Seven Years Ago
“What would you like to do when you grow up, Jenny?”
She grins. “Oh, that's easy, Mr Kalkowski. I want to be like you, a teacher.”
The old man smiles, perching himself against the edge of his desk. Arms folded, he looks down at his disciple. “To be a teacher is an honourable calling, none more so. But something tells me your life is going to be more interesting than that. Is there not something else that appeals to you?”
She shrugs. “Like what?”
“Like anything. The world is your oyster and you have not, thus far, seen very much of it.”
“You can tell me about it. And I can read your books.”
“I can tell you many things, Jenny, and I am happy to do so. But I cannot live your life for you. You should go out into the world, see what is to be seen. Learn more….”
She stares at him. “Leave here? But you’re my teacher….”
“I have my limitations. Already you ask questions which I cannot answer, but I know that there are others who can. And of course, some questions no-one can yet answer, but there are those who seek to do so.”
He reaches out, taps her head. “You were given this. It was a gift to you. It is what makes us all human. And it is your duty to learn to use it properly. To train it. To hone it to a fine edge. Books are one of the tools that help you whet that edge.”
“They say I read too many books.”
He presses lips together and sighs. “They are mistaken. There is no such thing as too many books. Reading is to the mind what stained glass is to light. It beautifies and enhances, and even if we do not agree with the words, the mind is working to understand. Yes, no?”
She laughs, “Yes, Mr Kalkowski.”
*****
James
I work, I eat, and I doze. And I work again. And all the while, Charlotte sleeps.
Michael reappears, briefly looking in to see how she is. It’s plain that there is something badly amiss. His expression wavers between tenderness and anger, sympathy and disgust, compassion and hurt.
And he turns to leave again.
“Aren’t you staying?”
“She’s sleeping.” His voice is curt. “There’s not much I can do, is there?”
So, I sit and keep watch over her.
And Charlotte stirs, rolling over to gaze, glassy-eyed, at the ceiling, one arm curved over the pillow.
flicker to mine, caution written there,
you now?
up, covering her mouth against a yawn. “Do logs sleep? Yes, very well.
ten hours. You were
not slept properly for a few days.” She pulls a face. “I didn’t dare sleep above ground in case they found me.
“Why not below ground?”
Not sure what they’d do with a sleeping human body, but you read
Jeez….
It doesn’t bear thinking
words, I just watch
juts a
Waiting for trouble?
is it?” she
How do I reply?
have been courageous, insensitive, honourable,
it all for the best of
against the wishes of
take a breath, gazing upwards. “Where do I
going to punish me? If you are, I’d rather
you don’t even question my right to
up in conversation. What you did was brave and noble on the one hand, but reckless and inconsiderate on the other. Michael was
a scab on the back of
when we lost your signal. Even Richard was upset. He thought that we’d lost both you and Beth. And no, I’m not going to punish you. Looking at the physical state of you, I don’t think it’s appropriate. However, I believe Michael has something
at her lip.
“Yes. Oh….”
around. “Where is
I believe he wanted some time to think.
gloss. “But Master, there was no other way we were going to get her back.
you going to tell me where you got
the question. “Um,
“You’ve been beaten?”
some, but it wasn’t too bad. I thought
you just
and I was just going pell-mell; couldn’t see where I was heading, just away. I kept crashing into things, trees, rocks; I tripped and fell a couple of times. Then in the sewers, there was a spot; I had to cross the stream. I
all of
Would you tell me?
“Was that the worst?”
disconcerted, “Um, yes. Not sure what
Should I ask her?
…. but I must….
“Beth thought you’d been raped? Michael
part. “No, Master. I’ve not been raped… Um… I’ll admit