June 30, 2003 Issue

Harveys Dream
BY STEPHEN KING

Janetturnsfromthesinkand,boom,allatonceherhusbandofnearly
thirtyyearsissittingatthekitchentableinawhiteTshirtandapairof
BigDogboxers,watchingher.
MoreandmoreoftenshehasfoundthisweekdaycommodoreofWall
StreetinjustthisplaceanddressedinjustthisfashioncomeSaturday
morning:slumpedattheshoulderandblankintheeye,awhitescruff
showingonhischeeks,mantitssaggingoutthefrontofhisT,hair
standingupinbacklikeAlfalfaoftheLittleRascalsgrownoldand
stupid.JanetandherfriendHannahhavefrightenedeachotherlately
(likelittlegirlstellingghoststoriesduringasleepover)byswapping
Alzheimerstales:whocannolongerrecognizehiswife,whocanno
longerrememberthenamesofherchildren.
ButshedoesntreallybelievethesesilentSaturdaymorningappearances
haveanythingtodowithearlyonsetAlzheimers;onanygivenweekday
morningHarveyStevensisreadyandraringtogobysixfortyfive,a
manofsixtywholooksfifty(well,fiftyfour)ineitherofhisbestsuits,
andwhocanstillcutatrade,buyonmargin,orsellshortwiththebestof
them.
No,shethinks,thisismerelypracticingtobeold,andshehatesit.Shes
afraidthatwhenheretiresitwillbethiswayeverymorning,atleastuntil
shegiveshimaglassoforangejuiceandaskshim(withanincreasing
impatienceshewontbeabletohelp)ifhewantscerealorjusttoast.
Shesafraidshellturnfromwhatevershesdoingandseehimsitting

thereinabaroffartoobrilliantmorningsun,Harveyinthemorning,
HarveyinhisTshirtandhisboxershorts,legsspreadapartsoshecan
viewthemeagrebulgeofhisbasket(shouldshecareto)andseethe
yellowcallusesonhisgreattoes,whichalwaysmakeherthinkof
WallaceStevenshavingonabouttheEmperorofIceCream.Sittingthere
silentanddopilycontemplativeinsteadofreadyandraring,psyching
himselfupfortheday.God,shehopessheswrong.Itmakeslifeseem
sothin,sostupidsomehow.Shecanthelpwonderingifthisiswhatthey
foughtthroughfor,raisedandmarriedofftheirthreegirlsfor,gotpast
hisinevitablemiddleagedaffairfor,workedforandsometimes(lets
faceit)grabbedfor.Ifthisiswhereyoucomeoutofthedeepdark
woods,Janetthinks,this...thisparkinglot...thenwhydoesanyone
doit?
Buttheansweriseasy.Becauseyoudidntknow.Youdiscardedmostof
theliesalongthewaybutheldontotheonethatsaidlifemattered.You
keptascrapbookdevotedtothegirls,andinittheywerestillyoungand
stillinterestingintheirpossibilities:Trisha,theeldest,wearingatophat
andwavingatinfoilwandoverTim,thecockerspaniel;Jenna,frozenin
midjumphalfwaythroughthelawnsprinkler,hertastefordope,credit
cards,andoldermenstillfaroverthehorizon;Stephanie,theyoungest,
atthecountyspellingbee,wherecantaloupeturnedouttobeher
Waterloo.Somewhereinmostofthesepictures(usuallyinthe
background)wereJanetandthemanshehadmarried,alwayssmiling,
asifitwereagainstthelawtodoanythingelse.
Thenonedayyoumadethemistakeoflookingoveryourshoulderand
discoveredthatthegirlsweregrownandthatthemanyouhadstruggled
tostaymarriedtowassittingwithhislegsapart,hisfishwhitelegs,
staringintoabarofsun,andbyGodmaybehelookedfiftyfourineither

ofhisbestsuits,butsittingthereatthekitchentablelikethathelooked
seventy.Hell,seventyfive.HelookedlikewhatthegoonsonThe
Sopranoscalledamope.
Sheturnsbacktothesinkandsneezesdelicately,once,twice,athird
time.
Howaretheythismorning?heasks,meaninghersinuses,meaning
herallergies.Theanswerisnotverygood,but,likeasurprisingnumber
ofbadthings,hersummerallergieshavetheirsunnyside.Shenolonger
hastosleepwithhimandfightforhershareofthecoversinthemiddle
ofthenight;nolongerhastolistentotheoccasionalmuffledfartas
Harveysoldierseverdeeperintosleep.Mostnightsduringthesummer
shegetssix,evensevenhours,andthatsmorethanenough.Whenfall
comesandhemovesbackinfromtheguestroom,itwilldroptofour,
andmuchofthatwillbetroubled.
Oneyear,sheknows,hewontmovebackin.Andalthoughshedoesnt
tellhimsoitwouldhurthisfeelings,andshestilldoesntliketohurt
hisfeelings;thisiswhatnowpassesforlovebetweenthem,atleast
goingfromherdirectiontohisshewillbeglad.
Shesighsandreachesintothepotofwaterinthesink.Gropesaroundin
it.Notsobad,shesays.
Andthen,justwhensheisthinking(andnotforthefirsttime)abouthow
thislifeholdsnomoresurprises,nounplumbedmaritaldepths,hesays
inastrangelycasualvoice,Itsagoodthingyouwerentsleepingwith
melastnight,Jax.Ihadabaddream.Iactuallyscreamedmyself
awake.

Shesstartled.HowlonghasitbeensincehecalledherJaxinsteadof
JanetorJan?Thelastisanicknameshesecretlyhates.Itmakesher
thinkofthatsyrupysweetactressonLassiewhenshewasakid,the
littleboy(Timmy,hisnamewasTimmy)alwaysfelldownawellorgot
bittenbyasnakeortrappedunderarock,andwhatkindofparentsputa
kidslifeinthehandsofafuckingcollie?
Sheturnstohimagain,forgettingthepotwiththelasteggstillinit,the
waternowlongenoughofftheboiltobelukewarm.Hehadabad
dream?Harvey?ShetriestorememberwhenHarveyhasmentioned
havinghadanykindofdreamandhasnoluck.Allthatcomesisavague
memoryoftheircourtshipdays,HarveysayingsomethinglikeIdream
ofyou,sheherselfyoungenoughtothinkitsweetinsteadoflame.
Youwhat?
Screamedmyselfawake,hesays.Didyounothearme?
No.Stilllookingathim.Wonderingifheskiddingher.Ifitssome
kindofbizarremorningjoke.ButHarveyisnotajokingman.Hisideaof
humoristellinganecdotesatdinnerabouthisArmydays.Shehasheard
allofthematleastahundredtimes.
Iwasscreamingwords,butIwasntreallyabletosaythem.Itwas
like...Idontknow...Icouldntclosemymoutharoundthem.I
soundedlikeIdhadastroke.Andmyvoicewaslower.Notlikemyown
voiceatall.Hepauses.Iheardmyself,andmademyselfstop.ButI
wasshakingallover,andIhadtoturnonthelightforalittlewhile.I
triedtopee,andIcouldnt.ThesedaysitseemslikeIcanalwayspeea
little,anywaybutnotthismorningattwofortyseven.Hepauses,

sittingthereinhisbarofsun.Shecanseedustmotesdancinginit.They
seemtogivehimahalo.
Whatwasyourdream?sheasks,andhereisanoddthing:forthefirst
timeinmaybefiveyears,sincetheystayedupuntilmidnightdiscussing
whethertoholdtheMotorolastockorsellit(theywoundupselling),
shesinterestedinsomethinghehastosay.
IdontknowifIwanttotellyou,hesays,sounding
uncharacteristicallyshy.Heturns,picksupthepeppermill,andbegins
totossitfromhandtohand.
Theysayifyoutellyourdreamstheywontcometrue,shesaysto
him,andhereisOddThingNo.2:allatonceHarveylooksthere,ina
wayhehasntlookedtoherinyears.Evenhisshadowonthewallabove
thetoasterovenlookssomehowmorethere.Shethinks,Helooksas
thoughhematters,andwhyshouldthatbe?Why,whenIwasjust
thinkingthatlifeisthin,shoulditseemthick?Thisisasummermorning
inlateJune.WeareinConnecticut.WhenJunecomeswearealwaysin
Connecticut.Soononeofuswillgetthenewspaper,whichwillbe
dividedintothreeparts,likeGaul.
Dotheysayso?Heconsiderstheidea,eyebrowsraised(sheneedsto
pluckthemagain,theyaregettingthatwildlook,andheneverknows),
tossingthepeppermillfromhandtohand.Shewouldliketotellhimto
stopdoingthat,itsmakinghernervous(liketheexclamatoryblackness
ofhisshadowonthewall,likeherverybeatingheart,whichhas
suddenlybeguntoaccelerateitsrhythmfornoreasonatall),butshe
doesntwanttodistracthimfromwhateverisgoingoninhisSaturday
morninghead.Andthenheputsthepeppermilldownanyway,which

shouldbeallrightbutsomehowisnt,becauseithasitsownshadowit
runsoutlongonthetableliketheshadowofanoversizedchesspiece,
eventhetoastcrumbslyingtherehaveshadows,andshehasnoidea
whythatshouldfrightenherbutitdoes.ShethinksoftheCheshireCat
tellingAlice,Wereallmadhere,andsuddenlyshedoesntwantto
hearHarveysstupiddream,theonefromwhichheawakenedhimself
screamingandsoundinglikeamanwhohashadastroke.Suddenlyshe
doesntwantlifetobeanythingbutthin.ThinisO.K.,thinisgood,just
lookattheactressesinthemoviesifyoudoubtit.
Nothingmustannounceitself,shethinksfeverishly.Yes,feverishly;its
asifsheshavingahotflash,althoughshecouldhaveswornallthat
nonsenseendedtwoorthreeyearsago.Nothingmustannounceitself,
itsSaturdaymorningandnothingmustannounceitself.
Sheopenshermouthtotellhimshegotitbackward,whattheyreallysay
isthatifyoutellyourdreamstheywillcometrue,butitstoolate,hes
alreadytalking,anditoccurstoherthatthisisherpunishmentfor
dismissinglifeasthin.LifeisactuallylikeaJethroTullsong,thickasa
brick,howcouldshehaveeverthoughtotherwise?
IdreameditwasmorningandIcamedowntothekitchen,hesays.
Saturdaymorning,justlikethis,onlyyouwerentupyet.
ImalwaysupbeforeyouonSaturdaymorning,shesays.
Iknow,butthiswasadream,hesayspatiently,andshecanseethe
whitehairsontheinsidesofhisthighs,wherethemusclesarewasted
andstarved.Onceheplayedtennis,butthosedaysaredone.Shethinks,
withaviciousnessthatisentirelyunlikeher,Youwillhaveaheart

attack,whiteman,thatswhatwillfinishyou,andmaybetheylldiscuss
givingyouanobitintheTimes,butifaBmovieactressfromthefifties
diedthatday,orasemifamousballerinafromtheforties,youwont
evengetthat.
Butitwaslikethis,hesays.Imean,thesunwasshiningin.He
raisesahandandstirsthedustmotesintolivelylifearoundhisheadand
shewantstoscreamathimnottodothat,nottodisturbtheuniverselike
that.
Icouldseemyshadowontheflooranditneverlookedsobrightorso
thick.Hepauses,thensmiles,andsheseeshowcrackedhislipsare.
Brightsafunnywordtouseforashadow,isntit?Thick,too.
Harvey
Icrossedtothewindow,hesays,andIlookedout,andIsawthere
wasadentinthesideoftheFriedmansVolvo,andIknewsomehow
thatFrankhadbeenoutdrinkingandthatthedenthappenedcoming
home.
Shesuddenlyfeelsthatshewillfaint.Shesawthedentinthesideof
FrankFriedmansVolvoherself,whenshewenttothedoortoseeifthe
newspaperhadcome(ithadnt),andshethoughtthesamething,that
FrankhadbeenoutattheGourdandscrapedsomethingintheparking
lot.Howdoestheotherguylook?hadbeenherexactthought.
TheideathatHarveyhasalsoseenthiscomestoher,thatheisgoofing
withherforsomestrangereasonofhisown.Certainlyitspossible;the
guestroomwherehesleepsonsummernightshasanangleonthestreet.

OnlyHarveyisntthatsortofman.GoofingisnotHarveyStevenss
thing.
Thereissweatonhercheeksandbrowandneck,shecanfeelit,andher
heartisbeatingfasterthanever.Therereallyisasenseofsomething
looming,andwhyshouldthisbehappeningnow?Now,whentheworld
isquiet,whenprospectsaretranquil?IfIaskedforthis,Imsorry,she
thinks...ormaybeshesactuallypraying.Takeitback,pleasetakeit
back.
Iwenttotherefrigerator,Harveyissaying,andIlookedinside,and
IsawaplateofdevilledeggswithapieceofSaranwrapoverthem.I
wasdelightedIwantedlunchatseveninthemorning!
Helaughs.JanetJaxthatwaslooksdownintothepotsittinginthe
sink.Attheonehardboiledeggleftinit.Theothershavebeenshelled
andneatlyslicedintwo,theyolksscoopedout.Theyareinabowl
besidethedryingrack.Besidethebowlisthejarofmayonnaise.Shehas
beenplanningtoservethedevilledeggsforlunch,alongwithagreen
salad.
Idontwanttoheartherest,shesays,butinavoicesolowshecan
barelyhearitherself.OnceshewasintheDramaticsClubandnowshe
cantevenprojectacrossthekitchen.Themusclesinherchestfeelall
loose,thewayHarveyslegswouldifhetriedtoplaytennis.
IthoughtIwouldhavejustone,Harveysays,andthenIthought,No,
ifIdothatshellyellatme.Andthenthephonerang.Idashedforit
becauseIdidntwantittowakeyouup,andherecomesthescarypart.
Doyouwanttohearthescarypart?

No,shethinksfromherplacebythesink.Idontwanttohearthescary
part.Butatthesametimeshedoeswanttohearthescarypart,everyone
wantstohearthescarypart,wereallmadhere,andhermotherreally
didsaythatifyoutoldyourdreamstheywouldntcometrue,which
meantyouweresupposedtotellthenightmaresandsavethegoodones
foryourself,hidethemlikeatoothunderthepillow.Theyhavethree
girls.Oneofthemlivesjustdowntheroad,Jennathegaydivorce,same
nameasoneoftheBushtwins,anddoesntJennahatethat;thesedays
sheinsiststhatpeoplecallherJen.Threegirls,whichmeantalotof
teethunderalotofpillows,alotofworriesaboutstrangersincars
offeringridesandcandy,whichhadmeantalotofprecautions,andoh
howshehopeshermotherwasright,thattellingabaddreamislike
puttingastakeinavampiresheart.
Ipickedupthephone,Harveysays,anditwasTrisha.Trishais
theiroldestdaughter,whoidolizedHoudiniandBlackstonebefore
discoveringboys.Sheonlysaidonewordatfirst,justDad,butIknew
itwasTrisha.Youknowhowyoualwaysknow?
Yes.Sheknowshowyoualwaysknow.Howyoualwaysknowyourown,
fromtheveryfirstword,atleastuntiltheygrowupandbecomesomeone
elses.
Isaid,Hi,Trish,whyyoucallingsoearly,hon?Yourmomsstillin
thesack.Andatfirsttherewasnoanswer.Ithoughtwedbeencutoff,
andthenIheardthesewhisperingwhimperingsounds.Notwordsbut
halfwords.Likeshewastryingtotalkbuthardlyanythingcouldcome
outbecauseshewasntabletomusteranystrengthorgetherbreath.
AndthatwaswhenIstartedbeingafraid.

Well,then,hesprettyslow,isnthe?BecauseJanetwhowasJaxat
SarahLawrence,JaxintheDramaticsClub,Jaxthetrulyexcellent
Frenchkisser,JaxwhosmokedGitanesandaffectedenjoymentof
tequilashootersJanethasbeenscaredforquitesometimenow,was
scaredevenbeforeHarveymentionedthedentinthesideofFrank
FriedmansVolvo.Andthinkingofthatmakesherthinkofthephone
conversationshehadwithherfriendHannahnotevenaweekago,the
onethateventuallyprogressedtoAlzheimersghoststories.Hannahin
thecity,Janetcurleduponthewindowseatinthelivingroomand
lookingoutattheironeacreshareofWestport,atallthebeautiful
growingthingsthatmakehersneezeandwaterattheeyes,andbefore
theconversationturnedtoAlzheimerstheyhaddiscussedfirstLucy
FriedmanandthenFrank,andwhichoneofthemhadsaidit?Which
oneofthemhadsaid,Ifhedoesntdosomethingabouthisdrinkingand
driving,heseventuallygoingtokillsomebody?
AndthenTrishsaidwhatsoundedlikeleesorleast,butinthe
dreamIknewshewas...eliding?...isthattheword?Elidingthefirst
syllable,andthatwhatshewasreallysayingwaspolice.Iaskedher
whataboutthepolice,whatwasshetryingtosayaboutthepolice,andI
satdown.Rightthere.Hepointstothechairinwhattheycallthe
telephonenook.Therewassomemoresilence,thenafewmoreofthose
halfwords,thosewhisperedhalfwords.Shewasmakingmesomad
doingthat,Ithought,Dramaqueen,sameasiteverwas,butthenshe
said,number,justasclearasabell.AndIknewthewayIknewshe
wastryingtosaypolicethatshewastryingtotellmethepolicehad
calledherbecausetheydidnthaveournumber.
Janetnodsnumbly.Theydecidedtounlisttheirnumbertwoyearsago
becausereporterskeptcallingHarveyabouttheEnronmess.Usuallyat

dinnertime.NotbecausehedhadanythingtodowithEnronpersebut
becausethosebigenergycompaniesweresortofaspecialtyofhis.Hed
evenservedonaPresidentialcommissionafewyearsearlier,when
Clintonhadbeenthebigkahunaandtheworldhadbeen(inherhumble
opinion,atleast)aslightlybetter,slightlysaferplace.Andwhilethere
werealotofthingsaboutHarveyshenolongerliked,onethingshe
knewperfectlywellwasthathehadmoreintegrityinhislittlefinger
thanallthoseEnronsleazebagsputtogether.Shemightsometimesbe
boredbyintegrity,butsheknowswhatitis.
Butdontthepolicehaveawayofgettingunlistednumbers?Well,
maybenotiftheyreinahurrytofindsomethingoutortellsomebody
something.Plus,dreamsdonthavetobelogical,dothey?Dreamsare
poemsfromthesubconscious.
Andnow,becauseshecannolongerbeartostandstill,shegoestothe
kitchendoorandlooksoutintothebrightJuneday,looksoutatSewing
Lane,whichistheirlittleversionofwhatshesupposesistheAmerican
dream.Howquietthismorninglies,withatrilliondropsofdewstill
sparklingonthegrass!Andstillherhearthammersinherchestandthe
sweatrollsdownherfaceandshewantstotellhimhemuststop,hemust
nottellthisdream,thisterribledream.ShemustremindhimthatJenna
livesrightdowntheroadJen,thatis,JenwhoworksattheVideoStop
inthevillageandspendsalltoomanyweekendnightsdrinkingatthe
GourdwiththelikesofFrankFriedman,whoisoldenoughtobeher
father.Whichisundoubtedlypartoftheattraction.
Allthesewhisperedlittlehalfwords,Harveyissaying,andshe
wouldnotspeakup.ThenIheardkilled,andIknewthatoneofthe
girlswasdead.Ijustknewit.NotTrisha,becauseitwasTrishaonthe

phone,buteitherJennaorStephanie.AndIwassoscared.Iactuallysat
therewonderingwhichoneIwantedittobe,likeSophiesfucking
Choice.Istartedtoshoutather.Tellmewhichone!Tellmewhichone!
ForGodssake,Trish,tellmewhichone!Onlythentherealworld
startedtobleedthrough...alwaysassumingthereissuchathing....
Harveyuttersalittlelaugh,andinthebrightmorninglightJanetsees
thereisaredstaininthemiddleofthedentonthesideofFrank
FriedmansVolvo,andinthemiddleofthestainisadarksmutchthat
mightbedirtorevenhair.ShecanseeFrankpullingupcrookedtothe
curbattwointhemorning,toodrunkeventotrythedriveway,letalone
thegaragestraitisthegate,andallthat.Shecanseehimstumblingto
thehousewithhisheaddown,breathinghardthroughhisnose.Vivaze
bool.
BythenIknewIwasinbed,butIcouldhearthislowvoicethatdidnt
soundlikemineatall,itsoundedlikesomestrangersvoice,andit
couldntputcornersonanyofthewordsitwassaying.Elleeitchun,
elleeitchun,thatswhatitsoundedlike.Elleeitchun,Ish!
Tellmewhichone.Tellmewhichone,Trish.
Harveyfallssilent,thinking.Considering.Thedustmotesdancearound
hisface.ThesunmakeshisTshirtalmosttoodazzlingtolookat;itisa
Tshirtfromalaundrydetergentad.
Ilaytherewaitingforyoutoruninandseewhatwaswrong,he
finallysays.Ilaythereallovergoosebumps,andtrembling,telling
myselfitwasjustadream,thewayyoudo,ofcourse,butalsothinking
howrealitwas.Howmarvellous,inahorribleway.

Hestopsagain,thinkinghowtosaywhatcomesnext,unawarethathis
wifeisnolongerlisteningtohim.Jaxthatwasisnowemployingallher
mind,allherconsiderablepowersofthought,tomakeherselfbelieve
thatwhatsheisseeingisnotbloodbutjusttheVolvosundercoating
wherethepainthasbeenscrapedaway.Undercoatingisawordher
subconscioushasbeenmorethaneagertocastup.
Itsamazing,isntit,howdeepimaginationgoes?hesaysfinally.A
dreamlikethatishowapoetoneofthereallygreatonesmustseehis
poem.Everydetailsoclearandsobright.
Hefallssilentandthekitchenbelongstothesunandthedancingmotes;
outside,theworldisonhold.JanetlooksattheVolvoacrossthestreet;
itseemstopulseinhereyes,thickasabrick.Whenthephonerings,she
wouldscreamifshecoulddrawbreath,coverherearsifshecouldlift
herhands.ShehearsHarveygetupandcrosstothenookasitrings
again,andthenathirdtime.
Itisawrongnumber,shethinks.Ithastobe,becauseifyoutellyour
dreamstheydontcometrue.
Harveysays,Hello?