In the winter cave, they met a golem.It stood like a statue, brick-red with glowing eyes, beside Alan’s mother, hands at its sides. Golems didn’t venture to this side of his father very often, and almost never in daylight. Marci caught him in the flashlight’s beam as they entered the warm humidity of the cave, shivering in the gusting winds. She fumbled the flashlight and Alan caught it before it hit the ground.“It’s okay,” he said. His chest was heaving from his tantrum, but the presence of the golem calmed him. You could say or do anything to a golem, and it couldn’t strike back, couldn’t answer back. The sons of the mountain that sheltered—and birthed?—the golems owed nothing to them.He walked over to it and folded his arms.“What is it?” he said.The golem bent its head slightly and looked him in the eye. It was man-shaped, but baggier, muscles like frozen mud. An overhang of belly covered its smooth crotch like a kilt. Its chisel-shaped teeth clacked together as it limbered up its jaw.“Your father is sad,” it said. Its voice was slow and grinding, like an avalanche. “Our side grows cold.”“I don’t care,” Alan said. “Fuckmy father,” he said. Behind him, perched atop their mother, Davey whittered a mean little laugh.“You shouldn’t—”Alan shoved the golem. It was like shoving a boulder. It didn’t give at all.“You don’t tell me what to do,” he said. “You can’t tell me what to do. I want to know what I am, how we’re possible, and if you can’t help, then you can leave now.”The winds blew colder, smelling now of the golem’s side of the mountain, of clay and the dry bones of their kills, which they arrayed on the walls of their cavern.The golem stood stock still.“Does it…understand?” Marci asked. Davey snickered again.“It’s not stupid,” Alan said, calming a little. “It’s…slow. It thinks slowly and acts slowly. But it’s not stupid.” He paused for a moment. “It taught me to speak,” he said.That did it. He began to cry, biting his lip to keep from making a sound, but the tears rolled down his cheeks and his shoulders shook. The flashlight’s beam pinned him, and he wanted to run to his mother and hide behind her, wanted to escape the light.“Go,” he said softly to the golem, touching its elbow. “It’ll be all right.”Slowly, gratingly, the golem turned and lumbered out of the cave, clumsy and ponderous.Marci put her arm around him and he buried his face in her skinny neck, the hot tears coursing down her collarbones.
In the winter cave, they met a golem.
It stood like a statue, brick-red with glowing eyes, beside Alan’s mother, hands at its sides. Golems didn’t venture to this side of his father very often, and almost never in daylight. Marci caught him in the flashlight’s beam as they entered the warm humidity of the cave, shivering in the gusting winds. She fumbled the flashlight and Alan caught it before it hit the ground.
“It’s okay,” he said. His chest was heaving from his tantrum, but the presence of the golem calmed him. You could say or do anything to a golem, and it couldn’t strike back, couldn’t answer back. The sons of the mountain that sheltered—and birthed?—the golems owed nothing to them.
He walked over to it and folded his arms.
“What is it?” he said.
The golem bent its head slightly and looked him in the eye. It was man-shaped, but baggier, muscles like frozen mud. An overhang of belly covered its smooth crotch like a kilt. Its chisel-shaped teeth clacked together as it limbered up its jaw.
“Your father is sad,” it said. Its voice was slow and grinding, like an avalanche. “Our side grows cold.”
“I don’t care,” Alan said. “Fuckmy father,” he said. Behind him, perched atop their mother, Davey whittered a mean little laugh.
“You shouldn’t—”
Alan shoved the golem. It was like shoving a boulder. It didn’t give at all.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” he said. “You can’t tell me what to do. I want to know what I am, how we’re possible, and if you can’t help, then you can leave now.”
The winds blew colder, smelling now of the golem’s side of the mountain, of clay and the dry bones of their kills, which they arrayed on the walls of their cavern.
The golem stood stock still.
“Does it…understand?” Marci asked. Davey snickered again.
“It’s not stupid,” Alan said, calming a little. “It’s…slow. It thinks slowly and acts slowly. But it’s not stupid.” He paused for a moment. “It taught me to speak,” he said.
That did it. He began to cry, biting his lip to keep from making a sound, but the tears rolled down his cheeks and his shoulders shook. The flashlight’s beam pinned him, and he wanted to run to his mother and hide behind her, wanted to escape the light.
“Go,” he said softly to the golem, touching its elbow. “It’ll be all right.”
Slowly, gratingly, the golem turned and lumbered out of the cave, clumsy and ponderous.
Marci put her arm around him and he buried his face in her skinny neck, the hot tears coursing down her collarbones.