Free Lady by Thomas Tryon

Sholly?" -- or more often, it would be a phrase from
Krazy Kat
, whose antics she avidly followed, deriving great amusement in the triangle of Krazy, who loved Ignatz "the mice," and Offissa Pup, who was enamored of the Kat. She sorrowed for the Kat. "Poor, feckless Krazy," she said, "always getting beaned by one of Ignatz's bricks." (What did feckless mean? I asked. "Why -- it means -- without feck, I suppose. Come on, let's look it up." Out came the dictionary.) She appropriated much of
Krazy Kat's
vocabulary to her own uses: things with her were often "grend," "magnifishint," and "wondafil." "Fa' goodnitz sakes!" they were. Or she would call me "Ignatz," and say that we were "boom compenions."
    She had a collection of stories she enjoyed telling, which she called "The Dreams of a Welsh Rarebit Fiend," whose origins were one of the early Winsor McKay comic strips she'd read as a girl, involving the fanciful adventures of a child who had partaken too greedily of Welsh rarebit and suffered as a result from "extraordinary" dreams, as she called them.
And
, to tell the truth, you had the feeling that maybe her own dreams were in themselves extraordinary for their unsettling and disquieting nature.
    Thus, through my childish demands on her love and her compliant ministering to them, because of my needs and her willing solicitude, we became bound together. All those things, careful, kind, and pleasing, which serve to make life enjoyable, became more vivid and intensified under Lady's loving hand. I had never known such indulgence, such benevolence, such lavish attention. And, watching her embroider in the chair by my bed, listening to her happy talk, how wonderful to settle back and take my pick of the bounty of amusements she had provided: Parcheesi or Chinese Checkers; a jigsaw puzzle of the Taj Mahal; a miniature loom or an Indian beading kit; a Kodak Brownie camera, with film; a soap-bubble set; a Winnie Winkle paintbook, in which, by the mere application of a dampened brush, the invisible colors of the Rinkydink gang, Spike, Spud, Chink, and Perry Winkle himself, were brought to life. It was during this period that I discovered the newest and most exciting thing of all: books; and through Lady Harleigh I found how easy it is to be taken out of oneself, to discover new vistas where nothing matters but the world that is on the printed page. Into this unexplored terrain I now ventured at length, traveling far and wide through a Wyeth-illustrated
King Arthur
, and
Treasure Island
,
The Arabian Nights
, Richard Halliburton's
Royal Road to Romance
, Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales; and one called
East of the Sun and West of the Moon
.
    There was poetry as well, and while I lay propped against the pillows with my knees drawn up, reading of Horatius at the bridge -- brave Lars Porsena! Braver Horatius! -- I could hear Mrs. Harleigh downstairs, making jokes with Nonnie while she prepared my lunch tray. Since our neighbor's advent in our house, my sister was no longer the Nonnie of the scowling countenance, the harsh voice, the pursed lips. Their earnest and steady conversation floated up the stairway, Mrs. Harleigh's questions bright and inquisitive, Nonnie's responses quiet and level, without the shrill, complaining tone we had become used to.
    There came a time when there was no more "Mrs. Harleigh" at all, but only "Lady." On this particular day she had arrived with a large beribboned box which she placed beside me on the counterpane. I did not wait to guess what was in it, but greedily tore the wrappings apart to find a Roxy Radio Junior magic lantern. It was made of red-painted tin, with a telescope lens and a removable panel in back into which postcards, inserted upside down, could be projected onto a wall right side up. As I admired its elegant decoration of gold striping, I said, "Thank you, Mrs. Harleigh."
    Ignoring my thanks, she gave a sudden puzzled look, "But don't you remember? You were going to call me 'Lady.'