loud and gaudy to the humans’ point of view, but obviously attractive to their smaller classmates. Laniora was cooing over a length of white-starred blue. Maura had out the lone bolt of blue denim fabric and was holding it up against herself, mentally measuring for an outfit. She skillfully twitched the end out of Catra’s hand when she reached for it, and appeared to be entertaining some pleasant thoughts on decoration. Catra looked up only once to see that it wasn’t her sister competing for the piece of cloth, and went back to her own browsing. Holl, after exchanging unspoken communication with Maura, draped the blue cloth over his arm and approached Keith with it.
“What’ll you trade for this one, eh?” Holl asked, rescuing him from the Elf Master.
Gratefully, Keith broke eye contact and nervously edged out of his seat. “Ah, I hadn’t thought about it, really. It was supposed to be a gi—um,” he paused, responding to his friend’s obvious prompt for more diplomacy, and rubbed the corner of the cloth between thumb and forefinger. “What would you like to trade?”
Maura whispered in Holl’s ear, and he nodded, fingering the fabric speculatively. Keith watched him with respect. He didn’t look too keen or too disinterested: a natural garage-saler. “I’d say it might be worth a small lantern, or a toy, or a carved wooden box this big.” He sketched a form in the air about six inches wide. “There’s more than a single garment’s length here, you see.”
“Sounds fair. How about the lantern?” Keith asked quickly. Holl nodded and rerolled the bolt around its flat cardboard core. Maura took it and the two men shook hands. Patting Holl’s arm for thanks, she disappeared down the tunnel, waving the bolt happily. Taking their friends’ cue, the others spoke up at once with offers for their prizes.
“Look,” Keith said, holding his hands palms out to the others. “I’m no good at this sort of thing. You take what you want, and we can figure it out later, okay?”
There was a general chorus of agreement, and the elves simply bundled the bags up and carried them away toward their home. In the echoing passage, Keith could hear the shrill voices of the elven sisters, arguing about
who
would wear
what
. Holl had a satisfied grin on his round face. Keith felt pretty good himself. Everyone seemed happy. This was much more what he had in mind. The other students’ ire seemed to have dissolved. They had arisen from their seats to watch the bartering, and now came over to praise Keith for his generosity and thoughtfulness. His idea seemed to have gone over well with them all.
Except the Elf Master. He still stood by Keith’s desk, radiating disapproval. Keith tried not to look his way. He felt himself cringing away from the stern little man. The other Little Folk were reappearing out of the tunnel and taking their seats. Keith appeared to have broken the ice, and the students, all of them, were chattering to one another, relaxed, the cultural barriers down at last. Marcy distracted him at that moment by grabbing his face between her hands and kissing him right on the mouth.