Not so terribly long ago, perhaps a couple of years, during the time that Sarah’s public history would place her in law school, she was working in our nation’s capital as a checkout clerk at a Mexican grocery store. She’d always loved going to the grocery store and took a peculiar pleasure in using self-checkout lanes so that she could experience the whole ordeal in Spanish. So, this had seemed like the logical next step in terms of doing what she loved.
Each day as she lovingly traveled to her tienda, she thought of what unusual root vegetables might arrive that day or what exotic supernatural trinkets the impulse buys at her checkout lane might include. And each day she passed a variety of panhandlers and other “street folk” (as she fondly thought of them.)
Now, our hapless heroine had a particularly soft spot in her heart for the down-on-their-luck streetfolk of Washington, D.C., and, indeed, most places. As someone who often saw things no one else did and had learned the hard way not to be caught talking to them, Sarah tended to think that she was really only a few incidents away from becoming one of these unfortunates at any given moment. At the same time, she sometimes worried that simply dropping some change for them was somehow inadequate. This concern had led her to adopt a rather singular policy. Any time she added an impulsive purchase to her shopping cart, she would pick up two of that item and then search for the right person to give it to on her way home. The old woman who sat outside the Indian restaurant had received a small potted chili pepper plant; the thin man who always slept in the park, a wearable fleece blanket; and the scary guy with the big knife, a jicama. Almost every one of the streetfolk had received a gift from the quiet, odd white girl who worked at the tienda—almost.
Bunyan had proven to be a sort of sticky wicket for Sarah’s informal outreach program. Bunyan was well over six feet tall, so the girl often found it difficult to discreetly study him to determine what sort of gift would be just right for him. He was quiet and always had a small smile for her if they happened to make eye contact. Sarah wished she could find the right thing for him; his cardboard signs were always the best-reasoned ones she read.
One day, as she walked down the street, she noticed Bunyan fiercely smashing a small, blue creature over the head with the sign that detailed his views on the upcoming mayoral elections. Sarah could tell this must be the sort of thing others wouldn’t see since no one looked remotely concerned that this odd creature (a) existed and (b) had such seriously violent tendencies.
She rushed up to the tussle and began searching her bag for something to lob. A pie pumpkin! Perfect!
As the dense little squash bounced off the stunned beast’s head, Sarah got her first good look at it. It was about two or three feet tall, standing on two legs, moist all over, and covered in sharp, angry spines. It was bearing double rows of tiny, pointy teeth at her fearlessly and making a noise halfway between a cat spitting and a badger hissing. The frightened grocer looked up at Bunyan for some sort of direction.
“It’s a hecht,” he explained between harried breaths, “they’re really afraid of asparagus and gerbil liver pâté, but who ever has that on hand?”
Blushing to the curly roots of her dark brown hair, Sarah began digging in her bags anew. Out she pulled her uneaten lunch as a stunned Bunyan gaped while the hecht started buffeting him with his own sign. She thought better of asking him to keep the nasty little thing in check while she furiously fiddled with the thin tin lid on the can of pâté.
Finally! The can was open! She thrust it quickly in the face of the hecht. It let out one more good, long hiss-spit, shredded Bunyan’s floppy and disconsolate sign in one last show of disgusted aggression, and ran off with a few bits of it still stuck in its teeth. Sarah watched the long man fold his long limbs as he slowly sank to the ground in relief.
“How did you know what that was?” she gasped as they struggled to regain their breath.
“Oh, my whole Family’s dizzy,” he said simply.
“Wait? Like, all the time? Does that help you figure stuff out? Should I spin more? How does that work?”
“No, no,’ laughed Bunyan, “Not like that! That’s what we call it when someone can do what we can. Haven’t you met anyone else like us before?”
“No! I thought I was the only one who could see all that stuff. How many others are there?”
Bunyan frowned a bit as he answered, “Enough. A few of us do really well, but lots of us can’t keep jobs down, so I guess it’s tough to meet others if you’re not born into one of the Families.”
“Is that why you’re—?”
“An outdoor living enthusiast? Yep. Seeing things others don’t isn’t all there is to it, you know. Stuff happens too.”
“I’ve noticed. Usually, I have to leave a job before something too terrible happens.”
“Smart move. My name’s Clyve, by the way. Clyve T. Bunyan.”
“Sarah.” They shook hands, and a warmth spread through her.
“So, Clyvet,” she ventured, “what else can you tell me about us?”
“Well,” he made a thoughtful face, “I can tell you don’t think I’m a jicama person.”
Oh no! She thought. His gift! “No! I just hadn’t found the right thing for you yet!”
Clyve laughed as she spluttered and blushed again.
“It’s a joke! A joke! Every time you’ve smiled at me, it’s been a gift. You should smile more.”
She felt the warmth wash over her again and looked down at her hands, which were still holding the bizarre can of gerbil pâté. What do you say to that? After a bit, she offered, “I still want to help you though.”
Clyve raised his eyebrows a moment then smiled again. “How about I help you? How about I teach you some things about being dizzy?”
“You mean it? You’ll tell me everything?”
He paused and furrowed his brow a bit. “Not everything. Knowing too much makes it worse. But I’ll teach you enough to make things better and keep you safe. Meet me after you get off work tomorrow, and we’ll start.”
All the next day at work, Sarah thought of her meeting with Clyve. He seemed so nice and kind and fun, and she had felt so good when she was around him. Thinking of him made her a little sad, though, too. Being different had been difficult for her, but nothing like it must have been for him—being homeless and being attacked by spiky blue hechts out of nowhere. As she thought about it, she came to the conclusion that she must fix his situation. He had said that she could do more than just see things, hadn’t he? If that were true, maybe she could find a way to help them both if she could just learn enough about all this “dizzy” business.
The hours dragged by as though they were days until finally it was time for her to leave. She shouldered her bag, which she’d filled with notebooks and pens so that she could write down every scrap of information she could get in hopes that it might help her help Clyve. She scurried along excitedly until she came to where they’d fended off the hecht the day before.
What she saw took her breath away. There was Clyve, and he’d obviously put some serious effort into his appearance. He’d trimmed his long hair and shaved the scraggy beard, had showered, and somewhere he’d found a set of clothes that was clean and looked almost new. He’d cleaned up his long moleskin coat and had it draped over his arm. She wouldn’t have recognized him if not for his sheer, impossible height and his eyes. They were the same kind and intelligent eyes she’d seen every day for months now. Sarah had always assumed Bunyan must have been around the halfway mark of his life, and only now did she see a young man in his twenties. He smiled broadly and leaned over to offer her his free arm. How could she refuse?
“Why, hello, Clyvet,” she smiled in spite of herself as she accepted his arm.
“Clyvet?” he asked.
“Clyve T. Bunyan, right? That makes you ‘Clyvet.’”
Clyve laughed goodnaturedly. “Well, it’s efficient, I’ll give you that, and we need to be efficient tonight to get to the library in time.”
“The public library? They’re open ‘til nine tonight.”
Clyve nodded. “True, but we need to get there before the sun goes down. You’ll see why.”
They arrived at the library while the sun still shined through the windows. Clyve took Sarah straight back through to the back wall where the thermostat was. Sarah noticed that it seemed be a very fancy thermostat for an out-of-the-way branch of the D.C. Public Library. Clyve reached into his big coat’s pockets and drew out a very old pocket watch and opened it. Inside was a small, thin disk of crystal that looked like a monocle. Clyve held it up so that a sunbeam flashed through it, revealing a complex design made up of strange symbols cut into the crystal that then showed up on a panel of cells on the thermostat. The cells lit up and the whole thermostat swung open like a small, fat vault door.
“What—?” started Sarah.
“Shhhhhhhhhh,” Clyve gently put his finger to his lips.
While keeping the crystal in place, he reached into the dusty, hollowed space behind where the thermostat had been and pulled out a sheaf of old papers rolled impossibly tightly and wrapped in leather. He quickly stuffed the roll into his coat, lowered the crystal, and squirreled it away as the panel swung shut again with a neat click.
“Okay, now come with me, quickly and quietly,” he whispered as the pair briskly walked out of the library and into the last light of the evening.
The companions went on in silence until they reached a park. Clyve gestured toward a bench under a lamp, and they sat down. After a quick glance around, he took the papers out of his coat and unrolled them. Sarah realized that what he had was a very old book that was very thick now that it had room to breathe.
“This,” said Clyve, “is the Livre de vertiges. In it, is all the information that my Family had collected throughout its history about people like us and the world that we can see. There’s a bestiary, instructions for protecting yourself, and some other stuff too. Think of it as an Encyclopedia Eccentrica. You must start making your own. Different dizzy people encounter different things. If you’ve already found it, it’s safe to write it down.”
“Can I see it?” It was all Sarah could do not to bounce up and down on the park bench in anticipation of what fantastical explanations and ideas this gigantic book might hold.
Clyve dropped his head and shook it slowly. “It’s too dangerous. There are things in here you might never have to deal with, but if you read about them, you will open yourself up to them.”
Sarah must have looked as puzzled as she felt, for Clyve continued, “Think of it this way: You were born with some natural protections against some of the things in this book. If you read about them, you will lose those protections. You will be able to see them, and they will be able to see both you and your world. That is why some of the things you see can affect the people around you. You and I saw only the hecht. Because of that, the hecht saw everything around us, not only endangering us, but all the people around us too.”
At first, Sarah’s mind rebelled against the unfairness of this new understanding. The more she thought about it though, the more sense it made, and the more horrified she was. Then another thought dawned on her.
“Clyvet! Tell me you haven’t read this whole book!”
He smiled sadly, and she knew the truth. He was vulnerable to every horror described on every last page of the book in front of her.
“Isn’t there any way to undo it?” she asked.
“Probably not without exposing someone else to enormous risk. I don’t really think it can be done at all, though.”
They sat in silence for a while until they looked at her watch and both realized it was time for Sarah to start heading home. Suddenly, Clyve reached in his coat pocket again. He pulled out a large, old-fashioned locket.
“Here, take this. It was my mother’s. Start writing your own livre, and if you ever need a safe place to keep it, there’s a crystal in the locket that will open any of the livre vaults in the country. Most public buildings like libraries and courthouses will have them. As long as the vault belongs to my Family or is currently unclaimed, it’ll open.” He pulled out a newer sheet of paper with tidy handwriting on it. “Here are directions for how to set protective wards around your home. If you follow them, nothing harmful can get in, and you’ll never need to use a vault as long as you have a home. But you don’t want a nasty getting its hands on your livre.”
Sarah gently took the locket in her hands and took a moment to wonder what had happened to its prior owner. She looked up into Clyve’s eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Clyvet,” and stood up. Before she began her walk home, she caught sight of the bundle of blankets under the park bench that he’d been hiding with his feet. She slipped the locket around her neck and clutched the paper in her fist with grim determination as she walked home.
Sarah didn’t know much about Clyve’s world, but she did know one thing: she was going to find a way to change it.
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