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, but she relaxes when I
now?
covering her mouth against a yawn. “Do logs sleep? Yes,
ten hours. You
a few days.” She pulls a face. “I didn’t dare sleep above ground in case they
“Why not below ground?”
‘em. Not sure what they’d do
Jeez….
It doesn’t
for words, I
juts a
Waiting for trouble?
is it?”
How do I reply?
been courageous, insensitive, honourable,
you did it all for
wishes of everyone else
gazing upwards. “Where
you are, I’d rather just get
you don’t even question my right to do
and she squirms. “Believe me, it came up in conversation. What you did was brave and noble on the one hand, but reckless
a scab on the back of
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 he wants to say to
bites at her
“Yes. Oh….”
around. “Where is
believe he wanted some time to think. He’s pretty unhappy right now about
other way we were
tell me where you got all that
the question. “Um,
“You’ve been beaten?”
some, but it wasn’t too bad. I
you just brush it
I was running. It was dark, 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 was trying not to have to wade, so I jumped instead. But it was slippery. I lost my footing, fell in, banged my head…. That was
that all
Would you tell me?
“Was that the worst?”
bit disconcerted, “Um, yes. Not sure what
Should I ask her?
…. but I must….
quietly. “Beth thought you’d been raped? Michael too. But then you told Beth,
not been raped… Um… I’ll admit it came close. For a