There were several dozen of them, both hardcover and paperback, largely destroyed by the purple-black mold that had grown on them. The mold had permeated their pages, fusing them together into bulging, spongy blobs, and I carried them gingerly now, eager not to sully myself. Two of them, however, had largely escaped corruption, and after a moment’s consideration I set these aside. My constant renovation work had precluded the need for anything to read, but now that I had some leisure time, I could use a good book or two. The books seemed to be on the subject of human psychology — one of them was called The Malleable Mind; the other Shaping Behavior. I would not characterize my own cast of mind as intellectual, and these books did indeed appear to be quite dense and technical in nature. But I had never been one to resist a challenge, and of course there was nothing else to read, aside from the children’s book I had found in the sitting room. I brought these books back inside, and cleaned them up as best I could. Then I completed my work outdoors, washed my hands carefully, made myself a modest dinner, and, as the sun disappeared from view behind the hills to the west, turned in early to bed.
My plan had been to open one of the rescued psychology books at random, and read it until I fell asleep. And so I picked up The Malleable Mind and turned it over in my hands. Though largely undamaged, it was nevertheless redolent of the cellar, and my lips curled at the smell, and a small tremor of unease ran through me. But I was able to master myself, and I let the book fall open on my lap. The page began,presumption of inviolability must be negated. To this end, subtle adjustments were made to the subject’s comfort and autonomy by creating a physical dependence upon the experimenter. Specifically subject was requested to bring a bag lunch to the testing location, then told it would be placed in a nearby office, from where it was “inadvertently” lost. Experimenter then promised food would be provided, which promise was then “forgotten.” When subject requested promised food, the experimenter renewed his promise and then again forgot. Water meanwhile was provided for the subject that was slightly discolored and had a bitter flavor. When asked about the water, the experimenter pretended to take a sip and subsequently insisted that the water tasted fine, and that as for the color, it was always like that and nobody else ever complained.
It was clear almost immediately, however, that the book would not have the intended effect. The writing was not especially boring or difficult, as I had anticipated, but its subject matter did not sufficiently interest me to justify my continuing to read it. Indeed, I felt a stubborn irritation and became agitated enough to toss it with some force into the corner of the room. I suspected I would do the same with Shaping Behavior, should I have bothered to open it, so I got out of bed, went downstairs, and collected the children’s book I had found while cleaning.
To my surprise, the children’s book was quite absorbing, and I read it with great enjoyment as a rain began to drum against the windows of the house. It was the story of an orphan boy, raised by an old woman, who is sent into the world to find his destiny, with only a sack of simple items — a whistle, a hat, a coin — in his possession. A suspicious stranger tempts the boy in an effort to convince him to give up these meager items, but the boy resists, and eventually uses them to aid him on his journey. The whistle, for instance, summons, as if by magic, a group of helpful animals, including a dog, a bird, and a salamander. In a mysterious city of gold, the boy meets a serving girl, who joins him in his travels, and in time they are trapped in a frozen wood by the stranger, and are only able to escape thanks to the salamander, which melts a hole in their prison using its uncanny ability to radiate heat. Though its pleasures were unsophisticated, the book offered a character with whom I was able to identify, and a portrayal of bravery and self-reliance that corresponded very closely to my own values. I wished only that I could send the book back in time, to my younger self, in his moments of greatest need.
But such fantastic notions were pointless to contemplate, and I pushed them away and soon succumbed to sleep. When I woke, I was greeted by an extraordinary sight. The rain that had begun to fall during the night had frozen, and the woods outside my window were heavily coated with ice. All the way to the rock, the trees were gleaming gray, the buds encased, the branches sagging beneath the weight.
Amazed, I dressed, shouldered on my coat, and went outside. Already, in the dawn light, the air was growing warmer, and the ice was slick and dripping, and the boughs chattered against one another in the balmy breeze. I took a few steps past the treeline, into the gloomy shade, and the air there was cold and crisp. Above me light was filtering dimly through the glassine ceiling of branches, faintly shifting, much as I had imagined the frozen branches to have done in the storybook. The wood seemed very much alive, as if it were coming awake as I had only minutes before.
I remained there, in the bramble, until the ice began to break and rain to the ground around me. Then I stepped out into my yard and listened. The wind blew, the ice fell, and the branches sprung up, their buds again revealed. I felt a deep, nervous excitement, and my fingers and toes began to itch. I was confident now: I would go back into the woods, and I would find the rock and climb to the top.
FIVE
That day, I decided to leave my hill in order to handle some financial business, and to purchase some additional tools and provisions for my trek back into the woods. I drove into Gerrysburg, parked on the town square, and walked across the park toward the bank.
Perhaps it was the season, or a renewed sense of optimism about my impending adventure, but I thought that downtown Gerrysburg looked considerably nicer and more lively than it had when I was arranging to buy the land. What businesses there were, were just opening for the day, and a few energetic-looking people strode along the sidewalks. The trees here, perhaps influenced by lower elevation and the artificial warmth of civilization, were free of ice, and had advanced farther into leaf than the ones in my forest. And the park was tidier, appearing to have just been cleared of trash. A woman stood before the war memorial, gazing soberly at the list of names, and above her the American flag flew at half-mast, for no apparent reason.
I passed the real estate office and the ice cream parlor on my way to the bank, and so it was appropriate that fate should arrange for me to see, standing and chatting in the middle of the lobby, Jennifer the real estate agent and Jeremy Pernice, the ice cream parlor’s proprietor. In Jennifer’s hand was a cell phone, which she gave the impression of just having hung up; Jeremy was holding a naugahyde zippered bag, the kind small businesses use to deliver their daily deposits. Their conversation appeared animated, and they seemed to know one another quite well. In a general spirit of camaraderie, I approached them and said good morning.
Jeremy Pernice reacted at first with momentary confusion, and then his face settled into an expression of friendly interest, as he recalled who I was and how we had met. He glanced at Jennifer, as if to gauge her reaction.
To my disappointment, Jennifer’s face registered irritation; then she smoothed her features into a mask of forced apathy. It was she who spoke first, primly returning my good morning without addressing me by name. It was obvious, of course, that she was still angry from what she had perceived, weeks before, as rudeness on my part. But since I had no control over her feelings, nor over the extent to which she acted upon them, I could only treat her with the same geniality and politeness I employed with Jeremy Pernice.