J. PATRICK JENSEN

THE KALEIDOSCOPE


IT WAS A DELICATE THING in Daniel's grasp, as though a single rash gesture might
crush it to bits of black crepe. As he rolled the kaleidoscope between his
frigid hands, admiring its smooth texture, it flashed brilliant celestial light
from its obsidian shell. He stood, mesmerized, galoshesdeep in the snow.

When he had seen it in the toy shop, tucked inconspicuously among stuffed
animals, he'd grabbed it without looking inside and brought it to the stout
woman behind the counter. Days earlier his father had said with a sad, frail
smile, "Here's ten dollars. Get anything you want. We're doing things a little
different this Christmas."

Daniel searched his coat pockets for three dollars. Out came a crumpled dollar
and some nickels, though more change jingled in his right pocket. He remembered
the hole in this particular pocket where change always fell into another
dimension between the lining and outer material: a magician's secret
compartment.

He stood shaking out coins while the saleswoman marshaled toy soldiers on a
wooden shelf trimmed with holly. One last coin remained, and when Daniel freed
it and laid it out with the rest of his money, he stared astonished at his
balance.

Precisely three dollars.

As though he was destined to have the kaleidoscope.

Now outside the toy shop, he raised the cylinder and looked inside.

He gasped, then stood for a long, long time, motionless in the white winter
snow. His head tilted back, two tears slid down his face and pooled in each ear.
After a while he placed it carefully in his trousers pocket and walked home.

Lying in bed that night, he used a flashlight to illuminate the kaleidoscope's
interior. Across the room his older brother Aaron tossed violently in bed to
stress a point. Before their mother died such a thing as a flashlight would not
keep Aaron awake, but now it irritated him the way everything did these days.

"For crying out loud, put that thing out!" his brother barked into the wall.

He made to position the light beneath his pillow.

Aaron shot up in bed and hissed: "What did I say- !?"

Daniel clicked off the light.

One clear, cold afternoon Daniel arrived home to find the house unnaturally
still.

"Dad?" he called, setting his schoolbooks upon the kitchen table. He walked
through the living room, hearing only dying embers in the fireplace and the
melancholy tick-tock of the grandfather clock. He half expected to see Dad in
his chair, smiling at the newspaper funnies. When More was alive his father
laughed out loud. Daniel turned the comer where their Christmas tree had stood
in years past and headed upstairs.

Dad was sitting on Daniel's bed and, while making it up after his son forgot to
that morning, had apparently discovered the kaleidoscope. He wondered how long
his father had sat there staring frozen into the iridescent tube. Dad
reluctantly pulled the kaleidoscope away and Daniel noticed a reddened imprint
around his eye, something he normally would have found comical. Dad gazed
trancelike at him, his eyes bloodshot, as though tears had flowed but long ago
dried.

Finally Dad handed him the toy and said, "Keep it in a safe place, son."

Brittle sunlight played gently through the frost-speckled window, imbuing the
bedroom in kaleidoscopic patterns. Daniel opened his eyes a fraction, watching
water swim in his vision: the tearful remnants of sorrowful dreams. He fully
opened his eyes and the phantoms dissipated to sparkling snowflakes like the
ones finished falling outside.

He sat up and looked upon Aaron's vacant bed. His brother rose early, rain or
shine, sometimes a full hour before he himself awoke. Seeing a clear coast, he
slid his hand beneath the pillow...

...and found empty space.

Daniel sprang to his knees-- instantly awake-- and ripped his pillow from the
mattress. Bare. The world spun. He jumped to the floor and frantically wrestled
his blankets off the bed, shaking out the sheets, spreading each blanket flat on
the floor. He turned his pillowcase out. He shone his flashlight under the
boxspring. Breathless, he yanked his bed to the center of the room. Where was
it? Where was it?

Aaron strolled into the room, redfaced from exposure, his clothes spattered with
snow. Daniel turned on him, panicked, verging on tears and black rage. "What did
you do with it?" he screamed.

"Huh?" replied Aaron.

"The kaleidoscope! What have you done with the kaleidoscope?"

"Oh, that." Aaron poked around in his pockets, shook his head. "Sorry, sport. I
musta lost it."

"You what?" Daniel trembled furiously.

"It looked kinda neat, I dunno. I put it in my jacket when I went out sledding.
I was gonna stop and look in it. Guess I forgot."

Daniel felt the world crumbling around him.

"Hey," said Aaron, becoming quarrelsome again, "why are you so hung up on a
stupid toy anyhow?"

Daniel yelled and leaped on him, thrashing wildly. He crushed him to the floor,
snarling like a rabid animal, raking his nails into exposed flesh. Aaron
shrieked in pained surprise.

Dad burst into the room, and after separating the boys, heard the story through
their labored breath. Dad looked as though a giant skyscraper had collapsed in
him. Silently he sat down, right in the midst of all the clutter, right down on
the floor he plopped, and put his face in his hands. Aaron, bewildered and
outright frightened by this display, ran out of the room.

Daniel looked out the window as his brother, whom he truly did not hate now,
bounded away from the house, leaving ragged holes in the pristine snow.

Dinner was mournfully quiet that evening. Dad had not punished Aaron--hadn't
talked about the kaleidoscope at all -- and, in fact, hugged him along with
Daniel as both boys went up to bed. Dad then opened the trash container and
emptied three half-full plates slowly.

No sleep claimed Daniel as he lay on his side. He closed his wet eyes halfway in
the gloom, but what he saw could not touch the fragile beauty and magic of his
lost kaleidoscope.

During the night Aaron cried out in his sleep. Daniel rolled over to see him
sitting and sobbing in darkness. When Dad came in and sat down, Aaron threw his
arms around him. Daniel pretended to sleep as he watched them.

"Ssshhh," whispered Dad. "It's okay now."

Aaron's voice, muffled against his father's chest, drifted across the room.

"Dad, I had a dream about Mom."

Daniel's heart caught in his chest, for Aaron had barely mentioned their mother
since cancer had taken her from them all.

"In the dream, I saw her pretty face. Oh, I wish I could see her again!"

Daniel swallowed hard, trying not to make a sound as Dad embraced Aaron, who
never got the chance to look inside the kaleidoscope.