The Dark Tower

She went to him, but Patrick at first heldthe pad against his chest with unaccustomed shyness. But he wanted herto look; that was in his eyes. It was almost a love-look, but she thought itwas the drawn Susa

“Come on, honeybunch,” she said, and put ahand on the pad. But she would not tug it away from him, not even if he wantedher to. He was the artist; let it be wholly his decision whether or not to showhis work. “Please?”

He held the pad against him a momentlonger. Then—shyly, not looking at her—he held it out. She took it,and looked down at herself. For a moment she could hardly breathe, it was thatgood. The wide eyes. The high cheekbones, which her father had called “thosejewels of Ethiopia.” The full lips, which Eddie had so loved to kiss. It washer, it was her to the very life… but it was also more than her. Shewould never have thought love could shine with such perfect nakedness from thelines made with a pencil, but here that love was, oh say true, say so true;love of the boy for the woman who had saved him, who had pulled him from thedark hole where he otherwise would surely have died. Love for her as a mother,love for her as a woman.

“Patrick, it’s wonderful!” she said.

He looked at her anxiously. Doubtfully. Really?his eyes asked her, and she realized that only he—the poor needy Patrickinside, who had lived with this ability all his life and so took it forgranted—could doubt the simple beauty of what he had done. Drawing made himhappy; this much he’d always known. That his pictures could make othershappy… that idea would take some getting used to. She wondered again how longDandelo had had him, and how the mean old thing had come by Patrick in thefirst place. She supposed she’d never know. Meantime, it seemed very importantto convince him of his own worth.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it iswonderful. You’re a fine artist, Patrick. Looking at this makes me feel good.”

This time he forgot to hold his teethtogether. And that smile, tongueless or not, was so wonderful she could haveeaten it up. It made her fears and anxieties seem small and silly.

“May I keep it?”

Patrick nodded eagerly. He made a tearingmotion with one hand, then pointed at her. Yes! Tear it off! Take it! Keepit!

She started to do so, then paused. His love(and his pencil) had made her beautiful. The only thing to spoil that beautywas the black splotch beside her mouth. She turned the drawing toward him,tapped the sore on it, then touched it on her own face. And winced. Even thelightest touch hurt. “This is the only damned thing,” she said.

He shrugged, raising his open hands to hisshoulders, and she had to laugh. She did it softly so as not to wake Roland,but yes, she did have to laugh. A line from some old movie had occurred to her:I paint what I see.

Only this wasn’t paint, and it suddenlyoccurred to her that he could take care of the rotten, ugly, painful thing. Asit existed on paper, at least.

Then she’ll be my twin, she thoughtaffectionately. My better half; my pretty twin sis—

And suddenly she understood—

Everything? Understood everything?

Yes, she would think much later. Not in anycoherent fashion that could be written down—if a + b = c,then c—b = a and c—a = b—butyes, she understood everything. Intuited everything. No wonder thedream-Eddie and dream-Jake had been impatient with her; it was so obvious.

Patrick, drawing her.

Nor was this the first time she had beendrawn.

Roland had drawn her to his world… withmagic.

Eddie had drawn her to himself with love.

As had Jake.

Dear God, had she been here so long andbeen through so much without knowing what ka-tet was, what it meant?Ka-tet was family.

Ka-tet was love.

To draw is to make a picture with apencil, or maybe charcoal.

To draw is also to fascinate, tocompel, and to bring forward. To bring one out of one’s self.

The drawers were where Detta went tofulfill herself.

Patrick, that tongueless boy genius, pentup in the wilderness. Pent up in the drawers. And now? Now?

Now he my forspecial, thoughtSusa

When she handed back the pad withouttearing off the sheet that now held her image, Patrick looked badlydisappointed.

“Nar, nar,” said she (and in the voice ofmany). “Only there’s something I’d have you do before I take it for my pretty,for my precious, for my ever, to keep and know how I was at this where, at thiswhen.”

She held out one of the pink rubber pieces,understanding now why Dandelo had cut them off. For he’d had his reasons.

Patrick took what she offered and turned itover between his fingers, frowning, as if he had never seen such a thingbefore. Susa

Because once he took away the erasers hethought he was safe, she thought.

Patrick was looking at her, puzzled.Begi

Susa

She thought of the shadow on the land thathadn’t been a shadow at all but a herd of great, shaggy beasts Roland calledba

No, Patrick had moved them closer. Hadmoved them closer by drawing them closer.

When the hand holding the eraser was almosttouching the paper, she took her own hand away—this had to be allPatrick, she was somehow sure of it. She moved her fingers back and forth,miming what she wanted. He didn’t get it. She did it again, then pointed to thesore beside the full lower lip.

“Make it gone, Patrick,” she said,surprised by the steadiness of her own voice. “It’s ugly, make it gone.” Againshe made that rubbing gesture in the air. “Erase it.”

This time he got it. She saw the light inhis eyes. He held the pink nubbin up to her. Perfectly pink itwas—not a smudge of graphite on it. He looked at her, eyebrows raised, asif to ask if she was sure.

She nodded.

Patrick lowered the eraser to the sore andbegan to rub it on the paper, tentatively at first. Then, as he saw what washappening, he worked with more spirit.

Fourteen

She felt the same queer tingling sensation,but when he’d been drawing, it had been all over her. Now it was in only oneplace, to the right side of her mouth. As Patrick got the hang of the eraserand bore down with it, the tingling became a deep and monstrous itch. She hadto clutch her hands deep into the dirt on either side of her to keep fromreaching up and clawing at the sore, scratching it furiously, and never mind ifshe tore it wide open and sent a pint of blood gushing down her deerskin shirt.

It be over in a few more seconds, ithave to be, it have to be, oh dear God please LET IT END—

Patrick, meanwhile, seemed to haveforgotten all about her. He was looking down at his picture, his hair hangingto either side of his face and obscuring most of it, completely absorbed bythis wonderful new toy. He erased delicately… then a little harder (the itchintensified)… then more softly again. Susa