Room_ A Novel - Emma Donoghue [45]
“Is it a long long ways?”
“What’s that?”
My words are getting lost in Rug.
“Hang on,” says Ma, “I just thought, he might put you down a couple of times, to open doors.” She sets me down, my head end first.
“Ow.”
“But you won’t make a sound, will you?”
“Sorry.” Rug’s on my face, she’s itching my nose but I can’t reach it.
“He’ll drop you into the flatbed of his truck, like this.”
She drops me thump, I bite my mouth to not shout.
“Stay stiff, stiff, stiff, like a robot, OK, no matter what happens?”
“OK.”
“Because if you go soft or move or make a single sound, Jack, if you do any of that by mistake, he’ll know you’re really alive, and he’ll be so mad he—”
“What?” I wait. “Ma. What’ll he do?”
“Don’t worry, he’s going to believe you’re dead.”
How does she know for sure?
“Then he’ll get in the front of his truck and start driving.”
“Where?”
“Ah, out of the city, probably. Somewhere there’s no people to see him digging a hole, like a forest or something. But the thing is, as soon as the engine starts—it’ll feel loud and buzzy and shaky like this”—she blows a raspberry on me through Rug, raspberries usually make me laugh but not now—“that’s your signal to start getting out of the rug. Try it?”
I wriggle, but I can’t, it’s too tight. “I’m stuck. I’m stuck, Ma.”
She unrolls me right away. I breathe lots of air.
“OK?”
“OK.”
She smiles at me but it’s a weird smile like she’s pretending. Then she rolls me up again a bit looser.
“Still squishes.”
“Sorry, I didn’t think it would be so stiff. Hang on—” Ma undoes me again. “Hey, try folding your arms with your elbows stuck out a bit to make some room.”
This time after she rolls me up with folded arms, I can get them over my head, I wave my fingers out the end of Rug.
“Great. Try wriggling up now, like it’s a tunnel.”
“It’s too tight.” I don’t know how the Count did it while he was drowning. “Let me out.”
“Hang on a minute.”
“Let me out now!”
“If you keep panicking,” says Ma, “our plan’s not going to work.”
I’m crying again, Rug’s wet on my face. “Out!”
Rug unrolls, I’m breathing again.
Ma puts her hand on my face but I throw it off.
“Jack—”
“No.”
“Listen.”
“Numbskull Plan B.”
“I know it’s scary. You think I don’t know? But we have to try it.”
“No we don’t. Not till I’m six.”
“There’s a thing called foreclosure.”
“What?” I’m staring at Ma.
“It’s hard to explain.” She lets out her breath. “Old Nick doesn’t really own his house, the bank does. And if he’s lost his job and he doesn’t have any money left and he stops paying them, the bank—they’ll get mad and they might try and take his house away.”
I wonder how a bank would do it. Maybe with a giant digger? “With Old Nick inside it,” I ask, “like Dorothy when the tornado picked her house up?”
“Listen to me.” Ma holds my elbows hard so they nearly hurt. “What I’m trying to tell you is that he’d never let anybody come in his house or his backyard because then they’d find Room, wouldn’t they?”
“And rescue us!”
“No, he’d never let that happen.”
“What would he do?”
Ma’s sucking in her lips so she doesn’t have any. “The point is, we need to escape before that. You’re going to get back in the rug now and practice some more till you get the knack of the wriggling out.”
“No.”
“Jack, please—”
“I’m too scared,” I shout. “I won’t do it not ever and I hate you.”
Ma’s breathing funny, she sits down on Floor. “That’s all right.”
How is it all right if I hate her?
Her hands are on her tummy. “I brought you into Room, I didn’t mean to but I did it and I’ve never once been sorry.”
I stare at her and she stares back.
“I brought you here, and tonight I’m going to get you out.”
“OK.”
I say it very small but she hears. She nods.
“And you, with the blowtorch. One at a time but both.”
Ma’s still nodding. “You’re the one who matters, though. Just you.