He went back to school the day after they buried Davey. He bathed all the brothers in the hot spring and got their teeth brushed, and he fed them a hot breakfast of boiled mushroom-and-jerky stew, and he gathered up their schoolbooks from the forgotten corners of the winter cave and put them into school bags. Then he led them down the hillside on a spring day that smelled wonderful: loam and cold water coursing down the mountainside in rivulets, and new grass and new growth drying out in a hard white sun that seemed to spring directly overhead five minutes after it rose.They held hands as they walked down the hill, and then Elliot-Franky-George broke away and ran down the hill to the roadside, skipping over the stones and holding their belly as they flew down the hillside. Alan laughed at the impatient jig they danced as they waited for him and Brad to catch up with them, and Brad put an arm around his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek in a moment of uncharacteristic demonstrativeness.He marched right into Mr. Davenport’s office with his brothers in tow.“We’re back,” he said.Mr. Davenport peered at them over the tops of his glasses. “You are, are you?”“Mom took sick,” he said. “Very sick. We had to go live with our aunt, and she was too far away for us to get to school.”“I see,” Mr. Davenport said.“I taught the littler ones as best as I could,” Alan said. He liked Mr. Davenport, understood him. He had a job to do, and needed everything to be accounted for and filed away. It was okay for Alan and his brothers to miss months of school, provided that they had a good excuse when they came back. Alan could respect that. “And I read ahead in my textbooks. I think we’ll be okay.”“I’m sure you will be,” Mr. Davenport said. “How is your mother now?”“She’s better,” he said. “But she was very sick. In the hospital.”“What was she sick with?”Alan hadn’t thought this far ahead. He knew how to lie to adults, but he was out of practice. “Cancer,” he said, thinking of Marci’s mother.“Cancer?” Mr. Davenport said, staring hard at him.“But she’s better now,” Alan said.“I see. You boys, why don’t you get to class? Alan, please wait here a moment.”His brothers filed out of the room. and Alan shuffled nervously, looking at the class ring on Mr. Davenport’s hairy finger, remembering the time that Davey had kicked him. He’d never asked Alan where Davey was after that, and Alan had never offered, and it had been as though they shared a secret.“Are you all right, Alan?” he asked, settling down behind his desk, taking off his glasses.“Yes, sir,” Alan said.“You’re getting enough to eat at home? There’s a quiet place where you can work?”“Yes,” Alan said, squirming. “It’s fine, now that Mom is home.”“I see,” Mr. Davenport said. “Listen to me, son,” he said, putting his hands flat on the desk. “The school district has some resources available: clothes, lunch vouchers, Big Brother programs. They’re not anything you have to be ashamed of. It’s not charity, it’s just a little booster. A bit of help. The other children, their parents are well and they live in town and have lots of advantages that you and your brothers lack. This is just how we level the playing field. You’re a very bright lad, and your brothers are growing up well, but it’s no sin to accept a little help.”Alan suddenly felt like laughing. “We’re not underprivileged,” he said, thinking of the mountain, of the feeling of being encompassed by love of his father, of the flakes of soft, lustrous gold the golems produced by the handful. “We’re very well off,” he said, thinking of home, now free of Davey and his hateful, spiteful anger. “Thank you, though,” he said, thinking of his life unfolding before him, free from the terror of Davey’s bites and spying and rocks thrown from afar.Mr. Davenport scowled and stared hard at him. Alan met his stare and smiled. “It’s time for classes,” he said. “Can I go?”“Go,” Mr. Davenport said. He shook his head. “But remember, you can always come here if you have anything you want to talk to me about.”“I’ll remember,” Alan said.
He went back to school the day after they buried Davey. He bathed all the brothers in the hot spring and got their teeth brushed, and he fed them a hot breakfast of boiled mushroom-and-jerky stew, and he gathered up their schoolbooks from the forgotten corners of the winter cave and put them into school bags. Then he led them down the hillside on a spring day that smelled wonderful: loam and cold water coursing down the mountainside in rivulets, and new grass and new growth drying out in a hard white sun that seemed to spring directly overhead five minutes after it rose.
They held hands as they walked down the hill, and then Elliot-Franky-George broke away and ran down the hill to the roadside, skipping over the stones and holding their belly as they flew down the hillside. Alan laughed at the impatient jig they danced as they waited for him and Brad to catch up with them, and Brad put an arm around his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek in a moment of uncharacteristic demonstrativeness.
He marched right into Mr. Davenport’s office with his brothers in tow.
“We’re back,” he said.
Mr. Davenport peered at them over the tops of his glasses. “You are, are you?”
“Mom took sick,” he said. “Very sick. We had to go live with our aunt, and she was too far away for us to get to school.”
“I see,” Mr. Davenport said.
“I taught the littler ones as best as I could,” Alan said. He liked Mr. Davenport, understood him. He had a job to do, and needed everything to be accounted for and filed away. It was okay for Alan and his brothers to miss months of school, provided that they had a good excuse when they came back. Alan could respect that. “And I read ahead in my textbooks. I think we’ll be okay.”
“I’m sure you will be,” Mr. Davenport said. “How is your mother now?”
“She’s better,” he said. “But she was very sick. In the hospital.”
“What was she sick with?”
Alan hadn’t thought this far ahead. He knew how to lie to adults, but he was out of practice. “Cancer,” he said, thinking of Marci’s mother.
“Cancer?” Mr. Davenport said, staring hard at him.
“But she’s better now,” Alan said.
“I see. You boys, why don’t you get to class? Alan, please wait here a moment.”
His brothers filed out of the room. and Alan shuffled nervously, looking at the class ring on Mr. Davenport’s hairy finger, remembering the time that Davey had kicked him. He’d never asked Alan where Davey was after that, and Alan had never offered, and it had been as though they shared a secret.
“Are you all right, Alan?” he asked, settling down behind his desk, taking off his glasses.
“Yes, sir,” Alan said.
“You’re getting enough to eat at home? There’s a quiet place where you can work?”
“Yes,” Alan said, squirming. “It’s fine, now that Mom is home.”
“I see,” Mr. Davenport said. “Listen to me, son,” he said, putting his hands flat on the desk. “The school district has some resources available: clothes, lunch vouchers, Big Brother programs. They’re not anything you have to be ashamed of. It’s not charity, it’s just a little booster. A bit of help. The other children, their parents are well and they live in town and have lots of advantages that you and your brothers lack. This is just how we level the playing field. You’re a very bright lad, and your brothers are growing up well, but it’s no sin to accept a little help.”
Alan suddenly felt like laughing. “We’re not underprivileged,” he said, thinking of the mountain, of the feeling of being encompassed by love of his father, of the flakes of soft, lustrous gold the golems produced by the handful. “We’re very well off,” he said, thinking of home, now free of Davey and his hateful, spiteful anger. “Thank you, though,” he said, thinking of his life unfolding before him, free from the terror of Davey’s bites and spying and rocks thrown from afar.
Mr. Davenport scowled and stared hard at him. Alan met his stare and smiled. “It’s time for classes,” he said. “Can I go?”
“Go,” Mr. Davenport said. He shook his head. “But remember, you can always come here if you have anything you want to talk to me about.”
“I’ll remember,” Alan said.