Chapter 8: Points of View

   "What's your name, little one?" Locker was truly interested in the child now. Yet, his try at becoming familiar with the child proved a failure. The child kept quiet. He didn't want to get irritated by a child barely 11 years old, but patience wasn't his strong suit. Before he opened his mouth again, Murdock jumped in.

 

 

   "It's a mute, Locker. You ain't gonna get an answer from it. Bu' the priest called out Quiet and the child answered. From orphanage, mos' likely."

 

 

   Locker straightened his spine and asked what bothered him the most. "What are you going to do with it?"

 

 

   "What'd'ya mean wha'? He's comin' with us, Locker. That priest stinks worse than three-days-old cow dung. No good the'e, that's fo' sure. Donnut pretend you didn't notice he's full-pack't. A runaway, that's wha' he is." Murdock sounded convinced, and he was right on the spot.

 

 

   He turned to the child before Locker could complain or reject his idea. ''Well, lil' one? Gonna be with us or not? We ain't gonna do anythin' to ya, if that's what's worryin' ya.''

 

 

   The offer sounded great, but the child learnt to doubt after the nun's words. It stepped back a couple feet away, his eyes squinting, making it seem uncomfortable with the rays of the sun. It tried to give off an intimidating aura, but the impression of the barrel-man and stick-man already cemented. They were trustworthy.

 

 

   It looked around. People were busying around, bartering, buying, selling, arguing, gossiping. Nobody paid attention to it. Nobody would notice a single child disappear. All the better.

 

 

   Murdock observed the kid in front of him. Clearly underfed. A boy his age should have a more than ten centimetres to his height. Hollow cheeks and prominent bones. Bony shoulders, he felt them when he tapped the child. All skin and bones, no meat.

 

 

   But in his eyes...in his eyes were flames. At least when he was watching the priest go. A little triumph over fooling the priest that he just came to buy some clothes for other children. Maybe small, maybe a mute. But no one could call him a fool. He was more than glad to accept such a kit in his troupe.

 

 

   In a rare moment of harmony, man and a child took a step forward each. They shook hands on what would become a first step to the child's new future.

 

 

 Some twenty kilometres away, the priest was sitting on his wine. Tonight he would hold a private feast to congratulate himself on yet another successful haul. He would also play with his new toy. The new toy. Old one broke after too many whiplashes.

 

 

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   Quiet was the name he gave it. A mute, so it won't be able to please him verbally. It could scream and cry, howl and moan, but nothing beat the breaking in, those first begs and screams of help. He was in a mood to tame a colt, and this one was exactly that. A wild colt.

 

 

   Just imagining it, that exhilaration when he'll teach Quiet how to behave properly. At that moment, a question appeared in his mind. Was Quiet a male or a female? He couldn't remember ever finding out. Quiet's parents just left after finding out about seipsy. The nun never told him.

 

 

   He didn't pay any attention to that child until a couple months ago, although he gave it the nickname long time ago. Well, it didn't matter anyway.

 

 

   He breathed the forest smell in. Clear and refreshing. Just like that child's eyes whenever he talked to it. Quiet was obedient and meek, responsible too, though the illness severely obstructed all of that.

 

 

   A laugh escaped him. Such misery made him happy. But indifference was tasty too. Both showed on Quiet's face from time to time.

 

 

   The child, if it were healthy, would have lived a great life, he was sure of that. Quiet had a special kind of charm, he could see it in scarce glances of visiting believers and devotees, as well as any stranger that came by the church. Everyone on the market also loved the child. A tinge of disappointment fleeted by.

 

 

   Why was such potential ruined at an age of six? Priest bit his lips. Just one of the reasons why he was not a believer.

 

 

   No help would come from thinking about it.

 

 

   Yet, why did he see such a shine when he turned around once before leaving? Quiet should have looked poor and miserable with that thin frame and unkempt hair. Yet he felt as if the rays were dancing around it. The clear eyes seemed full of life, pitying even. Pitying who? Quiet's clothes, barely fitting, emphasized that bony body.

 

 

   The shadow was long, as if showing who Quiet really is. Pure blackness, encompassing and inevitable. Those white locks just gave some character to the seemingly fragile face. Quiet, at that moment, seemed out of reach.

 

 

   No, that wasn't the case. Quiet will be his toy from tonight on.