Chapter 5
“I’ve never heard of a fairy godfather.”
The boy, an eight-year-old white kid with freckles and blue eyes, crossed his arms and stuck out his jaw stubbornly.
“Get used to it, kid,” Ray said, a little annoyed. “Because that’s who I am.” This wasn’t how he pictured things going. He was going to walk in, find out the kid’s dearest wish, wave the wand, and make it all better. He felt plenty frustrated. Maybe it looked easy when Rose did it because she had so much experience. He’d felt pretty good when they picked up on the next need string, and he had even led the way through the wall. They’d popped in on Matthew here just as they had on Clarice. Ray had expected shock, disbelief, even fear, but not defiance.
“Do you believe in fairy godmothers?” Rose asked Matthew. She was standing back in the corner out of the way. She said she wanted to let Ray do as much as he could on his own, but he needed a start. He was stumped.
“Maybe,” Matthew admitted.
“Do you believe in women’s liberation?” Rose pressed. “Where a woman with the same ability can do any job a man can?”
“Yeah, of course.” Matthew was scornful. “Anybody with a brain …” he began, then stopped when he realized he was sassing grown-up strangers who had just walked into his house without using a door. Ray had by now figured out where Rose was going, and hunkered down beside Matthew. He put a hand on the boy’s arm.
“So why can’t a guy do what women have done for centuries? Centuries—am I right, Mrs. Feinstein?” he asked Rose over his shoulder.
“You certainly are, Mr. Crandall,” Rose said, a twinkle in her eyes.
“Oh,” Matthew said, opening his eyes wide. He relaxed at once. Ray was going to have to remember that chain of logic for the next time somebody questioned one of his gender performing a traditionally female task. The boy didn’t seem to have any trouble with his race, which meant he’d been raised right.
“So what can I do for you?” Ray asked. The boy’s hurting was so tangible around him Ray ached, too.
“Nothing,” Matthew said.
“I can do nothing really well,” Ray said, “but that doesn’t take magic. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need me. That’s the way it works.”
“Mr. Crandall,” Matthew began.
“Ray,” he corrected the boy quickly. “You don’t need to be formal. Between you and me, it just makes me uncomfortable.”
Matthew grinned, showing a half-grown bicuspid in the top of his mouth. “You’re nice,” he said.
I’m scared, Ray thought, but he replied, “I’m here to help. Why are you feeling so sad?”
“My dad went away.” Matthew turned his head to look out the window. “He said he’d be back for my birthday. That’s tomorrow. I’m gonna be eight.”
“What’s your dad do?”
“He’s a salesman for Henkeltech. An international rep.”
“The telephone people?” Rose asked, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead.
“Yeah,” Matthew said. Ray looked around at the apartment. In comparison to Clarice’s, or even his own family’s place, it looked wealthy. The ambience was one of quiet well-to-do. The furniture wasn’t flashy, but told you by the glow of the wood and the warm depth of the color of the upholstery that it cost money. Those three cabinets against the wall near the door of the living room might have been antiques or copies of antiques. The combination telephone/answering machine on the bowlegged table was a top-of-the-line unit. Even though it was cool in the room, no unit air conditioners were in the windows. Dad had retrofitted central air into this big old house.
“He must be very good at his job,” Rose said, voicing Ray’s conclusion.
“I guess,” Matthew said, his eyes big and sad. “But he’s never home. This time he promised. This time, he swore he’d be here. I thought he meant it.” The boy plumped himself down on a raspberry red leather sofa that Ray had adored the second he saw it. It must have cost six grand, but the little boy in the middle of it was oblivious to its value or beauty. Ray thought that it was less that Matthew took such nice things for granted than he really thought having his father around meant more. For a second he was glad his own father had the kind of job that meant he came back every night. This kid didn’t have a home; he had a nice box to park in until his parents had time for him. “He called to say he couldn’t come back in time. His boss wants him to stay another week!”
“Where’d he go this time?” Ray asked, sitting down beside Matthew.
“Argentina. He’s helping them set up their new digital phone network.”
“Very important work,” Rose said, giving Ray an encouraging nod.
“He always sends me nice presents,” Matthew said, hunching his shoulders. “That’s okay. But I wish he was here instead.” Through the wand, Raymond felt the hurt pangs start again. The father had broken his word too many times. Matthew was about to give up on trusting his dad forever. That would be wrong. It shouldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen if he could help it. He turned to look straight into Rose’s eyes and she nodded significantly. So this was it. He had to bring Matthew’s father home in time for his birthday, to keep that all-important promise. But how?
“Will you excuse me a second?” Ray asked, getting up. He took Rose by the arm, and led her across the room, out of earshot. Matthew looked at them curiously. Rose smiled and waggled her fingers at him.
“What do I do?” Ray muttered under his breath. “Do I beam the dad back, like on Star Trek, or something?”
“No, of course not,” Rose whispered back. “Free will is very important when you’re dealing with people instead of things. If it was just another pair of roller skates, Matthew would have them this instant. But a human being must be given the opportunity. You have to form the wish so that it becomes possible for his father to come home. And he has to want to, too.”
Ray whistled. “That’s a tough one. What if he doesn’t?”
“That’s where we might fail,” Rose said. “We don’t want that, of course. Matthew?” she asked, raising her voice. “Where’s your mother?”
“She’s out with her friends,” Matthew said, dejectedly. “I wish she’d’ve been here with me when Dad called.”
“When’s she coming home?”
“I dunno.” Matthew looked at the clock. “Not until about ten, I guess.”
“Good!”
“Why?” Ray asked.
“Because this could take some time,” Rose said.
“What are we going to do?”
“No,” Rose said, poking him in the chest with her forefinger. “What are you going to do?” She pulled him over to Matthew. “Ray is going to grant your wish. He is going to make it possible for your father to be here tomorrow.”
“He is?” Matthew’s face lit up, and he sprang to his feet to give Ray a hug.
“I am?” Ray squawked, then repeated, in a confident tone that he hoped didn’t sound forced, “I am.”
“Yes,” Rose said. “But Matthew, you have to understand there’s one condition to this wish: your father has to want to come home. It’s the only part we can’t do by magic. Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes, he wants to,” Matthew said, his eyes puppylike with hope. “Really! Please, Ray. Bring him home!”
“Okay,” Ray said. “I’m going to do it.” He held out the little training wand. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. How had Rose handled the process with Clarice? He’d been more intent on watching the girl’s face than seeing how to make the magic. He looked at Rose helplessly. The senior godmother understood without having to have the problem spelled out to her. She took Matthew by the shoulders and sat him down on the couch with her.
“I’m going to tell you exactly what Raymond is doing while he’s doing it,” she said conversationally, to Ray’s great relief. “This is the best part of being a fairy godmother, which is when we help you make your wish come true.”
“Wow!” Matthew said, his eyes wide.
“You want to make certain everything is laid out correctly in your mind,” Rose told them. Ray placed himself a few feet away, facing them. “Close your eyes and concentrate. Think. See the right thing happening, in as much detail as you possibly can.” Ray obeyed, shutting his eyes and making the picture in his mind of Matthew sitting at a table with a big birthday cake and his mother and father on either side of him as he blew out the candles. “Remember, there’s no good magic and no bad magic.” Ray opened his eyes in surprise and stared at Rose. Matthew had turned his astonished gaze on her, too.
“What?” they asked in unison.
“Oh, well, there’s no smart magic, either,” Rose explained. “It’s formless. You have to tell magic exactly what it is you want it to do. Ray will state the wish as if he was making it on a star.” She pointed to the tip of the wand. “Here’s the star. He thinks, then he speaks. He doesn’t have to say it out loud, but Ray, wouldn’t it be nice if we heard it, so Matthew knows what you’re doing for him?”
“Yeah. Sure,” Ray said uncertainly. “Uh, tell him how I keep a bad wish from coming true?”
“Intention is everything,” Rose said, and turned to the boy. “You see, Matthew, he doesn’t wave the wand until he’s sure he has it right. Got it?” She took a quick peek toward Ray, who nodded nervously. He felt sweat running down the back of his neck. “Good. Now, he’ll do it.”
Okay, Ray thought. Dad, boss, make a change of plans, substitute, air ticket, taxi, on-time connections, arrival, birthday! He pointed the wand straight at Matthew, then whirled it in a big circle as if stirring a huge pot.
“This wish is for Matthew,” he said. His voice sounded small and uncertain. He cleared his throat. “I wish that Matthew’s dad will be able to come home for Matthew’s birthday tomorrow, with no bad things happening to anyone else. Just a change of plans, and he gets all the tickets he needs. Uh, if he wants to come of his own free will,” he added at the last moment, “he’ll be here on time.” Matthew sat with a rigid spine, clutching Rose’s hand, as Ray stirred the wand one more time.
He felt a force rushing through his whole body, speeding toward his right hand, gathering into a mass around the wand. Then pale blue light shot with silver flowed out of the tiny star, forming a cylinder on the floor of the apartment. Small images seemed to flash by, floating on the invisible surface, seen, and then unseen. He heard tiny voices, the far-off sounds of telephone connections, the roar of a jet engine, and little, bitty voices singing the last line of “Happy Birthday to You.” When Ray was sure he’d shaken his whole string of instructions into the magic, he stilled his hand. The cylinder skittered away from him across the floor like a rampant tornado. Ray ran after it, wondering if he had done something wrong. The magic framework stopped only fifteen feet away, centering itself around a bowlegged telephone table near the living room door. Ray cartwheeled to a halt beside it, watching it spin more images and sounds, cotton candy-like, along its inner surface. The cylinder narrowed swiftly in diameter until it was the width of a drinking straw, then spiraled along down the phone cord and sank straight into the wall. All the noises and sounds died away as if they had swirled into a magical drain. Ray stared at the place where the cord connected to the wall, almost expecting to see smoke rise from it. He felt exhausted and exhilarated.
“Very good, Ray!” Rose congratulated him. “Very nice.”
“What happens now?” Matthew asked timidly. All the cynicism with which he had greeted them was gone. He was a humble, slightly scared little boy in the presence of a fabulous force he could not understand. Ray knew exactly how he felt. He was pretty well in awe of what had just happened, and he had done it.
“Now? We wait for a phone call. That seems to be the way that Ray made the spell work. Sit down, Ray,” Rose said, patting the couch on her other side. “You look a little dazed. Magic can be a little hard on people, Matthew.”
Ray tottered over and sank onto the spot she indicated. He rested his hands between his knees. His wand hand tingled. The sensation was like the goodness, but so much stronger. There must have been other forces in there, too: more direct, active forces that took his intentions and transformed them into energy that ought to be making reality happen. If he had done everything right.
“That was really cool. I bet you do this a lot,” Matthew said to him. “You have a lot of … fairy godchildren, huh? Lots of kids you’ve helped.”
Ray sat forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked him directly in the eye.
“To tell you the truth, I’m new at this,” he said frankly. “This is my first day. And you’re my first, uh, godchild.”
Matthew’s eyes widened. They studied Ray, then turned to follow the path of the magic tornado all the way to the telephone cord, trying to balance out superhero-power-movie-magic with the first try ever. Ray admitted it was hard for him to reconcile, too.
“Wow!” Matthew said at last.
“So that makes you special,” Ray said.
“It was special. I’ll never forget it,” Matthew said solemnly. “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Even if it doesn’t work.”
“It’ll work,” Rose said confidently.
The three of them waited there on the couch, staring at the telephone across the room. Several times, Rose tried to draw them into conversation. Matthew and Ray might offer one statement apiece. Then silence would fall again. Matthew was hoping with every bone in his body. He had his fists clenched on his knees. Ray could just see that his first and second fingers were crossed.
The telephone rang suddenly into the silence. Matthew sprang up and ran across to answer it. Ray trembled with anticipation. He watched the boy’s intense face as he grabbed the receiver out of the cradle.
“Hello?” Matthew said. All of his taut muscles went slack, and his shoulders drooped. “No, I’m sorry. Mom can’t come to the phone right now. I’ll take a message.” He felt around in the drawer of the telephone table and came up with a yellow crayon. He scribbled a message on the corner of a much-used paper blotter. “I got it. Good-bye.”
“Hmmph!” Rose said brightly. “Just a false alarm. I told you it would take time.”
Ray became more nervous as they waited. Fifteen minutes crept by. Twenty, Matthew’s clenched knuckles turned white and stayed that way. Rose broke the silence again.
“Well, we can’t just stare at the wall. Do you play Crazy Eights, Matthew?”
Matthew leaped up as if someone had lit a fire under his tail.
“Yes, ma’am!” he shouted. After all, he was just an eight-year-old boy.
“Don’t yell! Can you find us a deck of cards?” she asked.
Matthew searched through the telephone table, then went through the drawers of a highboy and a wooden sideboard. He turned up a number of interesting oddments that he put in his pocket, but no cards.
“I think I have a deck of cards in my room,” he said, with an apologetic glance. “I’ll get them.”
He started out of the room, when the phone rang again. The boy windmilled in a circle and scrambled back to it.
“Hello?” he shouted into the receiver. Ray tensed down in his seat on the couch. His fingers were crossed now. But this time the boy’s face lit up. “Hi, Dad!” Matthew said. “No, Mom’s not home.…”
Ray and Rose waited. Ray clenched his fist on his knee. Rose took his hand in both of hers and squeezed it hard.
“This is it,” she whispered.
“… You are? I mean”—Matthew lifted amazed eyes to the fairy godparents on the couch—“how? You said this afternoon … oh, they did? That’s terrific! Yeah, of course I want you to be there. Don’t be stupid.… I’m sorry. Yeah! Oh, wow, Dad!” He hung up the phone and turned a beaming face to Ray. “You did it! He’s coming home! His boss wants one of the other sales reps to handle the negotiations. He says Dad has to handle a more important client up here! He’s leaving for the airport in fifteen minutes! Wheeee-hooo!” Matthew danced around in a circle.
Ray, relieved and delighted, couldn’t sit still a second longer. He joined the joyful war dance. He caught the boy up under the arms and threw him into the air. Matthew laughed, and pounded Ray on the shoulders.
“He said he wanted to come. He felt really bad!” Matthew said, kicking loose from Ray’s grip to run over to Rose.
“I’m—certain he did,” Rose said, giving the boy a hug. “Happy birthday, Matthew. Now we know it will be happy.”
“Oh, thank you,” the boy said. He gave her a light hug, then went back to Ray. He stopped a pace away, looking up with a kind of awe on his face.
“You’re really great,” he said. “You did perfect. I can’t believe this is the first time you ever made a wish come true!”
Ray held out his hands helplessly. He couldn’t even tell the boy about the goodness and the way the magic gathered within him, and how now he shared the joy Matthew felt.
“It was,” he said simply.
“It all worked out so well,” Rose said. “But now, you know, we really have to go.”
“Oh,” Matthew said, the sunshine in his eyes dimming a little. He gazed woefully at Ray. “You won’t forget me, will you?”
“Nope,” Ray said, patting him on the shoulder. “You are my first fairy godchild, and you’ll always be important.” He drew an X on his chest with his wand. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Matthew grinned at him. “Come back sometime,” he said. “I want you to meet my folks. They’re really great, even if they are busy. I’m gonna have a birthday party!” he yelled. He was dancing around in a happy circle as Ray and Rose slipped away through the wall.
O O O
“That was very good for your first try!” Rose took Ray’s hand and beamed up at him as they emerged into the warm, damp air of the night. “I agree with Matthew. It’s hard to believe you haven’t been granting wishes for years.”
“It was hard and easy,” Ray said, unsuccessfully attempting to find the right words to describe the sensation. His hand was still tingling with residual magic. “But it wasn’t as fancy as what you did for Clarice. Just one whisk of the wand, and a phone call.”
“It didn’t have to be,” Rose said. “The Cinderella coach-and-four is not necessary in most cases, nor appropriate. Doing too much magic can take away a person’s choices, their free will. You won’t always be there with them, so they have to be able to straighten out their lives on their own. You’re there to maybe reverse a downward spiral, to turn around a young person who was otherwise on his or her way down. In this case, Matthew was losing trust in his father, who really wanted to do the right thing. You just made fate whisper in his boss’s ear. Nothing more.”
“I thought flashy was good,” Ray said.
“You play too many arcade games, young man. Every miracle is as different as the child it’s for. We bestow transformation, transportation, intervention, incredible and unlooked-for healing, and so on, but not all on the same client. It has to be the very best thing, the one that your heart tells you is the necessary one. You saw. What else would have been right for Matthew?”
Ray felt in his pockets for a scrap of paper to write down the list, and came up with a wrinkled receipt about two inches square. “Transformation, transportation … what were the others?” he asked. He searched in vain for a pencil or pen.
“It’s all in the manual,” Rose said. “Read it, and we can go over any questions you have next time. Then, you can ask me anything. In the meantime, come on. The night is still young!”