“I don’t know,” Nitty said. “It doesn’t say.”
“Anyway, why should he go away? We’re going to take care of him, aren’t we?”
“Sure we are.”
“There you are, then. Are you going to put his costume on him before we go?”
“I’ll wait until you’re inside. Then when he comes out, I’ll take him back here and get him dressed up and take him over to the meeting.”
Little Tib heard the noise the blinds made when Mr. Parker pulled them up—a creaky, clattery little sound. Mr. Parker said, “Do you think it would be dark enough by the time we got over there?”
“No.”
“I guess you’re right. That window is still loose, and I think he can get through—get between the bars. How long ago was it we looked? Was that three years?”
“Last year,” Nitty said. “Last summer.”
“It still looks the same. George, all you really have to do is to let me in the building, but it would be better if I didn’t come through the front door where people could see me. Do you understand?”
Little Tib said that he did.
“Now it’s an old building, and all the windows on the first floor have bars on them; even if you unlocked some of the other windows from inside, I couldn’t get through. But there is a side door that’s only used for carrying in supplies. It’s locked on the outside with a padlock. What I want you to do is to get the key to the padlock for me, and hand it to me through the window.”
“Where is the computer?” Little Tib asked.
“That doesn’t matter—I’ll deal with the computer. All you have to do is let me in.”
“I want to know where it is,” Little Tib insisted.
Nitty said, “Why is that?”
“I’m scared of it.”
“It can’t hurt you,” Nitty said. “It’s just a big number grinder. It will be turned off at night anyway, won’t it, Mr. Parker?”
“Unless they’re running an overnight job.”
“Well, anyway, you don’t have to worry about it,” Nitty said.
Then Mr. Parker told Little Tib where he thought the keys to the side door would be, and told him that if he could not find them, he was to unlock the front door from inside. Nitty asked if he would like to listen to the television, and he said yes, and they listened to a show that had country and western music, and then it was time to go. Nitty held Little Tib’s hand as the three of them walked up the street. Little Tib could feel the tightness in Nitty. He knew that Nitty was thinking about what would happen if someone found them. He heard music—not country and western music like they had heard on the television—and to make Nitty talk so he would not worry so much, he asked what it was.
“That’s Dr. Prithivi,” Nitty told him. “He’s playing that music so that people will come and hear his sermon, and see the people in the costumes.”
“Is he playing it himself?”
“No, he’s got it taped. There’s a loudspeaker on the top of the bus.”
Little Tib listened. The music was a long way away, but it sounded as if it were even farther away than it was. As if it did not belong here in Martinsburg at all. He asked Nitty about that.
Mr. Parker said, “What you sense is remoteness in time, George. That Indian flute music belongs, perhaps, to the fifth century A.D. Or possibly the fifth century B.C., or the fifteenth. It’s like an old, old thing that never knew when to die, that’s still wandering over the earth.”
“It never was here before, was it?” Little Tib asked. Mr. Parker said that that was correct, and then Little Tib said, “Then maybe it isn’t an old thing at all.” Mr. Parker laughed, but Little Tib thought of the time when the lady down the road had had her new baby. It had been weak and small and toothless, like his own grandmother; and he had thought that it was old until everyone told him it was very new and it would be alive, probably, when its mother was an old woman and dead. He wondered who would be alive a long time from now—Mr. Parker, or Dr. Prithivi.
They turned a corner. “Just a little way farther,” Nitty said.
“Is anybody here to watch us?”
“Don’t you worry. We won’t do anything if anybody’s here.”
Quite suddenly, Mr. Parker’s hands were moving up and down Little Tib’s body. “He’ll be able to get through,” Mr. Parker said. “Feel how thin he is.”
They turned another corner, and there were dead leaves and old newspapers under Little Tib’s feet. “Sure is dark in here,” Nitty whispered.
“You see,” Mr. Parker said, “no one can see us. It’s right here, George.” He took one of Little Tib’s hands and moved it until it touched an iron bar. “Now, remember, through the storeroom, out to the main hall, turn right, past six doors—I think it is—and down half a flight of stairs. That will be the boiler room, and the janitor’s desk is against the wall to your right. The keys should be hanging on a hook near the desk. Bring them back here and give them to me. If you can’t find them, come back here and I’ll tell you how to get to the front door and open it.”
“Will you put the keys back?” Little Tib asked. He was getting his left leg between two of the bars, which was easy. His hips slid in after it. He felt the heavy, rusty window swing in as he pushed against it.
“Yes, the first thing I’ll do after you let me in is go back to the boiler room and hang the keys back up.”
“That’s good,” Little Tib said. His mother had told him that you must never steal, though he had taken things since he had run away.
For a little while he was afraid he was going to scrape his ears off. Then the wide part of his head was through and everything was easy. The window pushed back, and he let his legs down onto the floor. He wanted to ask Mr. Parker where the door to this room was, but that would look as if he were afraid. He put one hand on the wall, and the other one out in front of him, and began to feel his way along. He wished he had his stick, but he could not even remember, now, where he had left it.
“Let me go ahead of you.”
It was the funniest-looking man Little Tib had ever seen.
“I’m soft. If I bump into anything, I won’t be hurt.”
Not a man at all, Little Tib thought. Just clothes padded out, with a painted face at the top. “Why can I see you?” Little Tib said.
“You’re in the dark, aren’t you?”
“I guess so,” Little Tib admitted. “I can’t tell.”
“Exactly. Now, when people who can see are in the light, they can see things that are there. And when they’re in the dark, why, they can’t see them. Isn’t that correct?”
“I suppose so.”
“But when you’re in the light you can’t see things. So naturally when you’re in the dark you see things that aren’t there. You see how simple it is?”
“Yes,” Little Tib said, not understanding.
“There. That proves it. You can see it, and it isn’t really simple at all.” The Clothes Man had his hand—it was an old glove, Little Tib noticed—on the knob of a big metal door now. When he touched it, Little Tib could see that too. “It’s locked,” the Clothes Man said.
Little Tib was still thinking about what he had said before. “You’re smart,” he told the Clothes Man.
“That’s because I have the best brain in the entire world. It was given to me by the great and powerful Wizard himself.”
“Are you smarter than the computer?”
“Much, much smarter than the computer. But I don’t know how to open this door.”
“Have you been trying?”
“Well, I’ve been shaking the knob—only it won’t shake. And I’ve been feeling around for a catch. That’s trying, I suppose.”
“I think it is,” Little Tib said.
“Ah, you’re thinking—that’s good.” Little Tib had reached the door, and the Clothes Man moved to one side to let him feel it. “If you had the ruby slippers,” the Clothes Man continued, “you could just click your heels three times and wish, and you’d be on the other side. Of course, you’re on the other side now.”