"Mm," said Gene.

  Their voices were muffled by the fabric of an old curtain. Tex lay curled in one of those little cozy chambers built around a fireplace. An inglenook. With built-in dark wooden benches and a curtain holding the warm air in. He was down on the floor on a pile of blankets, and a fire was snapping and leaping in the hearth. The baby bear was halfway freaked out by this but halfway hypnotized. It wanted to stare at the flames while Tex wanted to turn the damn big head around and peek under the curtains and see what was going on out there in the living room, where the voices were coming from.

  "Bear," he said—he could hear his own voice, but the bear evidently could not—"we've got to work together, here."

  Footsteps approached. The bear tensed up. Outside the curtain, Ludi's voice said: "I'm just going to check on how Tex is doing."

  Which blew him away. But she meant Tex the bear, not Tex "The Bear."

  The curtain opened and there she was. Huge. Gentle-voiced. Warm. The little bear loved her. Mommy, it thought, in bear-think. It raised its furry head to get stroked and cooed at. Ludi smiled and obliged and the endorphin rush was like an explosion of ecstasy. The bear licked Ludi's finger, tasting sweat and other particularized human biochemicals—the distinctive taste of Ludi—and Tex thought either he or the bear was going to O.D. on it.

  What an awesome feeling, he thought. You could like, swim in it. There was absolutely nothing to compare it to.

  Ludi stood up. She walked out. The bear felt stupid and placated.

  "He's fine," said her voice through the curtain. "Now sit down and talk to me."

  "Talk about what?" said the man's voice.

  And all of a sudden—wham—it hit Tex who this was, where they had brought him. It was like one of those paradoxical shapes, a Klein bottle, where you kept going and going and all of a sudden you were back where you had been, only in a different plane, violating the 3-dimension limit of Euclidean reality.

  He forced the bear to struggle to its feet. He, they, the bear, poked a nosy black nose through the curtain and then squeezed the whole head out.

  Ludi and Gene Deere stood a couple of paces apart in a low-ceilinged living room, crisscrossed with dark beams. The walls were plaster painted mustard-yellow. There were high casement windows with many small panes. Through them blew a breeze so full of forest smells that the little bear, with his acute animal sense of olfaction, felt both frightened and intoxicated.

  Gene flopped an LP onto a Thorens turner and eased the stylus arm down.

  Tell me, prayed Tex, I am not hearing the theme from the James Bond movie Casino Royale.

  "You have to hear this on vinyl," Gene said. "There's this one track where they had the London Philharmonic out in a big studio, and Dusty Springfield with a mike inside this little tiny booth, and I swear, you can actually hear the walls of the booth. Listen."

  He turned around, riding a little endorphin high of his own; and he looked right into the eyes of the bear. His smile faded. "It's trying to get away," he warned Ludi.

  Tex got the bear to make a whimpery little growl.

  "Isn't he precious?" said Ludi.

  "Isn't it illegal to keep a wild animal in your house?" said Gene.

  Ludi shrugged. She beckoned Tex to come to her. "Is it?"

  "I believe so. Besides which, I have no real desire to keep a wild animal in my house."

  The bear waddled over to Ludi on his funny new feet.

  "It'll just be for a while," said Ludi.

  "What does a while mean?" said Gene. "A while until what?"

  Ludi rubbed the bear on top of its head. "Until we think of something."

  "So it's we now."

  Quit being a prick, thought Tex. The little bear growled at Gene, not much more convincingly than before. Just wait a couple of weeks, Tex thought. I'll bite your pecker off.

  Dusty Springfield began to sing "The Shadow of Your Smile." The savage beast mellowed out somewhat.

  "What could their car be doing there, though, is what I wonder," said Ludi.

  Gene sat down beside her in a stiff period chair that exhaled dust from its thin, worn-out cushion. "I can't answer that," he said. "But I wish your friends would come and get it. It's a bit of an eyesore. And something inside it doesn't smell very good."

  "You've been inside it?"

  "Well." The prick fidgeted. "I was looking for some kind of, I don't know. Record of ownership or something. Some identification."

  "For Tex and Molly?" said Ludi. There was laughter in her voice. The bear liked that.

  "For whoever owns the car," said Gene, testily.

  "Forget it," said Ludi.

  "I'd love to."

  Ludi scratched the bear's ears, thoughtfully. "Do you mind if I take a look at it?'' she said.

  "Why should I mind? It isn't my car."

  "And would you mind showing me," she said, her voice a little more deliberate, "the place where you found Tex's pendant? I'd just like to, you know—look for clues or whatever."

  Gene nodded. "Why not?" Ludi beckoned to Tex. "Come on sweetie," she said.

  Behind them, Gene shut the door firmly, as though striving for a note of finality. He gave the bear a territorial glare.

  Glaring back, the ghost inside the animal thought: Don't mess with Texes.

  LAST TIMES

  1. The Saab.

  The front passenger-side tire, with its slow leak, had gone flat. The windshield where the seal was broken had seeped water onto the dashboard, dissolving the ink on the labels of several cassettes.

  "It's their car, all right," said Ludi. Her voice carried a certain tone of resignation. As though she had hoped, right up to the last moment, that it would turn out to be somebody else's ancient rusty Saab with beads and chickadee feathers dangling from the mirror. An easy and understandable mistake. But no.

  Gene walked a couple of paces behind her, and the little bear toddled unsteadily to a drummer of his own. It came upon a chipmunk hole at the base of a cedar and sniffed at this suspiciously. Get used to it, kid, was Tex's advice. Rapacious little bastards are everywhere. But nobody much had ever minded Tex, and the little bear wasn't now.

  Gene said, "You say you haven't seen them at all since that night?"

  "At Eben's barn," said Ludi. "Just before the full moon."

  Gene frowned. He was not attuned to the Pagan sense of time. "About the middle of last week?"

  "I guess." Ludi hadn't started her summer job yet, so she wasn't plugged in to things like weeks. "I've been to their boat a hundred times, but there's no sign of them." After a bit more thought she amended: "Almost no sign."

  Gene gave her a punctilious look. "Has there or has there not," he said, "been any sign of them?"

  Ludi didn't notice the impatience in his voice. "You'd have to know Tex and Molly, I guess. I mean, maybe a couple of little things have moved around—but see, that's what the place would look like anyway. Whether they had been there or not."

  "I see," said Gene. "So you're saying, the objects on your friends' boat are accustomed to moving themselves about? Whether anyone is aboard or not?"

  Ludi looked at him like he was hopeless. He was hopeless, as far as Tex was concerned. "You'd have to see their boat," she said. "There's really no way to explain it."

  Gene nodded in a knowing way. A wise-ass way. "Of course," he said.

  The bear waddled over to Ludi. It raised its head, then— unable to contain itself—it lifted its front legs and rose to a two-legged stand.

  "Hey, wow," said Ludi, taking its forepaws in her hands. "Look at this! What a great big tiny guy!"

  Gene looked down with intense, though clinical, interest. "I absolutely do not believe this," he said. "A newborn animal should not be able to do these things."

  "This is no ordinary baby," said Ludi. She bent low so that the bear could lick her cheeks. "This is—oo, he's slobbering me! This is Tex."

  Gene sighed. "Yes. Well. I guess that explains it."

  "Want to take a little walkie?" Ludi said, wiggling the furry paws. "Want to go for a little hikie in the woodsies?"

  Gene led her across the road, to where the logging trail began. Ludi glanced back once at the old Saab that sort of hunched over, like a weary soul who was ready to ease into retirement, for sure, but had been hoping for something a little more dignified than this. Mud was caked on its fenders and one of the bumper stickers had started to peel. Ludi said, "What a shame."

  But neither Gene nor the baby bear knew what she was talking about.

  2. The forest.

  Tex had expected to feel creepy, at best, and weepy, at worst, retracing his own final footsteps. To his surprise, the stroll through the cool spring woods was kind of a gas. The tiny furball got off on it—all these far-out nature smells and things to chew on and whatnot. But another thing was: I'm still here, dudes. I'm still hanging out and doing my own thing. It was like Tex had won some major bet. It was something like he had felt when he turned 40 and realized he still hadn't gotten around to cutting his hair and cleaning up his act. Only, of course, cosmically cooler.

  Afterlife Factoid #11

  There's no use acting like a grown-up

  when you're not going to get any older.

  "There's an old cellar hole back in there," said Gene, pointing off one side of the trail.

  "That's neat," said Ludi. She glanced back to be sure little Tex was tromping along okay.

  Gene said, "It's eye-opening, really. You tend to think that the general trend is for people to be spreading out everywhere, conquering new territory. But around here, there's plenty of evidence of the forest advancing and people being in retreat."

  "Vinland," said Ludi.

  Gene didn't stop walking, but he pivoted all the way around to look at her.

  "You know," she said, "Vinland the Good? Where the Vikings lived? Lots of people think that was in Maine, you know. Right around here, maybe."

  "The Vikings were in Labrador," Gene said over his shoulder.

  "Yeah, right," said Ludi. "Only there are no grape vines in Labrador. And Vinland means vine-land, you know? As in grape vines? So it had to be someplace farther south."

  "Nova Scotia," suggested Gene.

  "Not enough trees," she said. "That's why it's named after Scotland. The Vikings always wanted to be someplace with trees, so they could build ships and houses. They wanted someplace that looked like Norway. This looks like Norway."

  "Ever been to Norway?" asked Gene.

  "Have you?"

  He stopped walking for a moment, long enough for her to catch up. "Is there something about me," he said, "that impels you to provoke a constant argument? Do I represent something to you, something you violently disapprove of?"

  Ludi looked at him closely. "I don't violently disapprove of anything."

  "Somehow I knew you were going to say that."

  "You did not."

  "I did. But fine, don't believe me. Only don't you see, it's part of the pattern. Some little way to get that wedge in and pry open any possible area of disagreement between us."

  "Why would I do that?"

  "I honestly do not know."

  The little bear moved in front of Ludi, pressing against her legs. Nudging her away from Gene.

  "Is it much farther?" she asked. "I think Tex might be getting bored."

  "I seriously doubt," said Gene, setting off again, "that bears get bored."

  "That shows how much you know," said Ludi.

  And for once, Gene remembered, or quickly learned, how to say nothing.

  3. The rocks.

  "Right around here," Gene said. He led Ludi to the boulder where he did his stretching exercises. "I looked at the ground and I—"

  He paused. Something did not seem right to him.

  The little bear practically rolled down the last stretch of the trail. His tiny legs were numb. His head felt stuffed with weariness. He wanted to find a nice patch of sunlight to curl up in, but Tex clamored on the inside to keep him alert. Just a little longer.

  "What's the matter?" said Ludi.

  "These rocks," Gene said, frowning. "They don't seem to be in the right—"

  Tex looked at the boulders and the little bear's muscles seized up. He thought, I don't believe it.

  The rocks had moved.

  One huge chunk of greenstone had shifted to the left, and an adjacent slab to the right. Now there was a clear space between them, wide enough for a person to walk through.

  "Has there been any kind of tremor activity around here?" asked Gene.

  "You mean like an earthquake? I don't think so."

  "Me neither." Gene paced back and forth. He did not have Tex's clear memory of how the rocks had been. But he remembered the one he had leaned against; his body knew the exact angle of its inclination. And he knew that now it was different. He turned with an expression of visceral discomfort. "It doesn't make any sense, though. They couldn't have just moved."

  "Sure they could," said Ludi. "Rocks move all the time."

  "I know, but—I'm not talking about geologic time here. I'm talking about, since last Thursday."

  Ludi shrugged. To her there appeared no reason why rocks could not have moved since last Thursday. "So w'hat's behind here?" she asked, poking her head into the breach.

  "I'm not sure I would go through there," said Gene. "It might not be safe. If the formation is unstable—"

  "Don't be a wuss. Rocks don't just move for no reason. Something's got to move them."

  "Exactly," said Gene.

  "Okay, then," said Ludi.

  So finally:

  4. The Well.

  HOME (1)

  It was easy. Now that you didn't have to know the secret way in. You just clambered through like Ludi was doing, displaying nicely the extent of her trim and muscular legs. The tired bear followed her out of love and fear and something like an animal intimation of the flowing of the Tao.

  The old nomadic hunters had the idea that an animal would present itself to you at certain times, allow itself to be killed for the higher good of its blood, the common good of bloodkind. Tex hoped this wasn't what the little bear was up to. One Tex down the Well seemed plenty. Slow down, pardner, he advised. But nobody ever listened.

  Up ahead, Gene said loudly, "Oh my gosh."

  "What is it?" said Ludi, her view obstructed, hurrying to catch up with him.

  "Um, I—excuse me," Gene said.

  Ludi stepped out onto the final slippery ledge. "Whoops," she said. "Sorry."

  Tex was dying by this time. The bear scrambled over the rocks, sliding on the damp surface, and almost did fall into the water. But Gene reached down and grabbed him (none too gently) by the scruff of the neck. Tex growled, but he was thankful. Then at last he saw what the fuss was about.

  It was about two things. Three, if you count the bird.

  #1, the Well was full of water. Full to the top. Where there had been a gaping hole, there was now a brimming dark pool with water roiling up from underneath, spilling over into a stream that had never existed before. The Well had become a spring.

  #2, in the center of the dark spring swam a naiad. A water-nymph. She was blond, green-eyed, naked, angelic. Most of her was underwater, but you could see enough of her adolescent breasts to develop a large impediment to clear thinking if you were into that kind of thing.

  #3, this being optional, a large bird with blue-black feathers was perched beside the spring in the limbs of a broken yew tree. The tree appeared to have been split through the heartwood by whatever force had cleft the rocks and given rise to the spring. The bird—a raven—was actively ignoring Ludi, Gene, and the naiad, so as to devote all its attention to the little bear.

  "Gosh," said Gene. "Hey, we're sorry, we didn't mean to, um, startle you like this."

  Tex thought this was no way to talk to a naiad. But the angelic creature said: "You didn't startle me. I heard you coming a mile off. I hope you weren't planning on swimming here, though. I don't think there's room for two more. What a cute little bear. Is he yours?"

  Gene and Ludi looked at one another. Tex began to suspect that the naiad (whose voice you might have called a tiny bit snotty) was perhaps not a supernatural creature after all. It was possible she was an actual girl.

  She took a big breath and went under. You could see her white silhouette wavering there, beneath the dark surface. Then she faded, going deep. She was under a long time.

  "Some swimmer," said Ludi.

  "Yeah, I guess," said Gene. He seemed totally flummoxed. Obviously this was not the sort of day he had expected to have, a few short hours ago. "But who do you suppose—"

  With a noisy parting of the waters, the girl came up again. She sucked in lungfuls of air and blinked up at Ludi and Gene.

  "Still here?" she said.

  "If you don't mind my asking," Gene said, "would you happen to know if this place was any, um, different a week or so ago?"

  "If you don't mind my asking," said the girl, treading water, "who the fuck are you?"

  "I'm Ludi," said Ludi. She pointed to the bear. "This is Tex. Some rednecks killed his mother."

  The girl nodded. None of this seemed to faze her. It also did not faze her that she was naked in a pool with two grown-ups looking down at her.

  "And um, I'm Gene," Gene said. For a smart guy, he sounded like a moron. "I live on the other side of the hill. And I've been hiking down this trail for months, but I've never seen this place before."

  "No kidding," said the girl.

  Ludi said, "Do you live around here?"

  The girl nodded. "I guess. Kind of. Actually I don't live anywhere right now, in particular. I'm kind of between places."

  "So how did you get here?" said Ludi. "We didn't see any cars."

  "No kidding," said the girl. "Listen, if we're going to have this big conversation, why don't you help me out so I can quit paddling."

  Ludi extended an arm. The girl pulled herself onto the ledge. She was thinner than she had looked in the water. Her limbs were like wooden toy things, and her hips protruded through the pale flesh. Water clung to the tiny, sun-colored hair on her legs. Her pubic hair made a ball no larger than a child's fist. She looked about 15 and on the borderline of anorexia. Maybe it was just a look.