I had been one of them. My son had met one face-to-face on the other side of the country, and there was no telling to what lengths they would go to follow us. The changelings had come for Edward that night years before, and by going downstairs I had scared them off. But they would be back. They were watching us, waiting for my son. He would not be safe as long as they prowled near our home. Edward would not be safe with them in the world. Once they fixed1 on a child for the change, he was as good as gone. I could not let Edward from my sight, and took to locking our doors and latching2 our windows every evening. They circled around my imagination, infected my rest. The piano offered my sole relief. By composing, I hoped to steady my sanity3. False start followed false start. I struggled to keep those two worlds separate.
Fortunately, I had Tess and Edward to keep me grounded. A delivery truck pulled into our cul-de-sac on my birthday, and Edward, at the window, shouted, "It's here, it's here!" They insisted that I remain in the bedroom with the shades drawn4 until my gift could be brought into the house, and I dutifully complied, mad with love at my son's jumpy exuberance5 and Tess's sexy, knowing smile. On the bed in darkness, I closed my eyes, wondering if I deserved such love in return, worrying that it might be stolen should the truth ever be revealed.
Edward bounded up the stairs and hammered on the closed door. Grabbing my arm with his two small hands, he pulled me to the studio. A great green bow stretched across the door, and with a curtsey, Tess presented me with the scissors.
"As mayor of this city," I intoned, "I'd like my distinguished6 son to join me in the honors." We cut the ribbon together and swung open the door.
The small organ was not new or elaborate, but it was beautiful from the love given. And it would prove enough for me to approximate the sounds I was after. Edward fiddled7 with the stops, and I took Tess aside and asked how she could afford such a luxury.
"Ever since San Francisco," she said, "or maybe since Czechoslovakia, I've been wanting to do this for you. A penny here, a dollar there, and a woman who drives a hard bargain. Eddie and I found it for sale at an old church up in Coudersport. Your mom and Charlie put us over the top, you should know, but we all wanted you to have it. I know it's not perfect, but—"
"It's the best gift—"
"Don't worry about the cost. Just play the music, baby."
"I gived my allowances," Edward said.
I embraced them both and held tight, overcome by fortune, and then I sat down and played from Bach's The Art of the Fugue, lost again to time.
Still enamored with the new machine days later, I returned with Edward from kindergarten to an empty and quiet house. I gave him a snack, turned on Sesame Street, and went to my studio to work. On the organ keyboard sat a single sheet of folded paper with a yellow sticky note affixed8 to the surface. "Let's discuss!" she had scribbled9. She had found the passenger list with the names of all the Ungerlands, which I had hidden and locked up aim papers; I could only imagine how it wound up in Tess's hands.
The front door swung open with a screech10 and banged shut, and for a dark moment the thought danced through my mind that they had come for Edward. I dashed to the front door just as Tess inched her way into the dining room, arms laden11 with groceries. I took a few bags to lighten her load, and we carried them into the kitchen and danced around each other in a pas de deux, putting food away. She did not seem particularly concerned about anything other than the canned peas and carrots.
When we were done, she brushed imaginary dust from her palms. "Did you get my note?"
"About the Ungerlands? Where did you get the list?"
She blew her bangs out of her eyes. "What do you mean, where did I get it? You left it on the sideboard by the phone. The question is: Where did you get it?"
"In Cheb. Remember Father Hlinka?"
"Cheb? That was nine years ago. Is that what you were doing? What possessed12 you to investigate the Ungerlands?"
Total silence gave me away.
"Were you that jealous of Brian? Because honestly, that's a little crazy, don't you think?"
"Not jealous, Tess. We happened to be there, and I was simply trying to help him trace his family tree. Find his grandfather."
She picked up the passenger list and her eyes scanned it to the end. "That's incredible. When did you ever talk to Brian Ungerland?"
"This is all ancient history, Tess. I ran into him at Oscar's when we were engaged. I told him we were going to Germany, and he asked me if I had the time could I stop by the National Archives and look up his family. When I didn't find them there, I thought maybe his people were from someplace else, so I asked Father Hlinka when we were in Cheb. He found them. No big deal."
"Henry, I don't believe a word you're saying."
I stepped toward her, wanting to enfold her in my arms, desperate to end the conversation. "Tess, I've always told you the truth."
"But why didn't Brian just go ask his mother?"
"His mother? I didn't know he had a mother."
"Everyone has a mother. She lives right here in town. Still does, I think. You can tell her how jealous you were."
"But I looked her up in the phone book."
"You're kidding." She crossed her arms and shook her head. "She remarried years ago when Brian was in high school. Let me think. Her name is Blake, Eileen Blake. And she'd remember the grandfather. He lived till he was a hundred, and she used to talk about that crazy old man all the time." Giving up, she headed for the staircase.
"Gustav?" I shouted after her.
She looked over her shoulder, scrunched13 up her face, found the name in her memory. "No, no ...Joe. Crazy Joe Ungerland is Brian's grandfather. Of course, they're all crazy in that family, even the mother."
"Are you sure we're not talking about Gustav Ungerland?"
"I'm going to start calling you Crazy Henry Day... You could have asked me all about this. Look, if you're so interested, why don't you go tall Brian's mother? Eileen Blake." At the top of the stairs, she leaned over the railing, her long blonde hair falling like Rapunzel's. "It's sweet you were so jealous, but you have nothing to worry about." She flashed her crooked15 smile .ml set free my worries. "Tell the old girl I said hello."
Buried to her neck in fallen leaves, she stared straight ahead without blinking, and the third time I passed her I realized she was a doll. Another had been lashed14 with a red jump rope to a tree trunk nearby, and dismembered arms and legs poked16 up at odd angles from the long, unmowed grass. At the end of a string tied to a chokecherry limb, a head hung and rotated in the breeze, and the headless body was stuffed into the mailbox, anticipating Saturday's postman. The masterminds behind this mayhem giggled17 from the porch when I stopped the car in front of their house, but they looked almost catatonic as I walked up the sidewalk.
"Can you girls help me? I seem to be lost," I said from the bottom step. The older girl draped a protective arm across her sister's shoulder.
"Is your mommy or daddy home? I'm looking for someone who lives around here. Do you know the Blakes' house?"
"It's haunted," said the younger sister. She lacked two front teeth and spoke18 with a lisp.
"She's a witch, mister." The older sister may have been around ten, stick-thin and raven-haired, with dark circles around her eyes. If anyone would know about witches, it was this one. "Why do you want to go see a witch, mister?"
I put one foot on the next step. "Because I'm a goblin."
They both grinned from ear to ear. The older sister directed me to look for a turn before the next street corner, a hidden alleyway that was really a lane. "It's called Asterisk21 Way," she said, "because it's too small to have a real name."
"Are you going to gobble her up?" the smaller one asked.
"I'm going to gobble her up and spit out the bones. You can come by on Halloween night and make yourself a skeleton." They turned and looked at each other, smiling gleefully.
An invasion of sumac and overgrown boxwood obscured Asterisk Way. When the car began to scrape hedges on both sides, I got out and walked. Half-hidden houses were scattered22 along the route, and last on the left was a weathered foursquare with BLAKE on the mailbox. Obscured by the shrubs23, a pair of bare legs flashed in front of me, racing24 across the yard, and then a second someone rustled25 through the bushes. I thought the horrid26 little sisters had followed me, but then a third movement in the brush unsettled me. I reached for my car keys and nearly deserted27 that dark place, but having come so far, I knocked on the front door.
An elegant woman with a thick mane of white hair swung open the door. Dressed simply in crisp linen28, she stood tall and erect29 in the doorway30, her eyes bright and searching, and welcomed me into her home. "Henry Day, any trouble finding the place?" New England echoed faintly in her voice. "Come in, come in."
Mrs. Blake had an ageless charm, a physical presence and manner that put others right at ease. To gain this interview, I had lied to her, told her that I had gone to high school with her son Brian and that our class was organizing a reunion, tracking down classmates who had moved away. At her insistence31, we chatted over a lunch she had prepared, and she gave me the full update on Brian, his wife and two children, all that he had accomplished32 over the years. Our egg-salad sandwiches lasted longer than her report, and I attempted to steer33 the conversation around to my ulterior motive34.
"So, Mrs. Ungerland ..."
"Call me Eileen. I haven't been Mrs. Ungerland for years. Not since my first husband passed away. And then the unfortunate Mr. Blake met with his strange accident with the pitchfork. They call me 'the black widow' behind my back, those awful children."
"A witch, actually ... I'm so sorry, Eileen. About both your husbands, I mean."
"Well, you shouldn't be. I married Mr. Blake for his money, God rest his soul. And as for Mr. Ungerland, he was much, much older than I, and he was ..." She pointed35 to her temple with a long, thin finger.
"I went to Catholic elementary school and only met Brian in ninth grade. What was he like growing up?"
Her face brightened, and she stood up so quickly that I thought she would topple over. "Would you like to see pictures?"
At every stage of his life—from the day he was born through grade school—Brian Ungerland looked as if he could be my son. His resemblance to Edward was uncanny, the same features, posture36, even the way they ate corn on the cob or threw a ball. As we paged through the album, my conviction increased with each image.
"Brian used to tell me pretty wild family stories," I said. "About the Ungerlands, I mean, the German ones."
"Did he tell you about Opa Josef? His grandpa Joe? Of course, Brian was still a baby when he passed away, but I remember him. He was a crazy loon37. They all were."
"They came over from Germany, right?"
She sat back in her chair, sorting through her memories. "It is a sad, sad story, that family."
"Sad? In what way?"
"There was Crazy Joe, my father-in-law. He lived with us when we were first married, ages ago. We kept him in a room off the attic38. Oh, he must have been ninety, maybe one hundred years old, and he would rant39 and rave19 about things that weren't there. Spooks, things like that, as if something were coming to get him, poor dear. And muttering about his younger brother, Gustav, claiming that he wasn't really his brother at all and that the real Gustav had been stolen away by der Wechselbalgen. Changelings. My husband said it was because of the sister. If I remember, the sister died on the passage over from Germany, and that plunged40 the whole family into grief. And they never recovered. Even Josef, still imagining spirits after all those years."
The room began to feel unusually warm, and my stomach churned. My head hurt.
"Let me think, yes, there was the mama, and the papa, another poor man. Abram was his name. And the brothers. I don't know anything about the older one; he died in the Civil War at Gettysburg. But there was Josef who was a bachelor until he was pushing fifty, and then there's the idiot brother, the youngest one. Such a sad family."
"Idiot? What do you mean, idiot?"
"That's not what they call it nowadays, but back then, that's what they said. They went on and on about how wonderfully he could play the piano, but it was all a trick of the mind. He was what they would call an idiot savant. Gustav was his name, poor child. Could play like Chopin, Josef claimed, but was otherwise quiet and extremely introverted. Maybe he was autistic, if they had such a thing back then."
The blood rushed to my head and I began to feel faint.
"Or maybe highly strung. But after the incident with the so-called changelings, he even stopped playing the piano and completely withdrew, never said another word for the rest of his life, and he lived to be an old nun41 too. They say the father went mad when Gustav stopped playing the music and started to let the world just drift right by. I went out to see him once or twice at the institution, poor dear. You could tell he was thinking something, but Lord only knows. As if he went off to live in his own little world. He died when I was still a young newlywed. That was about 1934, I think, but he looked older than Moses."
She bent42 over the photo album and flipped43 through to the front of the book. She pointed to a middle-aged44 man in a gray fedora. "There's my husband, Harry—that's crazy Joe's son. He was so old when we married and I was just a girl." Then she pointed to a wizened45 figure who looked as if he was the oldest man in the world. "Gustav." For a brief moment, I thought that would be me, but then I realized the old man in the photograph was no relation at all. Beneath him there was a scratched image of an elderly woman in a high collar. "La belle46 dame47 sans merci. Gone well before my time, but were it not for his mother holding things together, that would have been the end of the Ungerlands. And then we wouldn't be sitting here today, would we?"
"But," I stammered48, "but how did they manage to go on after so much misfortune?"
"The same way that all of us do. The same way that I went on after losing two husbands and Lord knows all that's happened. At some point, you have to let go of the past, son. Be open to life to come. Back in the sixties, when everybody was lost, Brian used to talk about going off to find himself. He used to say, 'Will I ever know the real me? Will I ever know who I am supposed to be?' Such foolish questions beg straight answers, don't you think, Henry Day?"
I felt faint, paralyzed, destroyed. I crawled off the sofa, out the front door, all the way home and into bed. If we made our good-byes, they evaporated quickly in the residual49 shock of her story.
To rouse me from deep slumber50 the next morning, Tess fixed a pot of hot coffee and a late breakfast of eggs and biscuits, which I devoured51 like a famished52 child. I was sapped of all strength and will, confounded by the news of Gustav as an idiot savant. Too many ghosts in the attic. We sat on the veranda53 in the cool morning, swapping54 sections of the Sunday newspaper. I pretended to read, but my mind was elsewhere, desperately55 trying to sort through the possibilities, when a ruckus arose in the neighborhood. Dogs started howling one by one as something passed in front of their homes, a chain reaction of maddening intensity56.
Tess stood and peered down the street both ways but saw nothing. "I can't stand it," she said. "I'm going inside until they knock it off. Can I freshen your coffee?"
"Always." I smiled and handed her my cup. The second she vanished, I saw what had driven the animals mad. There on the street, in the broad light of Sunday morning, two of the devils zigzagged57 across the neighborhood lawns. One of them limped along as she ran, and the other, a mouselike monster, beckoned58 her to hurry. The pair stopped when they saw me on the porch, two houses away, and stared directly at me for an instant. Wretched creatures with hideous59 holes for eyes, bulbous heads on their ruined bodies. Caked with dirt and sweat. From downwind, I could smell the feral odor of decay and musk60. The one with the limp pointed a bony finger right at me, and the other quickly led her away through the gap between houses. Tess returned with the coffee too late to see them go, and once the creatures disappeared, the dogs quieted, settled back in their kennels61, and relaxed their chains.
"Did you figure out what all the commotion62 was about?"
"Two things running through the neighborhood,"
"Things?"
"I don't know." I took a sip63. "Little monsters."
"Monsters?"
"Can't you smell their awful odor? Like someone just ran over a skunk64."
"Henry, what are you talking about? I don't smell a thing."
"I don't know what set those dogs off. Mass hysteria, a figment of their doggy brains? A mouse and a bat? A couple of kids."
She put her cool hand on my forehead. "Are you feeling okay, Henry? You don't seem yourself today."
"I'm not," I said. "Maybe I should go back to bed."
As I drifted off to sleep, the changelings haunted my dreams. A dozen crept out of the woods, stepping out from behind each tree. They kept on coming, a band of hollow children, surrounding my home, advancing toward the doors and windows. Trapped inside, I raced from floor to floor and looked out through peepholes and from behind curtains as they silently marched and assembled in a ring. I ran down the hall to Eddie's room, and he was a baby again, curled up in a ball in his crib. I shook him to wake him up and run with me, but when the child rolled over, he had the face of a grown man. I screamed and locked myself in the bathroom. From the tiny window I could see the monsters begin to climb up the porch rails, scale the walls like spiders, their evil faces turned to me, menace and hatred65 in their glowing eyes. Windows were shattered in other rooms; the glass exploding and hitting the floor in an oddly gentle crescendo66. I looked into the mirror, saw my reflection morph into my father, my son, Gustav. Behind me in the mirror, one of the creatures rose and reached out its claws to wrap around my neck.
Tess sat on the edge of the bed, shaking my shoulder. I was drenched67 with sweat, and though I felt hotter than hell, she said I was clammy and cold. "You've had a bad dream. It's okay, it's okay." I buried my face on her breast and she stroked my hair and rocked me until I gained my full senses. For a moment, I did not know where I was, did not know who I was now or ever.
"Where's Edward?"
She looked perplexed68 by my question. "At my mother's, don't you remember? He's spending the weekend. What's wrong with you?"
I shivered in her embrace.
"Was it that mean old Mrs. Ungerland? You need to concentrate on what's important and stop chasing after what's past. Don't you know, it's you I love. And always have."
Everyone has an unnameable secret too dire20 to confess to friend or lover, priest or psychiatrist69, too entwined at the core to excise70 without harm. Some people choose to ignore it; others bury it deep and lug71 it unspoken to the grave. We mask it so well that even the body sometimes forgets the secret exists. I do not want to lose our child, and I do not want to lose Tess. My fear of being found out as a changeling and rejected by Tess has made a secret of the rest of my life.
After hearing the true story of Gustav, it is no wonder that I remembered so little from those days. I had been locked inside my own mind with music as my only means of self-expression. Had I not been stolen, I would never have lived among the changelings, never had the chance to become Henry Day. And had I not changed places with the boy, I would never have known Tess, never had a child of my own, and never found my way back to this world. In a way, the changelings gave me a second chance, and their reappearance—the break-in at our home, the encounter in California with Edward, the pair dashing across the lawn—was both a threat and a reminder72 of all that was at stake.
When I had first started seeing the changelings again, I attributed it to the stress of discovering my past. They seemed hallucinations, nightmares, or no more than a figment of my imagination, but then the real creatures showed up and left their signs behind. They were taunting73 me: an orange peel on the middle of the dining room table; an open bottle of beer on top of the television; cigarette butts74 burning in the garden. Or things went missing. My chrome-plated piano trophy75 from the statewide competition. Photographs, letters, books. I once heard the fridge door slam shut at two in the morning when we were all asleep, went downstairs and found a baked ham half-eaten on the countertop. Furniture that hadn't been moved in ages suddenly appeared next to open windows. On Christmas Eve, at my mother's house, the younger children thought they heard reindeer76 tramping on the roof, and they went outside to investigate. Twenty minutes later, the breathless kids came back in, swearing they had seen two elves hopping77 away into the woods. Another time, one of them crawled through a gap no bigger than a rabbit hole under a gate in our backyard. When I went outside to catch it, the creature was gone. They were becoming brazen78 and relentless79, and I wanted only for them to go away and leave me at peace.
Something had to be done about my old friends.
我是他们中的一员。我的儿子曾经在国家的另一头和其中一个撞见过，说不好他们会把我们跟踪到什么地步。几年前那个晚上，换生灵们来找过爱德华，我下楼把他们吓走了。但他们还会再来。他们盯着我们，等着我的儿子。只要他们潜伏在我们家附近，爱德华就不安全。只要他们还在世上，他就不安全。一旦他们看上了一个孩子要交换，他就和丢了没两样。我不让爱德华离开我的视线，每天傍晚都锁好房门，插好窗户。他们在我的想像中转悠，让我不得安宁。
钢琴是我惟一的慰藉。我希望通过作曲把自己清醒的一面稳定下来。开头一错，再开头还是错。我挣扎着要把这两个世界分开。
好在我有泰思和爱德华让我立足现实。我生日那天，一辆货车开进我家的车道，爱德华站在窗口大叫：“来了，来了! ”他们一定要我待在卧室里，拉好窗帘，直到礼物运进屋子，我乖乖地听话了，儿子蹦蹦跳跳，活力四射，泰思的笑容性感又知心，我心里充满了爱意。黑暗中，我躺在床上，合上双眼，想我是否值得如此爱的回报，也担心一旦真相泄露，这些或许都会被偷走。
爱德华跳上楼梯，“砰砰”地敲门。他用两只小手拉住我的胳膊，将我拖到乐室。房门上挂着一个巨大的绿色蝴蝶结，泰思行了个屈膝礼，递给我一把剪刀。
“作为本市的市长，”我装腔作势地说道，“我希望我尊敬的儿子和我共享这份荣耀。”我们一起剪断绸带，打开房门。
这架小管风琴既不是新的，也不够精美，但它来自爱的给予，如此美丽。而且它足以让我弹出我想要的最好的声音。爱德华玩弄着风琴的音栓，我把泰思拉到一边，问她怎么买得起这么奢侈的东西。
“自打从旧金山回来，”她说，“也可能从捷克斯洛伐克就开始了，我一直想要给你买这个。这里攒一个便士，那里省一个美元，再加上一个女人一番辛苦的讨价还价。艾迪和我发现它在古德伯特的教堂里出售。你妈和查理让我们过得很好了，你该知道，但我们都希望你能拥有它。我知道它不算好，但……”
“它是最好的礼物……”
“别担心花的钱，只要好好弹就行了，宝贝。”
“我贴进了我的零花钱。”爱德华说。
我拥抱着他们俩，抱得紧紧的，幸福得晕头转向，之后我坐下来，弹了一支巴赫的《赋格的艺术》，再次忘掉了时间。
几天之后，我仍然沉迷在新乐器中，那天我从幼儿园接爱德华回家，家里空空荡荡，很安静。我给了他一块点心，打开了《芝麻大街》，然后去乐室干活。管风琴的琴键上有一张折叠的纸，上面贴着一张黄色的粘纸贴。“我们得谈谈! ”她草草写着。她找到了记有所有安格兰德家人名字的乘客表，我本是把它藏在我的文件中的，还上了锁。我只能想像它是怎么到泰思手上的。
前门“吱呀”一声打开，又“砰”的一下关上，我头脑里跳过一个黑暗的念头，他们是来找爱德华的。我冲到前门，泰思正慢慢朝起居室走来，两手都拎着沉重的食品袋。我拿过几个袋子，减轻她的负担。
我们一起把东西搬进厨房，像跳双人芭蕾一样绕着圈子，把东西都放好。她看起来像是一门心思关注着手头的罐装豌豆和胡萝卜，没在考虑其他事情。
东西放好后，她拍了拍手上并没有的灰尘，“你看到我的留言条吗? ”
“关于安格兰德家的? 你从哪里拿到乘客表的? ”
她撩开眼前的刘海，“你什么意思，我从哪里拿到的? 你把它放在电话机边上的餐具柜上。问题是：你又是从哪里拿到的? ”
“在恰布。还记得林卡神甫吗? ”
“恰布? 那是九年前了。你就在那里干这个吗? 你为什么要去调查安格兰德家?”
沉默泄露了我的内心。
“你那么吃布瑞恩的醋? 老实说吧，这确实有点发疯了，你自己觉得呢? ”
“不是吃醋，泰思。我们碰巧去了那里，我只是想帮他追溯家谱而已。找到他的祖父。”
她拿起乘客表，目光扫到最后一行，“真是难以置信。你什么时候和布瑞恩·安格兰德说过话了? ”
“说来话长，泰思。我们订婚的时候，我在奥斯卡酒吧碰到过他。
我告诉他我们要去德国，他就说如果我有空的话，能否去一下国家档案局，查一下他的家谱。我在那里没有找到，就想也许他的家人是从另一个地方来的，所以在恰布的时候，我问了林卡神甫。他找到了。
不是什么麻烦事。”
“亨利，你说的话我一个字也不相信。”
我走过去，伸出手臂想抱住她，一心只想结束这场对话。“泰思，我一直对你说真话。”
“但布瑞恩为什么不去问他母亲? ”
“他母亲? 我不知道他还有母亲。”
“人人都有母亲。她就住在这镇上，现在还住着，我想。你能告诉她，你有多吃醋。”
“但我曾在电话簿上查过她。”
“你开玩笑。”她环抱双臂，摇起了头，“很多年前，布瑞恩还在读高中时，她就再嫁了。让我想想，她叫布雷克，艾琳·布雷克。她一定记得祖父。他一直活到一百岁，她以前老在讲这个疯老头子。”她不想再谈了，开始朝楼梯走去。
“是古斯塔夫吗? ”我在她背后叫道。
她回头看了我一眼，皱起眉头，在记忆里找到了这个名字。“不，不……乔。
疯子乔·安格兰德是布瑞恩的祖父。当然啦，他们一家子都是疯子，包括他母亲。”
“你肯定我们说的不是古斯塔夫·安格兰德吗? ”
“我要开始叫你疯子亨利·戴了……你就会问我这些事情。好吧，如果你这么有兴趣，你为什么不去跟布瑞恩的母亲谈谈? 艾琳·布雷克。”她站在楼梯顶端，靠着扶手，长长的金发垂落下来，像长发姑娘似的。“你这么吃醋是好事，但你什么都不用担心。”她嘴角一扬，闪过一个微笑，我的担忧化为乌有。“替我向那个老姑娘问个好。”
她脖子以下全埋在落叶中，两眼一眨不眨地看着上方，我第三次走过她身边，才发现这是个洋娃娃。附近还有一个，被红色跳绳捆绑在树干上，从无人修剪的长草上东一只，西一只地伸出肢解了的胳膊和大腿。那条绳子的一头绑在稠李树枝上，上面挂着一个头颅，在风里晃悠，无头的身体塞在信箱里，等着星期六的邮递员来。
我把车停在屋前时，这起故意伤害罪的策划者在门廊上咯咯地笑，但我一走上过道，她们就像紧张症患者一样不安起来。
“姑娘们能帮我个忙吗? 我好像迷路了。”我站在最下面的台阶上说。稍大的女孩用胳膊环住妹妹的肩膀，做了一个保护的姿态。
“你们的爸妈在家吗? 我在找一个住在附近的人。你们认识布雷克家吗? ”
“那里闹鬼。”妹妹说。她少了两颗门牙，说起话来口齿不清。
“她是个巫婆，先生。”姐姐大概十岁，骨瘦如柴，头发漆黑，有黑眼圈。要是有人认识巫婆的话，就是这个人了。“您为什么要去见一个巫婆呢，先生? ”
我抬脚跨了一个台阶，“因为我是魔鬼。”
她们都咧开嘴笑了。姐姐指给我看下一个街角前的拐弯处，那里有一条隐蔽的巷子，还真是条路。“它叫星号路，”她说，“它太小了，连个真名都没有。”
“你要把她吞下去吗? ”小的那个问。
“我要把她吞下去，把骨头拆掉。万圣节晚上你们可以过去给自己做一副骷髅。”
她们面面相觑，开心地笑起来。
野生漆树和茂盛的黄杨木挡住了星号路。汽车擦刮着两旁的树篱，我只好下车步行。这条路上零落散布着半隐半现的房屋，左侧最后一幢是一座破旧的方形房屋，邮箱上写着“布雷克”。灌木丛中，一双赤裸的腿从我眼前一闪而过，横穿院子而去，接着第二个人在树丛里刷刷地穿过去。我以为那对可怕的小姐妹跟着我来了，但随后灌木丛里响起第三个动静，我心慌起来，拿出车钥匙，简直就想立刻离开这个黑暗的地方。但既然已经走到这里，我叩响了大门。
一位满头白发的优雅妇人来开门。她穿着简朴的亚麻薄衫，身材高大，笔直地站在门口，探询的目光炯炯有神，她把我让进家门。
“亨利·戴。找到这地方不容易吧? ”她的口音中有淡淡的新英格兰腔，“请进，请进。”
布雷克夫人有一股青春常驻的魅力，再加上她的外貌和态度，让人一下子就感到宾至如归。为了采访，我向她撒了谎，说我和她儿子布瑞恩上的同一个高中，现在我们班级正在组织一次聚会，在联系已经搬走的同学。在她的坚持下，我们一边聊天，一边吃她准备好的午餐，她把布瑞恩最近的事情一股脑儿全告诉我，他的妻子和两个孩子啦，他这些年取得的成就啦。她说完之后，我们的鸡蛋沙拉三明治还没吃完，我试图将话题转到我不为人知的目的上去。
“那么，安格兰德夫人……”
“叫我艾琳。我都很多年不当安格兰德夫人了，自从我前夫过世之后就不是了。
后来倒霉的布雷克先生在干草叉上出了奇怪的事故。他们在背后叫我‘黑寡妇’，那些顽劣的小孩。”
“事实上他们说的是，巫婆……我很难过，艾琳。我是说，关于您的两位丈夫。”
“嗯，你不用难过。我和布雷克先生结婚是为了他的钱，上帝保佑他的灵魂安息。至于安格兰德先生，他比我大很多很多，他是……”她用细长的手指点了点自己的额角。
“我上天主教小学时，是在九年级认识布瑞恩的。他长大后什么样? ”
她脸色一亮，忽地站起来，我都以为她要摔倒了。“你要看看照片吗? ”
从出生到小学，在生命的每一个阶段，布瑞恩·安格兰德看起来都像我的儿子。
他和爱德华惊人地相似，同样的五官，同样的姿态，甚至连啃玉米棒子和扔球的动作也一样。我们翻着相册，看的照片越多，我越觉得他们相像。
“布瑞恩曾经跟我讲过家里人的一些有趣好玩的故事，”我说，“关于安格兰德家的，我是说，德国的家人。”
“他有没有跟你说过约瑟夫爷爷? 他的祖父乔? 当然，他过世时布瑞恩还是个婴儿，但我记得他。他是个疯子。他们都是。”
“他们从德国来的，是吗? ”
她往后靠着椅背，整理着记忆，“这是段非常悲惨的经历，那个家庭。”
“悲惨? 怎么说? ”
“我的公公疯子乔，很多年前我们刚刚结婚时他和我们住在一起。我们把他关在阁楼里。哦，他一定有九十岁了，说不定有一百岁，他会朝着不存在的东西大发雷霆，像幽灵鬼怪这类的，好像有什么东西要来带走他似的，可怜的人啊。他还会喃喃念叨他的小弟古斯塔夫，说什么他根本不是他的亲弟弟，真正的古斯塔夫已经被wechselbalgen 偷走了，也就是换生灵。我丈夫说那是因为妹妹的缘故。如果我没记错，那个妹妹在从德国过来的旅途中死了，整个家庭都伤心之极。他们一直都没有缓过来。就连约瑟夫在后来那些年里也一直会想出些精灵来。”
房间里开始变得异常暖和，我胃里搅动着，头也痛了起来。
“让我想想，是的，有妈妈，爸爸，那是另一个可怜人。他叫艾布拉姆。还有兄弟们。最大的那个我一点儿也不了解，他在内战中死在了盖茨堡。约瑟夫快五十岁时才结婚，另外就是那个白痴弟弟，最小的一个。就是这样一个悲惨的家庭。”
“白痴? 您说白痴是什么意思? ”
“不是今天大家说的这个意思，但在那时候，他们就是这样说的。
他们一直说他弹钢琴弹得多么棒，但那只是因为他脑子有病。他就是人说的白痴专家。他叫古斯塔夫，可怜的孩子。约瑟夫说，他能弹得跟肖邦一样，但除此之外就很安静，非常内向。他可能是个孤独症患者，如果他们那时候也有这种病的话。”
血冲到我头顶，我开始觉得晕眩。
“也可能是误传，但在那所谓的换生灵事件之后，他连钢琴也不弹了，彻底地封闭起来，后来再也没有说过一句话，他后来也老了。他们说，自从古斯塔夫不再弹钢琴，开始对外界没反应，父亲就疯了。我到医院里去看过他一两次，可怜的人。
你能感觉到他在想些什么，但只有上帝知道那是什么。他好像生活在自己的小世界里。我刚结婚不久，他就死了。那大约是1934年，我想，但他看起来比摩西还老。”
她朝相册俯下身，翻到前面，指着一个戴灰色软呢帽的中年男子，“这是我的丈夫，哈利——疯子乔的儿子。我们结婚时他已经这么老了，我还是个小姑娘。”
随后她指着一个干瘪的人，他看起来就像是这世上最老的老头，“古斯塔夫。”一瞬间，我觉得这个人是我，但我立刻就意识到照片里面这个老人跟我毫无关系。在他下面是一个穿高领衣的老妇人，她的影像已经被刮伤了。“一位漂亮慈祥的夫人。
我认识她之前她就过世了，但若不是他母亲主持家务，安格兰德家早就走到尽头了，那么今天我们也不会坐在这里，不是吗? ”
“但是，”我结结巴巴地说，“经历了这么多不幸，他们是怎么撑过去的? ”
“和我们所有人一样。和我失去了两个丈夫而只有上帝才知道是怎么回事一样。
有些时候，你得放开过去，孩子。对未来的生活敞开胸怀。在六十年代，大家都迷失彷徨的时候，布瑞恩曾经说过要离开去找寻自己。他说过：‘我是否会认识真正的自我? 我是否会知道我要做什么样的人? ’对这种蠢问题的回答直截了当，你觉得呢，亨利·戴? ”
我头晕目眩，浑身麻痹，魂飞魄散。我爬下沙发，爬出大门，一路爬回家爬上床。如果我们还道过别的话，这份记忆也在她的讲述所残留的震骇中被蒸发了。
次日上午，为了把我从昏睡中叫醒，泰思弄了一壶热咖啡和鸡蛋饼干，早餐已经过时了，我像个饿坏了的孩子一样狼吞虎咽。古斯塔夫是一个白痴专家，我被这消息吓呆了，所有的力气和意志都丧失殆尽。阁楼里的鬼怪太多。凉爽的上午，我们坐在阳台上，交换着看周日报纸的版面。我装着读报，但心思在别的地方，只想把各种可能性都梳理出来。这时附近起了一阵骚乱，狗开始一只接一只地叫起来，有什么东西从它们家门口过去了，引起一连串的激烈反应。
泰思站起来，朝街道的两头张望，但什么也没看到。“我不明白怎么回事，”
她说，“我等它们静下来再出来。我给你加点咖啡好吗? ”
“当然好。”我笑着递给她杯子。她一走开，我就看到了让动物们发狂的是什么。大街上，星期天上午，光天化日之下，两个魔鬼迂回穿过邻居的草坪。其中一个瘸着腿，另一个长得像老鼠，招呼她快跑。这两个看到两幢屋子开外、站在阳台上的我，都站住了，他们目不转睛地瞪了我片刻。这两个倒霉的家伙，眼珠子装在难看的眼窝里，圆滚滚的头颅扛在破破烂烂的身体上，结着泥巴淌着汗。我站在下风处，能闻到他们身上腐败的气味和麝香混合一处的野兽味道。
瘸腿的那个伸出一根皮包骨的手指指着我，另一个飞快地带着她从房屋之间的缺口逃走了。泰思端着咖啡出来，来不及看到他们离开，这两个家伙一离开，狗儿们也冷静下来，回到狗窝里，松下了链条。
“你有没有搞清楚究竟在闹什么? ”
“两个东西从附近跑过。”
“东西? ”
“我不知道，”我抿了口咖啡，“小魔鬼。”
“魔鬼? ”
“你没闻到他们讨厌的气味吗? 就像刚刚碰到一头臭鼬似的。”
“亨利，你在说什么? 我什么也没闻到。”
“我不知道那些狗干吗上蹿下跳。集体歇斯底里，它们狗脑子里出了幻觉? 看到老鼠、蝙蝠? 还是看到一对小山羊? ”
她把凉丝丝的手放在我额头上，“你觉得还好吧，亨利? 今天你好像不大对劲。”
“我没事，”我说，“我大概应该回去睡觉。”
我慢慢沉入梦乡后，换生灵们又来到我的梦中。十二个换生灵从森林中偷偷摸摸地出来，从每棵树后面走出来。他们不停地过来，这帮冒牌货小孩包围了我的家，朝我的房门和窗户走来。我陷在里面，在楼层间冲上冲下，从猫眼里和窗帘后朝外张望，他们悄无声息地挨近了，围成一个圆圈。我跑到楼下艾迪的房间里，他又变成了婴儿，在摇篮里团成一个球。我把他摇醒，带他一起逃跑：但孩子转过身来时，他的脸却是成年人的脸。我尖叫一声，把自己反锁在浴室里。透过小窗户，我能看见这群魔鬼开始攀爬门廊的栏杆，像蜘蛛似的爬上墙壁，他们邪恶的面孔朝我看来，目光闪动着威胁和仇恨。其他房间的窗户都被砸碎了，玻璃爆裂开来，掉在地板上，发出一种奇怪而低柔的声音，且渐渐变响。我看到镜子里自己的影像变形成了我父亲，变成我儿子，又变成古斯塔夫。镜子中，一个魔鬼从我身后站起来，伸出爪子来卡我的脖子。
泰思坐在床边，晃动我的肩膀。我浑身汗湿，热得要命，她却说我又湿又冷。
“你做噩梦了。没事的，没事的。”我把脸埋在她胸口，她抚摸我的头发，摇晃着我，直到我完全清醒过来。有一会儿，我不知道我在哪里，不知道我现在是谁，以前又是谁。
“爱德华在哪? ”
她似乎被我的问题弄糊涂了，“在我母亲那里，你不记得了吗? 他去那里过周末。你怎么啦? ”
我在她怀抱中发抖。
“是因为老安格兰德夫人吗? 你应该把心思放在要紧的事情上，别再追逐过去了。难道你不知道，我爱的是你。一直都是。”
人人都有一个无法言喻的可怕秘密，不能透露给朋友、爱人、牧师、精神病医生。它的内里太复杂纠葛，一旦激发，必然带来危害。
有些人忽视它，有些人将它深深地埋藏起来，带进坟墓。我把它掩饰得这么好，就连身体有时候也忘却了这个秘密。我不想失去我们的孩子，也不想失去泰思。我害怕被人发现是一个换生灵，然后受到泰思的排斥，这就成为了我余生的秘密。
在听说古斯塔夫真实的生平经历之后，我知道自那以后我只记得一点儿事情是毫不奇怪的。我被封锁在内心中，音乐成为我惟一的自我表达。假如我没有被偷走，我就不会和那些换生灵一起生活，不会有机会成为亨利·戴。假如我没有和那个男孩交换，我就不会认识泰思，也不会有我自己的孩子，更不会找到回返这个世界的路。
在某种意义上，换生灵给了我第二次机会，而他们的再度出现——破门闯入我家，在加州遇见爱德华，那穿过草坪的一对儿——既是威胁，也是在提醒我一切都处于危险之中。
我第一次看到换生灵，还以为是因为发现自己的过去而造成的情绪紧张。他们似乎是幻觉、噩梦，或无非只是我的臆想，但接着真家伙就出现了，还把他们的标记留了下来。餐桌中间的一块橘子皮，电视机上一瓶打开的啤酒，院子里烧着的烟头都在嘲笑我。东西还会不翼而飞，我从州际比赛中赢回来的铬合金钢琴模型奖品、照片、信件、书籍。有一次在凌晨两点钟，我们都在睡觉，我听到冰箱门“砰”的关上，就下楼去看，结果发现案台上放着块被咬掉一半的熏火腿。好多年都没有移动过的家具突然出现在敞开的窗户旁边。圣诞夜在我母亲家中时，小孩子们觉得听到了驯鹿在屋顶上走过，纷纷跑出去看。二十分钟后，孩子们气喘吁吁地回来了，发誓说他们看到了两个精灵蹿进森林里去了。还有一次，他们其中一个从我们后院门下一个比兔子洞大不了多少的空隙里爬出去。当我出去抓他时，那家伙已经逃走了。他们越来越厚颜无耻，没完没了，我只想要他们走开，还我一个清静。
得对我的老朋友们采取措施了。
收听单词发音 |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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latching
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| n.闭塞；闭锁；关闭；闭塞装置v.理解( latch的现在分词 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
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sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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fiddled
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| v.伪造( fiddle的过去式和过去分词 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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scrunched
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| v.发出喀嚓声( scrunch的过去式和过去分词 )；蜷缩；压；挤压 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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asterisk
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| n.星号，星标 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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loon
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| n.狂人 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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rant
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| v.咆哮；怒吼；n.大话；粗野的话 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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residual
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| adj.复播复映追加时间；存留下来的，剩余的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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swapping
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| 交换，交换技术 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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zigzagged
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| adj.呈之字形移动的v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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musk
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| n.麝香, 能发出麝香的各种各样的植物，香猫 | |
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kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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skunk
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| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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crescendo
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| n.(音乐)渐强，高潮 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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psychiatrist
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| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
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excise
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| n.(国产)货物税；vt.切除，删去 | |
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71
lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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72
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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73
taunting
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| 嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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74
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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76
reindeer
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| n.驯鹿 | |
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77
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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