The full moon created a halo behind Igel's head and evoked the memory of saints and icons in the church I could barely remember. By his side stood Luchóg. Both were dressed for travel in jackets and shoes to ward off the frost.
　　"Aniday, get up and get dressed. You're coming with us this morning."
　　"Morning?" I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "It's the middle of the night."
　　"The sun'll be up in no time. You'd best be quick," Luchóg advised.
　　We stole along the hidden trails through the forest, leaping like rabbits, scrambling through brambles, covering ground with great speed and no pause. Clouds passed beneath the moon, first hiding and then revealing the landscape. The trail led across empty roads, our feet sounding on the pavement. We darted through open spaces, through a field of cornstalks that rustled and hummed as we rolled between rows, past a barn big against the dark sky and a farmhouse yellow in the skittish moonlight. In her stall, a cow lowed at our fleeting presence. A dog barked once. Past the farm, another patch of trees, another road, and then we were crossing a stream from the dizzying height of a bridge. On the far side, Igel led us into a ditch that paralleled the road, and we crouched low in its cover. The sky began to lighten to a deep violet. An engine coughed and soon a milk truck passed by on the road above.
　　"We started too late," Igel said. "He'll have to be more careful now. Aniday, this morning we will test how far you've come to being one of us."
　　Looking down the road, I spied the milk truck stopping at a dreary bungalow on the outskirts of town. Next door stood a small general store with a single gasoline pump out front. The milkman, all in white, descended from his perch and carried his basket to the side door, returning briskly with two glass empties that clinked against the wire. Caught up in the scene, I nearly forgot to follow my comrades as they slithered ahead. I reached them in a culvert not ten yards from the gas station, and they were whispering and pointing in dire conspiracy. The object of desire began to take shape in the gathering light. Atop the pump, a coffee mug shone like a white beacon.
　　"Go get that cup," Igel ordered. "Don't be seen."
　　The rising sun pushed away the deeper hues of the night, and any hesitation on my part risked discovery. It was a simple task to sprint across the grass and pavement, grab the cup, and dash back to our hiding place. Fear held me back.
　　"Take off your shoes," Igel advised. "They'll never hear you."
　　I slipped off my brogans and ran to the pump, its red-winged horse vaulting toward the heavens, and I grasped the mug and turned to go, when an unexpected noise froze me to the spot. Glass on glass. I imagined the station owner reaching into the milk box, detecting a peculiar motion at the gas pump, and hollering to stop me. But no such thing happened. A screen door whined and closed with a bang. I swallowed and trotted back to my comrades, holding up the mug in triumph.
　　"You done well, little treasure."
　　"While you dallied in the open"—Igel stared down—"I went ahead for the milk."
　　The bottle was already open. Without shaking down the half-inch of cream, Igel poured me some first, and we washed down the half-gallon like three drunkards, toasting the dawn. Cold milk settled into my stomach, swelling my belly, causing me to swoon and drowse away the morning with my fellow thieves in a ditch.
　　At midday, we woke from our slumber and moved closer to town in measured steps, hiding among the shadows, halting at the hint of any people. Stopping only at places that appeared to be empty, homes with nobody inside, we pried, snooped, and hunted. The three of us clambered over a low stone wall and stole armloads of fruit from a pear tree. Each bite was a sweet sin, and we took far more than we could eat. I hated to abandon the pears, but we tossed most of them back over the wall and into the orchard, leaving them to rot in the sun. From a clothesline of drying laundry, we each took a clean, fresh shirt, and I swiped a white sweater for Speck. Luchóg pocketed one sock from a hanging pair. "Tradition." He grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "The mystery of the missing sock from every washing day."
　　As daylight began its slow fade, the children appeared with their books and satchels, and an hour or two later came the fathers in their big automobiles. We waited for sundown, and after that, lights on and lights out. Good-nights begot goodnights, and houses popped into darkness like bubbles in a chain. Here and there a lamp burned, betraying perhaps some lonesome soul reading past midnight or a wandering insomniac or forgetful bachelor. Like a battlefield general, Igel studied these signs of time before we moved out into the streets.
　　Years had passed since I'd last looked through the storefront window of the toy shop or felt the rough surface of brick corners. The town felt other-worldly, yet I could not pass by a single place without experiencing a flood of associations and memories. At the gates of the Catholic church, I heard Latin raised by a phantom chorus. The motionless candy cane in front of the barbershop brought back smells of witch hazel and the clip of scissors. Mailboxes on the corner reminded me of valentines and birthday cards. My school conjured a picture of children streaming out by the dozens from its doubledoors, screaming for summer. For all their familiarity, however, the streets unsettled me with their neat corners and straight lines, the dead weight of walls, the clear boundaries of windows. The repetitive architecture bore down like a walled maze.　The signs and words and admonitions—STOP, EAT HERE, SAME DAY DRY CLEANING; YOU DESERVE A COLOR TV—did not illuminate any mystery, but only left me indifferent to reading their constant messages. At last, we came to our target.
　　Luchóg climbed up to a window and slipped through a space that seemed much too small and narrow. He collapsed like a mouse going under the door. Standing in the alleyway, Igel and I kept lookout until he heard the soft click of the front lock; he guided us up the stairs to the market. As he opened the door, Luchóg gave us a wan grin, and Igel tousled his hair. Silently, we proceeded down the row of goods, past the Ovaltine and Bosco, cereal in bright boxes, cans of vegetables, fruit, fish, and meat. Every new food tempted me, but Igel would not allow any delay, and he ordered me in a whisper to "come here right now." They crouched by bags on the bottom row, and Igel ripped one open with a slice of his sharp thumbnail. He licked his fingertip, dipped it in the powder, then tasted it.
　　"Bah ... flour."
　　He moved a few paces and repeated the procedure.
　　"Worse ... sugar."
　　"That stuff will kill you," Luchóg said.
　　"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but I can read. What are you looking for?"
　　Luchóg looked at me as if the question was the most preposterous thing he'd ever heard. "Salt, man, salt."
　　I pointed to the bottom shelf, observing that even without the gift of language, one might recognize the picture of the old-fashioned girl under her umbrella, leaving behind a trail of salt. "When It Rains, It Pours," I said, but they seemed unable to take my meaning. We loaded our rucksacks with as much as could be carried and left the store by the front door, a deflating departure, considering the smorgasbord inside. Our cargo made the journey home longer and more arduous, and we did not reach camp until daybreak. The salt, as I would later discover, was used to preserve meat and fish for the lean months, but at the time, I felt as if we had searched the wide seas for treasure and sailed into port with a chest filled with sand.
　　When she was handed the new sweater, Speck's eyes widened with surprise and delight. She peeled off the tattered jersey she had worn for months and lifted the sweater over her head, sliding her arms inside like two eels. The brief sight of her bare skin unsettled me, and I looked away. She sat on a blanket, curled up her legs beneath her bottom, and bade me sit beside her.
　　"Tell me, O Great Hunter, about your visit to the old world. Recount your mishaps and............