Chapter 1

        My mind is clearer now.  At last.  All to well I can see where I have been.  And what it means.

        The recent death of a good friend served as a sort of cleansing.  All the clutter in my mind was put into sharp focus.  It was given meaning.  He was more than a good friend; he was the best friend, the best human being, I ever knew.  He was one of the many victims of the violence that has been all too prevalent.  He was one of too many.  His name was David.  I knelt by his torn body as he passed away; I felt the last links to my childhood disappear.

        I took a trip abroad from which I have just returned.  It was nice to get away from Urbae if only for a little while.  I doubt I shall ever get away permanently, although I long to.  I was more than surprised about how little they knew abroad concerning what had happened in Urbae.  In fact I was absolutely shocked.  At the time it enveloped my whole life, and the rest of the world had been oblivious to our plight.  It was suggested to me by one fellow I encountered abroad that I might undertake to write down what actually happened.  I have decided to undertake this task.

        Being a central figure in the events that have unrolled, my account will be essential to those over seas seeking to understand what happened to Fabula.  I have dreamed often as a child that I would be remembered forever by history.  What child has not? Now, that I have undoubtedly achieved those dreams, I feel as if I must construct my account most carefully.  In addition to my memory, I have faithfully kept a journal since I was very young.  I have also saved all the correspondence I have kept with friends and other acquaintances over the years.  A stack of letters written to me is sitting on my desk.  Copies of letters that I sent out are in the desk drawer.  I always make copies.

        Anyone who has kept a journal, a detailed journal, for an extended period of time, as I have, can tell you what a time commitment it can be.  Each day, I try and write down the events of my life, trying somehow to fight against time.  Trying to hold onto the memories of when I was young.  But I digress.

        I flip through the journal.  The journal goes all the way back to when I was twelve, and my memory goes back much further.  And my memory teems.  In my mind are swarming over each other legions of people.  Not names, but people.  People I have loved and cared about, and laughed with, and laughed at, and have been angry at, and have betrayed, and on and on and on.  However, I fear, as all writers fear, that they will become simply names on paper to my reader, and not the people I know so well.  I wish the reader could know these people as well as I knew them, as individuals.  That is, of course, impossible.

        I sit down to write, and as I search my memory, I arouse it.  And once my memory is aroused, it bursts forth with people I have known fighting with each other to achieve prominence on my paper.  They cry out to me in the -- In the hundreds even? Yes, in the hundreds they cry out.

"Do not forget me!"

"What about me? Do I not deserve to be mentioned in your story?" And yet, cold hearted I must cut them out.  I could never include them all.

        Another question assails me.  Again, it is a dilemma that all writers face.  I have so many stories to tell.  So many stories that are really only one story.  So much excitement that I am confident the overseas readers will be thrilled with.  And yet, none of it will make sense with out the set-up.  And what part of the story is more boring then the set up? I must describe who my father is, and what he did for a living, and what kind of a world I grew up in.  I must describe the relationship I had with all of the people who will soon be so prominent in my story, and how I met them.  Must I even describe the political system I grew up in, and the history of Fabulae? I think I must, for I discovered when I was abroad how little everyone knew of Fabulae.  My story would not make sense without any of this, and yet I am fully aware that it is the most boring section a reader can hope to come across.  The dreaded set-up.  It is boring for me to even write about it.  I can not risk losing the reader so early in the tale, lest they become bored with my set up and close my book, and then it does not matter at all how interesting the rest of the story is.

        And so, I look for an exciting point to begin.  And I find one all too easily.

In the beginning were the police.  And the police were with the state.  And the police were the state.

I was fourteen.  The world to me back then seemed incredibly small compared to what it would become.  I was bubbling over with something.  Was it anger already? I was not confident.  In fact, it was at a time in my life when I felt less confident than ever.  At the same time, proving to everyone that I was confident became of the most extreme importance.

I remember the day distinctly.  It was a summer day bursting with energy, the kind of day one only experiences when one is young.  It is not uncommon for us to have summer hot days in Urbae, but this day was different.  Cool.  A breeze, but nothing too much.  The kind of day that just makes you feel like running.

Ah, but even here I can not get away from the set-up.  The reader must understand about the police.  Police is a generous term.  That is not what we called them.  In my experience abroad, I encountered a much different view of the police force than I had in Urbae.  The police in other nations are often a benevolent institution, there to protect the people from the thieves, tramps, murderers, and the desperate.  The Urbae police existed, and no one was confused about this for a second, to enforce the order.  The police were there to keep you in your place.

Granted the police in Urbae would go after the thieves as well, and beat the murderer and the tramp senseless, but they always did it out of a sense of maintaining order.  Their order.  They and the Duke were on top, and they made sure no one forgot.

Strat.  I shutter to think.  Do those abroad not know of Strat, whose name every schoolchild in Fabulae would recognize? I must not make that assumption though, they know so little about us overseas.  Strat was one of our past leaders, renowned for his cruelty to his own people.  He loved the police, and to this day they have retained his name.  Strates, we called them.  Never to their face, for even they are ashamed by the cruelty of Strat.  (At the time, the police did his bidding quite willingly, but history has shown him for what he really was.  Those who refuse to learn in the present have no choice in the light of history).

But was that too much set up? Forgive me reader, I hope you are still with me.  I promise more excitement to come, just stay with me.

I passed the Strates’ station.  Was it anger at the Strates that surged up in me then? That was part of it, no doubt.  I was only fourteen though, much greater was the desire to see the awe of my classmates.  One of the Strates was standing outside.  He nodded his hello to me as I passed by, and I mechanically nodded back.  He took off his hat, and set it on the window ledge next to him, and ran his fingers through his hair.  He was tired.  He walked over to a bucket hanging from a string, and began to drink from it.  He knew he was a Strate, and I was not, and he never dreamed I would dare defy him.  I stared at the hat.

What did the hat look like? What does it matter reader? What does it matter if the hat was like a helmet, or like a cap? What it looked like is not central to my story, let it look like what ever you, dear reader, want it to look like.  Know only this, that it was black, and the mere sight of it terrified me.

You must understand the fear these people inspired in me.  I was deathly afraid of them as a young child, as if their touch would end my life.  By the time I was fourteen, I was beginning to realize there was flesh and blood underneath those uniforms after all.  Human beings, and human beings are fallible.  And now, I had to test that fallibility.  I had to prove to myself I could beat the Strates.

I would have loved to sit there forever and debate with myself the advantages and dis-advantages of my intended action, but I had no time.  Water gushed from the bucket into his mouth, it spilled down his cleanly shaved chin and onto the cool brick road.  It was a long drink, but it would be over any second.  I sprang into action.

I snatched the hat and turned and ran.  Ran.  I'm not sure at which point he noticed me, but I could hear his heavy footsteps pounding behind me soon enough

Imagine, if you will, the humor in the situation.  I am running as fast as I can, knowing that if I get caught I will be horrible beaten.  My fourteen year-old legs are taking me with all the speed they have in them.  I am small, skinny, squirrelly and quick.

But he is running as fast as he can too.  He knows if he doesn't catch me, he'll have to report to his superior he lost his hat.  He'll be held in disgrace.  It will go on his record.  Maybe his pay will even be cut.  They are very strict.  He is probably about twenty-five.  His legs are much longer than mine.  He is faster than me, but I had the head start.

I am running wild, my arms are moving faster than my legs, as if that could somehow speed me up, and out of his reach.  And out into the main street I burst, and I turn and run, and I've got so much momentum I can hardly turn, and he is right behind me.

I can't even feel my legs anymore, and I am terrified, and it is the greatest feeling I know.  My numb legs carry me through the street, and past all the set up shops with merchants selling fruit and meat and clothes, and he is getting closer.  Every second he is getting closer.

And up ahead I see my salvation.  The road comes to an end.  A building on each side of the road, and a wall between these two buildings.  A brick wall, but it has space underneath it for the sewage to run.  It is a small space.  I am still small enough to fit through it.  He is not.

There is filth, sewage, and who knows what underneath the wall.  It is disgusting, but I can slide on it.  I go under on my back, keeping the hat next to my breast, careful not to soil my prize.

My relief is cut short on the other side.  He has found a way to climb over the wall, and I have bought myself time and that is all.

And we resume.  I am running as fast as my fourteen-year-old legs can take me, and he is pursuing, and he is gaining.  And I am terrified, and it is the greatest feeling I know.

In a desperate attempt, I turn off main street, not knowing what I will find.  I am running down an alley, and at the end of the alley is another wall, a wooden one this time.  There is no way under this wall, only over it.  Boxes of trash lie near it.  I leap onto the boxes.  I fling the hat away to free up my hand, not having time to reflect on what I have lost.  Escape is all that matters now.  I spring towards the wall.  My hands grab the top of the wall, and the sharp points cut into my tender palms, but I don't even notice.  I am pulling the rest of me up, and I can see the other side of the wall.

Then I am stopped.  He has his hand around my ankle.  Instinctively, my other leg swings out, and my foot strikes his head, and the rest of my body twists as it follows my foot.  I lose my grip.  We both fall.

He falls into the trash, on his back.  I land on my feet and run.  I am almost out of the alley before he even gets up.  Then I stop, and go back.  I know it's foolish, but I can't lose now.  I grab the hat, and start running again.  He is up now, and he swings at me with his club.  I dart out of the alley.  He takes another swing and I continue running.  And I am terrified, and it is the greatest feeling I know.  But he is not following me.  I look back and see him limping from his fall.  My young fourteen-year-old body trembles with excitement, and the thrill of victory.

Now where to go with my new prize? David of course.  There was always David.

David lived only slightly away from the heart of the city.  His house was a little off of main street, packed in with all the businesses.  It would appear to the casual observer very much like David's house was just another business front.

I side passed the door to his house like I always do, and went around to the side to rap on a small window.  David's room was located in the basement of his house, with a little window on his wall that was level with the street.  I knocked on the window, David looked up from his desk, and he climbed onto his bed so he could reach the window.  He pulled open the window, and I climbed down into his room.

"Hey Dave, how are you?" I asked cheerfully.  I had never felt better.

"I’m good" David was in that sort of a mellow mood he was always in after he had been reading for a while.  

"What are you reading?" I nodded towards the book.  To be honest, I couldn't have cared less, but it seemed like the polite thing to say at the time.

"Nothing" David said, as he closed his book up and put it away.  "So what brings you here Jon?"

I had the hat hidden in my shirt.  With a very deliberate motion meant to build up the suspense, I slowly removed it.  David's face reflected his surprise.

He gasped in awe at the hat.  Neither of us said anything.  And then, finally, "You're insane."

I could see the admiration in his face.  I could hear it in his voice, although he fought to keep a scolding tone.  I had done the impossible.

"You're crazy," David said again.  "How did you--what if--" David cut himself off in silent admiration.  Then his face broke into a smile.  "You are incredible man".

I returned the smile and slapped David on the back.  I had proved the Strates were human.  Everything was doable now.

'This is nothing, man.  I'm going to get myself a whole uniform."

"Hey, watch out," David warned.  "You got lucky this time.  Next time you may not be." In his voice even then there was a different message.  With his eyes he said, "Man, you know you can do it."

I was excited.  I was a hero.  The excitement was too much for me, I couldn't stand still anymore.  I shouted and we were out the door and into the street, running and shouting to each other.  We were fourteen.  We were still boys really.  We desperately wanted the world to change, wanted any kind of change, good or bad.  At the same time, lurking in the back of our minds was the belief that things would never change.  They had not changed ever, as far as we were concerned.  Why should they change now?

I arrived home at ten.  The day had been well spent with David, and I was exhausted.  My house was walking distance from the city, but still a little bit removed.  In contrast to the brick roads and business buildings that surrounded David's house, my house was surrounded by grass, trees, a lake and a stream that trickled into it.  Well manicured bushes stood side by side.  A small flower garden existed, with every flower perfectly in its place.  It was a lawn stinking of order.  I hated it.

I took the stolen hat, and carefully hid it in the tool shed.  It would be safe their for a couple days at least, before my dad went out there.  In the mean time, I could move the hat back into my room sometime when he was not home.  Or better yet, I could bring out a book sack to put the hat in, and bring it into my room right under his nose.

I went inside.  I was hungry.  There was mud caked on my face.  I was exhausted.  I walked down the hallway into the kitchen.  The light from the kitchen attracted my father.  He snuck up behind me.  "Home late again, Jonathon?" I jumped, startled.

And now I can postpone it no longer.  And so, dear reader, what I have saved you from at first must now be revealed.  The dreaded set up.

Fabulae is the country I live in, although I have seldom traveled outside of Urbae.  Twice, I think.  Twice had I traveled outside Urbae by the time I was fourteen.  I hate this dreadful prison.

Urbae is the capital city of Faulae, where all our wonderful democracy takes place.  Ah, what a joke.  It would almost be funny, if it hadn't turned out to be so horrific.

Yes reader, what took place in Urbae was not a democracy, although it once had been.  How did it crumble? What economic and social factors lead to its demise? Reader, I think I speak truthfully when I say neither of us cares.  It is only important to know we were once a democracy, and now we are not.  We have not been for almost one hundred years.  All the structures and names remained the same.  We had a Senate elected by the people, consisting of one hundred members.  And these Senators every year elected a President from among themselves.  And these Senators had absolutely no doubt in their minds each year that if they did not elect the Duke, every one of them would be killed with in the week.  The duke held all the power.  The Duke was supported by the army, the navy, the Strates, all the institutions which held power.

Of course, "the Duke" was not his real name.  It was a rather affectionate name that came from his father, who was a Duke by tittle.  We called him Flash, as in "Old Flash".  The Duke was not terribly old, only slightly over fifty.  As children, that seemed old to us.

And what was Flash's real name? To be honest reader, I never found that out.  And it doesn't matter.

My father was one of the Duke's men.  His fourth in command, to be precise.  Was I proud of my famous father? No, I was not.

My father was forever submitted to the Duke.  He did whatever the Duke wanted him to do.  In my view, my father had no mind of his own.  It was, I thought, as if the Duke had two bodies, having taken over my father's body as well.

And I was next.  And I hated that.  I was supposed to follow my father's footsteps in service to the Duke.  Everyone knew that.  My father knew that and continually reminded me of it.  The Duke knew it and would sometimes talk to me about how he couldn't wait to work with me when I got a little older.  I did not want to work for the Duke.  More then anything, I resented having my future planned out for me.  However, at the same time I knew it was the only job with a future available to me.  I resented this job all the more this, but I could not get away from that fact.  Serving the Duke, that was my future.

"Home late again, Jonathon?" Yes reader, we have come crashing back into the story.

I am too tired to debate the point.  "I'm sorry Dad.  I lost track of time.”

I braced myself for it.  The onslaught that always accompanies my misbehavior.  The "You better shape up and learn how to follow directions.  You're going to be with the Duke some day." None came though.  My father must have been too tired as well.  He sat down wearily in the chair, and invited me to come and sit at the table with him.  "School starts pretty soon now, doesn't it?"

I sat down next to him.  "Yes, Monday."

"Are you ready for it?"

"Yes."

My father reached for his alcohol underneath the table.  He brought it to his lips and slipped it.  I always marveled at how he could keep a straight face drinking that stuff.  My face went into all sorts of violent contortions as soon as that alcohol entered my mouth.  My father had a taste for strong drinks, and what I didn't realize then was the years my father had spent building up a tolerance to that stuff.  It was not pleasant for him at first either.

"Am I going to have to meet with your teachers this year?"

"No sir."

My father took another drink.  "Good, because I'm mighty sick of that.  You stay out of trouble this year, okay?" I nodded.  He drank again.  "I don't know why I even bother.  We had this exact same conversation last year and it didn't seem to do you any good.  You realize why this is important, don't you?" Ah, here it comes.  How foolish it was for me to expect I would get out of this speech.  He took another drink, this one longer than the first three.  "People know who you are.  You realize that don't you?" I nodded.  "And when you persist in making a jackass out of yourself at school, it reflects badly on me, reflects badly on the Duke.”  There was silence.  Another drink.  "You realize that, don't you?"

I was annoyed at having to answer the same question twice.  "Yes."

The annoyance had forced its way into my voice.  My tone of voice caused my father's head to turn angrily towards me, interrupting the flow of alcohol into his mouth.  "Well maybe you can act like it this year then." We sat in silence as my father took another drink, put the cork back in the jug and replaced the alcohol under the table.

"So how was your day" he asked.

"Good."

'What did you do today?"

"Nothing."

"You didn't do anything today?"

"No."

Now he was fed up with me, and I knew what was going on in his mind.  He was thinking to himself, "I try so hard to have a relationship with this kid, and he doesn't want to have anything to do with me.  The ungrateful welch."

But I had just had my behavior reprimanded, and was in no mood to spill out my soul to this man who had been scolding me seconds earlier.

He stood up.  "Well, do you have anything you want to tell me before I go to bed."

Feeling sufficiently guilty now, I volunteered something in the way of conversation.  "I hung out with David today."

My father stretched.  "Oh, and how is David doing these days?"

"Good."

"I haven't seen him in a while.  You should bring him over here more often."

"I'll try.  We live kind of far away from everything though."

"Yeah, I know."  And that was adequate.  Neither of us wanted a long conversation.

"Well, I'm going to bed now," my father said, putting his hand up to his face as if to indicate how tired he was.  "I have to get up early tomorrow, unlike some people."  I didn't reply.  I didn't know a reply was expected.  My father turned back when he was at the stairs.  "Right?" he prodded.

"School starts Monday" I said defensively.

"I know.  Don't sleep too long tomorrow.  I've asked Abel to wake you up somewhat early, so don't stay up late."

He meant well, but I was planning on going to bed soon anyway.  The fact that someone was now telling me to go to bed only annoyed me.  "Good night," I called back.

Chapter 2

        "Wake up Jon.  Wake up Jon."  The cheerful voice of Abel was like a dagger into my ears.  What time was it?  Seven?  Seven thirty?  No one slept late in this house.

        "Wake up, wake up wake up!" he shook my body.

        "Go away," I grumbled.  My hand made a tired swing backwards.

        “Dad said I wasn’t supposed to let you sleep.”

        And at this point I knew it was useless.  I sat up.  Abel opened my window.  The room was bathed in sunlight.  It was then that I had the pleasant realization that it was another day free to fill up as I desired.  Ah, summer.

        I stood up, welcoming the new day.

        “What are you going to do today Jon?” Abel asked.

        “I don’t know.  Something.”

        “Can I come?”

        “Of course not.”

        “Please?”

        “No” I said angrily.  I felt like I went through this everyday.

        Abel picked up a shirt lying on my desk and threw it against the wall.  “I hate this house.  I hate it!  I hate it!  I hate it!”

        “Will you quiet down?”

        “I sit here everyday by myself.  There’s nothing to do.”  Well the kid did have a point.  We lived away from everything.

        It was a luxurious house by so many standards, but to us it was a prison.  It was isolated.  Not many other houses were around.  The houses that were there were filled with old people.  No one our age.  I was old enough to strike out on my own, butAbel was only eight.  Everyday that I left he stayed home by himself.  Our mother had been dead since he was two years old.  He was too young to remember her.  I was not.

        At this point, I decided to take Abel with me.  “We’re going to have to hang out with my friends.”

        “I know.”

        “Do you think you can keep up with us?”

        His face lit up, because he knew this meant he was coming.  “Yes.  Yes I can.”  No, no he can’t.

        “And your not going to get tire and whine?”

        “No, Jon, no!”  Yeah right.  Of course he was.  But I didn’t have the heart to tell the kid he was staying in this place all alone.

        “Well, come on then.  Get ready.”

        It was about an hour walk into town.  I usually biked, but Abel did not have a bike, and so we walked.  And with Abel slowing me down, it was probably close to double that hour.  No matter.  No one else was up at seven.

        Instinctively I headed towards David’s house.  I met David before I got to his house though.  David was with Simon.  The two of them were walking down the street.

        “Jon” David called out.

        “Dave, I was just on my way over to your house.  Hello Simon.”

        “Whose the small fry?” Simon asked.

“This is just my little brother, Abel.”

“He’s cool” David reassured Simon.

“So how have you been Simon?”

Simon leaned against the wall.  “Oh, I’ve been okay.  Hey, I’ve been hearing stories about you, Jonny boy.”

David blushed.  Of course I was not upset.  I wanted to be talked about.  That’s why I took the hat.

“I’ve been busy,” I said with a big grin.

“So where is this hat?”

“I’ve got it in a safe place,” I said, my chest bursting with pride.

“What hat?” Abel asked.

“Nothing Abel.”  I gave him a patronizing pat on the head.

“Your brother stole a Strate’s hat,” Simon volunteered.

I could not believe the nerve of Simon.  Had I not made it perfectly obvious I didn’t want Abel to know?  My hand flew out and smacked the back of Simon’s head.  “Are you brain dead Simon?  He’s going to tell my Dad.”

“No I won’t.  No I won’t.”  Abel jumped up and down by my side.

“Hey, don’t touch me man,” Simon said, angrily advancing until his nose was almost touching mine.  Somehow, David managed to squeeze himself between us.

“Hey, cool guys.”  That was all David needed to say.  His voice was sweet and soft.  His eyes were bright and gentle.  It was impossible for either of us to stay mad.

“You took a Strate’s hat?” Abel asked me.

“He put it down.  I just outran him.”

“You are too much” Simon said in admiration.  “David says you’re going to get yourself a whole uniform,” Simon pressed.

“I’m working on it,” I said proudly.

“You out ran a Strate?” Abel said in disbelief.

“It wasn’t easy either.  Those fellows are quick.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Simon said.  There was a silence in which everyone gazed at me in admiration.

“So what are you boys up to?” I asked.

“Just hanging” David answered.

Just then, Simon nudged me.  A Strate was heading our way.  The boys all looked at me, and I knew what they were thinking.

“Hello officer.  Lovely weather today, isn’t it?”

The Strate glared at me.  Who was this cheeky young man who dared to talk to me, his eyes said.  “Yes, quite” he answered gruffly, and continued on.  We smiled at each other, and as soon as he passed the corner we burst out laughing.

“Yes, quite” Simon said, in an excellent imitation of the Strate’s voice, imitating the shocked impression as well.

“Oh, he didn’t like that at all,” David exclaimed with glee.

“You talked to him,” Abel said, his voice filled with awe.

“Come on, let’s go to the hills” I said.  Four boys ran off to the hills to hike, climb, and play swords with the branches lying around.  Simon accidentally hit Abel to hard with one of our make shift sword, and Abel started crying until we all comforted him.  We took off our shoes and waded in the stream.  Eventually, we all got hungry and went back into town.

“I’m so hungry” I exclaimed, upon arriving back by the merchant’s booths.

“Let’s see how much money we have,” David said.  We all dug into our pockets and produced handfuls of coins.  Abel did not have any money, so we agreed to pool our money and all buy the same thing.  All we could afford were four apples.  We did not expect much more.

We sat down on the curb to eat.  A Strate passed by on the street opposite us.  The boys expected me to do something.  Without really thinking, I lobbed my half-eaten apple at him.  It hit him in the back of the head, knocking his hat into the mud.

“Wow Jon!” Abel said.

“Shut up Abel.”  David’s voice was worried.  He quickly took Abel’s apple and dropped it into the sewer.  Simon followed David’s example.

The Strate picked up his hat and angrily looked around the street.  He didn’t see who threw the apple, but he had a pretty good idea it was the group of boys.  He strode over rubbing the bruise on the back of his head.

“You’ve gone to far now Jon,” David said under his breath.  He was really worried.  You can’t be worried.  It’s a sure sign of guilt.

The Strate came over, stood in front of us, and took a deep angry breath.  “Alright boys, which one of you threw the apple?”

Abel looked at the ground.  “Was it you, son?”  Abel shook his head, without looking up.  The Strate knelt down.  “Was it you?” he asked Simon.

“No sir” Simon answered.

“Alright boys,” the Strate said, standing up.  “Alright, if no one wants to come forward, I’ll knock everyone’s head in.  How does that sound?”

Abel started crying.  David flashed angry eyes at me.

“Sir, we didn’t do it,” I said.

The Strate reached down, grabbed me by the shirt, yanked me to my feet, and shook me.  “Are you telling me a lie to my face, boy?”

“Get your hand off of me” I said, pulling to free myself from his grip.  “Let go of me.”

“He didn’t do it,” David said.

The Strate let me go with a push.  “Then who did?”

“Another boy,” David answered.  “He ran off as soon as he threw the apple.”

“Just ran off like that?”

“Yes sir.”  As if by divine providence, to prove David’s point two children only slightly younger than us ran through the street.  In a flash, they had turned the corner and were gone.

The Strate stepped back.  He was rethinking things now.  Perhaps we weren’t the culprits after all.  He rubbed the bruise on the back of his head.  He had to take his anger out on someone.  He became even angrier at the prospect that we might not have thrown the apple, then at the prospect that we had.  It meant the culprit had gotten away.

Abel continued crying.  The Strate’s composure snapped.  He brought his face down so that it was level with Abel’s.  “Shut up!” he yelled loudly.  Abel immediately became silent, and gazed back at the Strate with wide frightened eyes.  Abel scooted back, away from the Strate.

I was still standing.  “Sir, don’t talk to him that way.”

The Strate stood up as if someone had just pricked his bottom with a pin.  “What did you just say to me?”

“I said don’t talk to him that way.”

The Strate was dumbfounded that someone would dare talk back to him.  David glanced at me with a face that was a mixture of anger and horror.  “Don’t mind him sir.  He’s just stupid,” David said.  Only a tense silence followed.  “He’s not thinking right” David volunteered to break the silence.

“Is that true, boy?” the Strate asked.

I glanced down at David, then back at the Strate.  “Yes sir,” I replied.

“You boys better watch it,” the Strate commanded, looking at each of us as if his eyes could pierce through us.

“Yes sir,” we all answered in unison.

“See that you do,” the Strate said before turning to leave.

I let out a sigh of relief, and was then hit.  Overcome by anger at the last minute the Strate had turned back to me and hit me with his club on my side.  I doubled over in pain, and the Strate’s hand hit me in the head.  My body spun around and I landed face first on the ground.  The Strate kicked me twice while I was on the ground, and his foot stamped my back.  He brought back his club to hit me again, but David inserted himself between the Strate and me.  “Sir, he’s just stupid sir.  Don’t pay any attention to him.”

The Strate took a deep breath.  Beating a fourteen year-old boy had made him feel better.  He smiled at David, patted him on the head, and left saying, “You kids are going to get yourself in some serious trouble someday.”

“Yes sir,” Simon and David answered.  They watched the Strate in silence until he was out of sight.

I was already sitting up by this time.  Abel was hovering around me, making sure I was okay.

“Don’t get up,” David cautioned.  “Stay there until you’re sure that you’re alright.”

I felt my face with my hand, making sure there was no blood.

“I’m alright Dave,” I said, standing up.  I leaned on the wall of the neighboring building to help me stand.  My side sent me a sharp pain to protest to my activity, and my face reflected it.  David and Simon rushed to help support me.

“I’m alright.  I’m alright.”  I maintained, but they insisted on helping me to my feet anyway.

“Let’s get him out of here,” David said to Simon.  “Your house is close.”

“Yours is closer” Simon responded.

David shook his head.  “Are you kidding?  My parents would freak out if we carried him in like this.  They’d wanta know everything.”

“Well so would mine.”

“Simon, your parents are never home.”

“Guys, really” I interjected.  “I can walk.”

“Are you sure?” David asked.

I gently separated myself from my two supporters, and took a couple steps forward.  “See?  I’m fine.”

David looked at me, then Simon, then back to me.  “Alright,” he said.  “You can come to my house.  But Jon make sure you don’t fall down in front of my parents.”

“Dave, I’m alright.”  And I was.  My body was sore, but I knew the Strate could have hit me a lot harder if he wanted to.  I would be sore for a couple of days, and then I would be fine.

David and Simon insisted on supporting me while we walked the three blocks over to David’s house.  As soon as we got near the house, they both parted and I walked into the house on my own.

“Gentlemen, welcome” David’s dad called out.  “Simon, how are you doing?”

“Good, thank you.  How are you?”

“Good, good.  Jonathon, always a pleasure to see you.  And little Abel, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“I’m eight years old,” Abel protested.  David’s father laughed.

“Of course.  My you boys look dirty.”

“We went to the hills again,” David said.

“Well, feel free to wash up.”

“Thanks Dad.  I think we’re just going to hang out in my room for a while.”

“Aren’t you going to help your mother with the dishes?”

“Dad, I’m busy now.”  David’s voice was annoyed.  His dad just laughed as he stood up and came around the table to us.

“Of course.  You’ll help tonight then?”

“Yes.”

David’s father looked at me curiously.  I’m not sure what tipped him off.  Perhaps my tired expression.  Perhaps the scratches on my face from where I contacted the road.

“Are you okay, Jon?” he asked.

“He’s find Dad,” David answered quickly.

“I’m fine.  I just fell out on the hills.”

David’s father looked at me strangely, then evidently decided to let it go.  “Well, you should at least clean up.”

“We will Dad,” David replied, and herded us down into his bedroom.  “Just stay here,” David commanded.  He left and returned with a bowl of cold water, soap, and a wash cloth.  “Alright, Jonny,” he said.  “Let’s get you cleaned off.”

I winced at the cold water as David applied the wash cloth to my face.  Simon crossed the room to look at David’s possessions, then returned to us.  “Man Jon, that was about the coolest thing I ever saw.”

“What was?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“The way you just stood up to that Strate.  He was so shocked you talked back to him.”

“Don’t encourage him,” David said.  “Jon, your lucky he didn’t hurt you any worse then he did.  You realize that, don’t you?”

“Yes” I answered to placate David.  I wanted to hear more of what Simon had to say.

“Listen to me,” David pleaded.  “You’re really going to get yourself hurt someday if you keep this up.”

“All right, all right Dave” I said, but I didn’t mean it, and he knew it.

Simon, I’m sure, felt like he should say something.  “Yeah Jon, be careful.”  But I could tell I had his admiration.

Once I was cleaned up to David’s expectations, and he was satisfied that I was not seriously injured, the conversation shifted to other things.  We hung out in David’s room till late, and his mother even came into bring us food.  At this point, David remembered that he was supposed to help his mother with the dishes, and excused himself, and I decided it was unwise to arrive home late two days in a row, and I knew my travel would be lengthened with Abel by my side, and so Abel and I parted company with Simon.

On the long walk home, I impressed upon Able the necessity of keeping his mouth shut about the day’s events.  “If Dad asks anything, just tell him about the hills.”  It was a loose end.  The kid has a bad track record of not keeping secrets.  He seemed pretty sincere though.

“I promise I won’t tell.  You can trust me Jon I promise.”

I was worried despite the promises, but at this point he knew, and there was nothing I could do about it.

We arrived at my house before dark.  “Can I see the Hat?  Can I?” Abel pleaded.

We were still out in the yard at this point, but I was seized by an irrational fear that my dad, who I knew was in the house, would over hear.  “Not so loud!”  I glanced around nervously.  “You see what I mean Abel? You’re going to blow everything.

“No I won’t” Abel protested, distraught at how easily he had become under renewed suspicion.

I hesitated.  On one hand I was uneasy about taking loose lipped Abel to the scene of the crime.  One the other hand, what damage could it possibly do?  He knew everything already.

“Alright, come on,” I said, putting my finger to my lips to indicate silence.  Despite the fact that I knew my father was in the house, we still conducted ourselves as if we were in a war zone.  I kept low to the ground and hid in the shadows.  Able followed my lead.

We arrived at the shed.  With great deliberation I opened the door.  Abel, not willing to wait for my dramatic introduction, rushed in.  I was annoyed that my ceremony had been disrupted, but chose not to say anything.  

With Abel jumping up and down by my side in anticipation, I removed the hat from its hiding place on the shelf.  I held it out.  Abel’s mouth dropped open in awe.  A ray of light shined through the window, illuminating the hat.

All right, I made up the part about the ray of light, but in both of our minds it existed at the time.  Just as both of us could have sworn we heard the faint voices of singing angels.

Abel reached eagerly for the hat.  I was appalled by the sacrilege and jerked the hat away.  “What are you doing?” I asked angrily.

Abel immediately assumed a penitent face.  “I just wanted to see it,” he said timidly.  I looked at the hat, protectively.  “I won’t hurt it.”  Abel’s voice was so quiet I could hardly hear it.  I handed over the hat.

Abel carefully took the hat from me, very aware of the importance of what was in his hands.  “Wow,” he whispered.  The hat balanced loosely in Abel’s hands, as if he was afraid he would damage it by holding it firmly.  “How did you get this?”

I shrugged.  “Just like I told you.  A Strate took it off.  I grabbed it.  I outran him.”

“Tell me,” Abel pleaded.

And so I told him the whole story, probably in more detail then I have recorded for you, reader.  I might have exaggerated things, or over dramatized the whole event.  In fact I’m sure I did.  It’s so hard to remember everything exactly.

Abel interrupted me frequently with questions.  Finally, when my epic tale was completed, Abel and I went into the house.

Our father came over to greet us as soon as he heard us enter.  “Hello boys.”  He was clearly surprised that we were together.  “Have you two spent all day with each other?”

I nodded.  Abel bubbled over with information.  “Yes.  We walked all the way into town, and then we met David and somebody named Simon, and we went to the hills, and played swords, and Simon hit me but he didn’t mean to, and Jon bought me an apple.”

Involuntarily, I cringed at the word apple, but Abel stopped there.  The kid was doing good.

My father looked over at me.  “Well, that was nice of you.”

I didn’t know quite how to respond to that.  I certainly did not want to make a habit of taking Able with me everywhere.

Dad turned back to Abel.  “But you didn’t get any reading done.  School starts soon.”  Abel is a slow reader.  Dad put him on a reading program so he wouldn’t fall too behind in school.  Abel loved it, reading about all sorts of mythological heroes.

“I’ll do it tomorrow.  I really don’t need all those books anymore though.”

“Oh, you don’t?” My Father’s eyebrows raised.

“No, I’ve got a new hero now.  Jon.”

My father wasn’t quite sure how to react to that one.  (Nor was I for that matter.  I felt my cheeks blush, and I just kind of looked at the ground).  “I think you need to find a new hero,” my father said in a stern voice, but I could tell he was pleased.  “It’s late Abel, you should get to bed.”  My father led Abel to the stairs, stopped, looked back at me with a curious expression, and walked Abel the rest of the way up to his bedroom.

Chapter 3

“Hey!  Hey!”  Before my eyes could even focus, the image of an angry red faced man flashed before them.  My father’s face was two inches from mine.  “What are you still doing in bed?”

My mind was still groggy from sleep.  I just stared back blankly.  “Do you want to make us late for church?”

“No, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to—“

“We’re leaving in five minutes,” my dad said, as he left the room.  I leaped out of bed and hurriedly put on some clothes.  No time to wash up this morning.  Oh well.

It had been three days, reader, since you saw me last.  Rest assured that the time was spent the best way a fourteen-year-old boy can spend it.  I spent the time in play with David, and my other friends, arguing and running and wrestling and all sorts of other things.

I groped around my floor, looking for a clean pair of socks.  I could hear conversation from down the stairs.

“Do I have to go to church?” Abel whined.

“Of course you do,” my father answered without pausing.  “Jonathon, hurry up!” he shouted.

“I’m coming,” I shouted back.  I had learned long ago that it was pointless to argue against church.  Abel had not yet learned this.

“But I don’t want to go.”  Watch out Abel.  You’re on fragile ground here.

“You’re going anyway,” my father’s voice answered firmly.

“But I don’t even like church.”

There was a silence, in which I can only assume my father was giving Abel a disapproving look.  Then, in a stern voice he answered, “Abel, church is where we go to worship God.  When you talk about church, you talk about it with respect.  Is that clear?”

“But church is boring.”  Shut up Abel.  Shut up, shut up shut up.  “I hate church.”

I heard the sound of a slap, followed by Abel’s wailing.  “Are you ready yet Jonathon?”

I pulled my shirt over my head.  “I’m coming,” I called back down, as I opened my door.

Reader, allow me to be blunt.  I think I can successfully summarize my attitude towards church back then in two words: church sucks.

The particular church we attended was only a ten-minute walk from our house.  Very convenient.  It was made up of all sorts of other elites who could afford to live outside the city.  The Duke himself attended.

It was pure torture to sit through.  The service was seldom over an hour long, but if someone had asked me back then I would have sincerely told them that the service was between two and three hours.  It was drudgery.  Adjectives, dear reader, fail me in my attempt to describe how hard the service was for an energetic boy to sit through.  The stale music, the irrelevant sermons, everything.  How I hated it.

I was not alone in this.  Most of my school fellows hated church as well.  Their objections will be recorded in due time.  For now they must stay silent though.  They all attended church in the city.

Very few children attended our church.  Two boys, who were Abel’s age, named Cain and Seth, with whom he would frequently run off with after church attended, and one girl who was my age: Rosa.  She was a classmate of mine at school.  A very intelligent girl, a very energetic girl, with wild eyes and a piercing gaze.  I deeply regret the fact that I never got to know her back then, but I would discover later how powerful she was.

I should mention here that there were rumors that the Duke also had a son my age.  Although no one had even seen this legendary son, these myths continued.  You will be glad to hear, reader, that I never believed them.

We approached the church.

I am suddenly beset by a little nagging voice that urges me to describe the church.  “What kind of an author are you if you don’t give vivid descriptions.”  The voice has power.  But reader, surely you know what a church looks like.

Picture it reader, for it is all there in your mind.  Do I even need to mention the white steeple?  The big tan doors?  The stained glass windows?  The rows of parishioners, all dressed in their finest clothes of the week.

Yes, I should include this now.  I hate those dress clothes, that I was forced into every Sunday.  I hated the tight collar, the stiff pants, and the shoes that always seemed just a little too small.  Perhaps my greatest pleasure out of the whole church experience was tearing those clothes of when I arrived home.

We entered the church.  The very staleness of it assaulted my senses.  I coughed involuntarily from the feeling of staleness.  Angry eyes flashed from all sides, upset that I would dare cough in the house of God.  My father, whose hand was already on my shoulder, tightened his grip.

We sat silently in one of the pews.  The service had already started.  My father was somewhat embarrassed, although it was not unusual for our family to arrive late.  My father knew how disrespectful it was to arrive late to the house of God.

We were not the only ones who were late however.  Shortly after the service started, another figure slipped in the pew quietly next to me.  He patted the side of my leg in a friendly manner.  I looked over.  It was old Flash himself.  Flash was no stranger to my family.  In fact, he had dined at our house once.  Or was that twice.  It’s so hard to remember the finer details.

Flash smiled at me, and I returned his smile.  Flash, as busy as he was, never failed to attend church.

Rest assured, Reader, that with Flash sitting next to me I was on my best behavior for the entire service.  After the service, when the benediction was given, people began to talk to each other again.

The Duke patted my leg again.  “So Jonathon, it has been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“Yes sir it has.”

“My, my.  And how old are you?  Sixteen?  Seventeen?

I assume old Flash was just flattering me.  I am sure I did not look sixteen or seventeen.  “I’m fourteen.”

The Duke raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.  “Really?  Only fourteen?  Well, Jonathon, you’ve got a lot of growing up to do then.  Are you eager to grow up?”

What an odd question.  I wasn’t sure how to answer that.  “No, not yet.”  It seemed like the appropriate thing to say.  The fact was I couldn’t wait to grow up, but I knew if I said that it would open up all sorts of new questions.

The Duke smiled.  “You’re a smart boy.  Of course, you know when you do grow up, I’ve got a nice job waiting for you.”

“Yes sir,” I answered, faking as much enthusiasm as I could.

Flash bought it.  “That a boy.  I can’t wait to work with you, if you’re even close to being as clever as your father.”

At this point I realized my father had been standing behind me the whole time, listening to the conversation.  He placed his hands proudly on my shoulder.  “He’ll be a lot more clever.”

Flash laughed.  “I don’t know if I could handle that.  I might have competition for my job."” My father and Flash both laughed at the comment, but there was a sinister truth hidden behind it.  The Duke dealt harshly to anyone who might be a rival to his power.

“Well, how are you Paul?” Flash asked.

“Its been a tough week, but I survived,” my father answered.

I had no desire to stay and listen to this conversation, so I slipped out.  I went outside to enjoy the weather, although basking in the warm outdoors only made me all the more conscious that I had spent the morning in its absence.  Abel ran by with his two playmates, Seth and Cain.  I was hot in my clothes.  I longed to be home already and to fling them off.  I moved about stiffly in my clothes.  Rosa and her parents walked out of the church.  Rosa was a pretty girl, I thought.  I waved, somewhat timidly.  If she noticed, she chose to ignore it.

I waited and waited and waited.  Eventually my father emerged from the church, still talking and laughing with old Flash.  Our family departed.

We walked in silence for a while.  Eventually, my father turned to me.  “So you were talking to the Duke?”

“Yeah.”

Well what else was there to say?  It was not a deep question.  My father reacted in frustration.  His face became tight.  He took a deep breath.  “You know, I really wish that you could communicate in more than one word answers”.

I thought this was unfair.  I was asked a yes or no question.  “What?” I said annoyed.

“Like when you were talking to the Duke.  You only gave him one word answers.”

“What was I supposed to say?”

“Just be friendly.  Talk to the man.  Elaborate.  Ask him questions.”  The prospect of having a long conversation with old Flash did not thrill me.  It must have reflected on my face because my father took it upon himself to convince me further.  “You know you’re going to be working for him someday.  You might as well get on good terms with him.”

Now I knew better, but I acted without thinking.  “What if I don’t want to work for the Duke?”

My father stopped in his tracks.  He turned angrily towards me, his hand grabbed my arm.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Abel smiling.  Like all siblings, Abel delighted when I was in trouble and he was not.  I silently resolved to get him later.

“What are you talking about?” My father yelled angrily.  I didn’t know what to say so I simply remained mute.  “What else would you do?”

A million answers flooded into my head: write, teach, draw, sculpt.  Travel.  Just travel.  Just get out of here for once.  Be an athlete.  A merchant.  Anything.  Just ever-loving live.  Just live!  Nothing.  None of these options I could make a suitable living on, and I knew it.  “I don’t know,” I answered.  “Something.”

My father glanced away and then back at me.  “Okay, listen to me.  Are you listening?”  Of course I was listening.  What else would I be doing?  I nodded silently.  “You are a very privileged boy.  You know that?  You know how many people would love to have the opportunities you have at your fingertips?  I’ve worked hard my whole life to get into this position, and you’re going to be able to slip right into it.  Do you appreciate that?  Your life couldn’t be easier.  You’ll never find another job that is this good.  Do you understand?  Do you?”  I nodded.  “Alright, so don’t do anything stupid then.  You’ve got everything you need already.”  Of course I did.  I felt everything closing in on me.

Chapter 4

All right reader, beware, for my narrative is about to explode into a stream of characters.  Each one must be introduced and described, while I must be careful not to let the thread of my story be forgotten.  Hang on.

It is the first day of school.  In years past, I had to walk Abel to school with me to make sure he arrived safely.  This year I began classes much earlier in the morning, and so my father had arranged for Abel to walk to school with his two friends from church.

I biked into school, and arrived while light was just beginning to pierce the sky.  It was the first day, and my enthusiasm was as high as it would be all year.  I arrived a half-hour early.

Most of us were early.  David and Simon were standing outside the school, as where a host of others.  The other names are important, but they are not important right now.  I joined Simon and David, and talked to them.  With only ten minutes left till class began, we were joined by another.

I grimaced when I saw him approach.  He was fourteen, like the rest of us.  He truly could have passed for sixteen or seventeen, however.  He was tall, and well built.  For as young as he was, his body still seemed to bulge with muscles.  His face was spotless, without a single blemish.  His hair was perfect.  His clothes were always in style.

Ah, but I haven’t even begun.  He was an athlete, and what an athlete.  Star of the football team.  Star of the basketball team.  Star of the Baseball team, star runner, star swimmer, star wrestler.

And sports weren’t all he excelled at.  He was gifted in music as well.  He could sing with a voice like an angel.  He played several instruments and played them well.  And he was smart.  A genius really.  His grades were always top notch.

He was smooth.  He always knew the right thing to say.  He was charming.  He was funny.  He was loved by all, and there wasn’t a girl in our class who didn’t dream about him at night.  He was like a bright light, like a morning star.  He was lucent, like a son of the morning.  His name was Orion.

Orion seemed to be on some sort of quest to make my life miserable.  Ever since we were young boys in the beginning grades, he took it upon himself to destroy everything I was proud of.

“Well, well.  Hello Jonny,” his voice boomed.  “I’m glad to see you’ve made it today.”  His voice was louder than usual.  He wanted everyone to hear.  The crowd realized this, and quieted down.  There were probably only about fifteen or twenty others there.

“Hello, Orion,” I said cautiously.

“I’ve ah” Orion turned to face the crowd, “I’ve been hearing little things about you Jonny.”

“Really?”

“I hear you’ve become quit a rebel.  I hear you stole a hat from a Strate.”

“You heard right.”  I answered proudly.

“I don’t believe it.”  Orion’s voice was challenging.

I had the hat with me in my book sack.  I reached behind me, and produced it proudly.

My fellow students immediately crowded around Orion and me, jostling each other to get a closer look.

Orion’s eyebrows raised.  “Impressive Jonny, Impressive.  You’re quite a hero, aren’t you?”

I nodded.  Orion’s tone was condescending, but so far he had only increased my popularity.  I didn’t understand.

Orion swung his book bag off of his shoulders.  He reached in.  The crowd leaned forward to see what he would pull out.  I caught myself leaning forward as well.  Orion pulled his hand out to reveal – a Strate’s hat.  My jaw dropped.  He had one too?  How?  I saw a Strate take his hat off and leave it.  Could the same thing have happened to him?  That would be too much of a coincidence.  But how else?

“I grabbed it right off of the Strate’s head,” Orion said proudly.  “The sucker couldn’t even get close to catching me.”

Of course he couldn’t.  Track star Orion probably could outrun all of the Strates.  Orion grinned at me proudly.  “Now, how did you get your hat?”

I was tempted to make something more impressive up, but I knew Orion probably already heard the whole story.  “The Strate took it off.”

Orion’s grin turned into a wide smile.  The bell rang and we flooded into class.  A crowd of adoring girls followed Orion.  Orion went into one class, I went into another.  I sat by David as I always do.

And there were other people in the class too.  Can I delay the ejaculation of knowledge any further?  Streams of description long to burst forth.

Clodius and Joshua.  Yes reader, I grew up with both Clodius and Joshua.  Those are now household names in Fabula.  I was deeply shocked to find out they are unknown overseas.  The fact that I knew both Clodius and Joshua in my childhood, a fact which I took great pride in, became meaningless overseas.  Now I must describe them to an audience who has no idea who either is.

Clodius was the son of a prominent lawyer.  His family was certainly middle class, but not wealthy by any means.

But how best to describe Clodius?  This is somewhat difficult because I was never particularly close to him, and at that age I largely ignored him.  He wasn’t really quiet, and he certainly wasn’t shy, it was just that he was interested in none of the things we were interested in, and we couldn’t care less about the things he was interested in.  While we congregated to play basketball, or while we ran through the halls creating trouble, Clodius preferred to sit in a corner and read.  He loved to read.  And nothing I would have been interested in reading either.  He read a lot of history books, of all things.  In fact, I still have an image of him sitting under a tree on a fall day, where he spent the entire afternoon engrossed in a history book.  And philosophy.  He loved philosophy, probably even more than history.  He checked out volumes of philosophical works form the library and just devoured them.

As may be expected, Clodius was academically inclined.  However, he was far from the teacher’s pet.  That work that he chose to do, he did excellently, but often he would choose not to do an assignment.  He only did homework that interested him, and so the terrible grades he received masked the brilliant mind that acquired them.

And the questions he asked.  Understand reader that Fabulae, for all its liberal sounding rhetoric, ceased to be a free state long ago.  The schools were a state owned institution, reporting directly to the Duke.  Even as children we knew that.  One had to be very careful about the questions one asked in a school setting.  Clodius must have known this.  He chose to ignore it though.  I remember one class (and I forget exactly when this was.  It could have been as much as a couple years earlier.  Clodius was a precocious young boy), when Clodius asked why our history book still insisted Fabluae was a democracy despite the fact that current events obviously showed otherwise.  I still laugh when I picture the teacher’s shocked face.  Clodius was quickly escorted out of the classroom where I can only assume he was taken to the principle’s office and a futile attempt must have been made to instill some common sense into him.  It didn’t work.  The inappropriate questions continued, and the teacher’s did their best to keep Clodius out of more serious trouble.

I can picture Clodius in my mind. He usually had a thoughtful expression on his face.  His hair was pitch black and curly.  I want to say it was long and out of control and he constantly had to brush it up to keep it from covering his eyes.  At this age though, it was still short and relatively controlled.

Still with me reader?  Can you handle another description?  I still need to introduce Joshua.

Joshua was a bastard, literally speaking, meaning that the man his mother lived with was not his father.  No one, including, I believe, Joshua’s mother, knew who Joshua’s father really was.  In the conservative setting of Fabulae, this was quite a stigma that poor Joshua had to grow up under.  Orion in particular I recall bugged Joshua about this relentlessly.

And what is there to say about Joshua?  Like Clodius, I never really got to know Joshua when he was a schoolmate of mine.  It is well known that all sorts of myths have sprung up in Fabulae about Joshua.  Some of these myths, in varied form, have even made their way overseas.  I would like to once and for all put these myths to rest.  Joshua was just like everyone else.  He was ordinary.  There is nothing about him that even sticks out in my mind when I attempt to describe him.  He was just ordinary.  Ordinary, ordinary, ordinary, I can think of no better description.

Okay reader, still there?  Let us return to the narrative.  Clodius and Joshua were both in the room and both will be featured in my story later, but for now it is just me and David.

The class was assembled, and everyone was talking while we waited for the teacher.  I leaned over to David.  David knew what I was thinking.  “Tough break, huh?”

“It was incredible.  He’s got all the attention now.”

“That’s probably what he wants.”

Way to go for understatement of the year Dave.  “That’s exactly what he wants.  He’s always trying to ruin things for me.”

David always wanted to see the good in people.  He had a hard time imagining someone who was up to no good.  “Do you think you might be a little paranoid Jon?”

The teacher entered the classroom.  “Good morning class,” she chirped.

“Good morning,” the class unenthusiastically repeated.  In fact, it was like her greeting was being returned by a chorus of grunts.  None of us were happy about being there.  The teacher was not a novelty to us by any means.  It was the same few teachers that taught at the school every year.

“How is everyone?” she asked.  Again, the grunts repeated themselves.  Well, no need for long introductions here, everyone knew each other.  The teacher began.  “Today, we’re going to look at the early stages of Fabulae history.  Now does anyone know what economic conditions lead to the beginning of the resistance?”

Clodius’ hand shot up.  No one in the class even bothered.  Why compete with Clodius?  He knows this stuff cold.  The teacher, however, was hesitant to call on Clodius.  One never knew what kind of an answer Clodius would give.

“Kevin, do you know?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Katie?”

“No Ma’am.”

“It was unavoidable.  “Clodius, you have an answer for us?”

Clodius beamed at being recognized.  “The nobility was no longer able to exploit the poor with the new Imperial legislation, so they decided to break away from the empire.”

Now reader, I realize that you have no knowledge of Fabulae history, but what Clodius was saying was not orthodox history.  It was not a direct attack on the Duke, but it was not a patriotic answer either.  It was not the answer he was supposed to give.

The teacher shifted her weight unhappily.  “No Clodius, that answer is incorrect.  Please see me after class.”  I can only assume that after class the teacher would try and convince Clodius of the foolishness of his answer, and make a doomed attempt to get through his thick skull the dangers of expressing such opinions publicly.  The teacher would also want to know where Clodius had come across such information, since any history book expressing such an opinion would surely have been banned long ago.  The teacher did not realize what a bright boy Clodius was.  He could read behind the lines of a history book very well.  It was quite possible that he had formed that opinion on his own.

“Would anyone like to tell me what really happened?”  Silence.  It was like pulling teeth.  Didn’t she realize none of us cared?  Just give us the answer and let’s move on.  “Matthew, what about you?”

I hate history.  Five minutes into the period and already my mind is moving to other things.  I leaned over to David to finish off the conversation that had been broken off earlier.  “You don’t understand Dave,” I whispered.  “He’s been on my case forever.”

“Huh?”  David’s face was confused.  It took a few seconds for his brain to remind him that this was what we discussed earlier.  “Oh.  That still.”

“I mean, everything I ever had he’s got to ruin.  Do you remember second grade?”

“Yeah.”  David was answering my questions to be polite, but he hated talking to me in class.  He was always afraid we were going to get in trouble (which we frequently did).  His face was always worried, and his answers were brief.

“You remmber how he ruined my presentation?  He had it in for me even back then.  And in third grade.  And in fourth grade.  In all the grades he’s always hounded me.”

“He must have a reason.”

Now this was the part I could never get David to understand, so I watched my voice carefully to make sure it stayed at a whisper.  I didn’t want to get carried away here.  “No, see Dace, that’s just the point.  He has absolutely no reason.”

“He must have some reason.  Have you done something to him?”

“I never did anything!”

“Jonathon!  David!”  We’d been caught.  Did I raise my voice too loud on that last statement?  I’d like to think I’m more cautious than that, but I suppose in my enthusiasm my voice could have gotten away from me.  More likely is that the teacher caught us whispering out of the corner of her eye.  “Will you two please shut up and listen to the lesson?”

“Yes Ma’am” we both answered.  She did not look happy; but then, she was never happy.

I, of course, was inwardly outraged.  I was talking about something important here and she has to intrude on us.  Who does she think she is?  I mean, really, what gives her authority over me?  I’m only in this classroom because I have to be, and I’m not disturbing the class I just want to talk to my friend.  Is it a crime to talk?  And now she was seeking to bury my relevant material under a sea of meaningless names and dates that couldn’t have applied less to me.

She glared at us for a couple more seconds, then addressed the class again.  “Now, after our founding fathers secured the coast, there still remained the problem of blah blah blah blah…”

I hate this class.  Why am I in this class?

I leaned over to David again.  “The only thing I can think of is that making fun of me makes him become more popular.”

“Jon, shut up.  You’re going to get us both in trouble.”  The teacher, who was still keeping on eye on us, I think saw the exchange but chose to let it go.  All we got was a dirty look.

I sat through the rest of the class period in silence, with my attention running all over the place.  After fifty minutes, the bell rang, and we packed up our stuff.

“What’s with you?” I asked David.

“Jon, listen, it’s the first day of school.  Do we have to get I n trouble on the first day?”

“But I was talking about something important.”

“We can talk about it at break,” David answered, as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.  David exited the room while I was still packing up my books.

The next two classes I spent without David.  As I sat in class, I sorted things out in my mind.  Orion had beaten me.  He had effectively taken all the glory.  What was my recourse?

My immediate response was impulsive.  I had to out do Orion.  If he had stolen a hat, I must steal a jacket.  Ordinarily at this point David would have chimed in.  “What are you, crazy?  How are you going to get a Strate’s jacket?  Jon, promise me you’re not going to do this.”

But David was not here now.  It was just me and my thoughts.  I was forced to come to that conclusion on my own.  There was no outdoing.  the very prospect of obtaining a Strate’s jacket was ridiculous.

So what was there to do?  Again, if David was here he would have answered, “Nothing Jon, just let it go.  Just forget about it.”  My fictional David was again correct.  Orion had outdone me, victory must be conceded.

I met David at break.  The hallways were flooded with students, and it was hard to hear anything over the thunderous din of hundreds of conversations all taking place at once.

“Okay Jon, what did you want to talk about?” David asked.

“Nothing Dave, I got it figured out,” I answered.

I was later to find out how Orion really obtained that hat, and then I was certainly glad I did not try to out do him.

Chapter 5

My mother died when I was eight years old.  It was, without a doubt, the hardest part of my childhood.  It left me with only my father.

I have heard it said before that every child goes through certain stages in their relationship with their parents.  In the first stages, the child develops a kind of hero worship for the parents.  The parents can do no wrong in the child’s eyes.  If I was ever in that stage, I don’t remember it.

By the time I was eight, I remember being very critical of several things about my dad.  By the time I was fourteen, they had multiplied exponentially.

The first event that really changed the view I had of my father was the Tramp incident.

When you last saw me, reader, it was the end of summer.  Now fast forward to the winter of that year.  I was still fourteen, though in a couple months that would change.  David, being a few months older, was already fifteen.  Nothing had changed though.  It was becoming a theme in my life I could not escape, the staleness of an unchanging world.

I suppose I should explain what the winters are like in Fabulae.  Fabulae, especially Urbae, is one of those pleasant temperature zones where nothing really ever changes.  Was my child like mind frustrated by the boring consistency, that I lived in a place where even the weather conspired not to change?  I can see where you would think that reader.  However, until I learned what other climates were like, it never occurred to me that the weather could be any different.  Our summers were warm, our winters were cool.  Hot and cold we never knew.  Of course these are relative terms.  Until I discovered what cold can mean in other places, I thought our winters were quite cold indeed.  Sometimes, I would wake up and see the lake outside our house was frozen.  We would even get a light snow once in a while.

Anyway, it was in the course of one such winter that our house received a visitor.  Abel and I were home studying when there was a rap on the door.  It was very unusual for us to get unexpected visitors, especially after dark.  Our house was near to nothing.  Abel and I, filled with curiosity, raced each other to the door.

Our father had heard the rapping as well.  He had brought his work home, as was his habit, and had been working in his study.  Consequently, his study being away from the main part of the house, we beat him to the door, but he was equally curious.

With child like minds, I don’t think it ever occurred to either Abel or I that the person behind the door could be a thief, or an assassin, or some other character which wished our family harm.  I can see now why my father bolted from his study to try and catch up with us.

I grabbed the doorknob eagerly.  Abel, who had wanted the honor of opening the door, protested by my side.  I flung the door open.  Abel and I both stared at the figure it revealed.

He was a tall man.  My eyes were immediately drawn to his clothes.  His pants were so covered with mud it was impossible to determine what their original color had been.  On many areas his skin showed through where the pants were ripped or worn away.  He had no shoes, but his socks, which I assume where once white, were caked with mud as well.  His shirt was muddy also, but a distinctive shade of green was still visible.  The shirt was worn away at the elbows, revealing bare skin.  His hands were without gloves, which was unwise in this weather.  They were purple from the cold.  My eyes moved further up.  His neck and face were caked with mud.  He had a big brown beard, which hid much of his face from view.  His lips and cheeks were obviously chapped from the wind.  His hair was long and tangled and matted with mud.  He smelled funny.

Abel let out a cry of surprise and jumped backward at the sight of this man.  I was shocked as well.  I had never scene a man who appeared like this one.  “Timothy!” my father exclaimed.

“Paul,” the figure said back.  “You’ve got to help me.”  The voice seemed somehow cracked or broken, as if the every word was an effort.

“Tim, I can’t I—“ my father started out, then stopped.  “Alright Tim, get in.”  My father practically pulled Timothy into the house then shut the door.  “Did anyone see you come here?”  Timothy shook his head.  My father smelled the air.  “You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you Timothy?”  Timothy didn’t answer.  My father turned to us.  “Jonathon, Abel, I need you two to go to every window in the house and close the blinds.”

“But why?” Abel asked.

“Just do it,” my father snapped back.

Dutifully, Abel and I scoured the house, closing all the blinds.

When we returned, Timothy was at the kitchen table.  My father was making soup for him.  Timothy was munching on bread.  My father’s back was to us, so he didn’t even notice at first when we entered the room.  “Well, when was the last time you even took a bath Tim?” my father asked.  “You smell horrible.”  Tim did not answer.  My father turned to serve him his soup and saw Abel and I standing attentively.  “Excuse me for a moment Tim,” he said, leaving the stranger with his warm soup.  My father ushered us into the other room.

Abel was unable to contain his curiosity.  ‘Who is the strange man?  Who is he?”

“He’s a friend of mine.  Listen, I need the help of both of you, okay?  I need you two not to tell anybody that he’s here.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so Abel.  I need you two to promise.”  All right, fair enough.  If I was my father I wouldn’t trust Abel with any extra information either.  I assumed I would find out later who this strange man was.

“I promise,” I said.  Abel mimicked me.

“Okay, thank you.  Now, it would really help me out if you boys would just go to bed now.”

“But I have homework,’ Able protested.

“I’ll write your teacher a note.”

Abel wasn’t prepared for that response.  Having homework was ordinarily a free ticket to stay up.  He desperately tried his other arguments.  “But I don’t want to.  I want to stay up.  It’s not even late yet.”

“Abel, bed!”  That voice meant business.  I watched to see if Abel would be foolish enough to contest it.  Abel reluctantly began to walk toward the stairs.

“How come I have to go to bed and Jon gets to stay up?”

“Jonathon is going to bed too.”  Now this I couldn’t understand.  Send Abel to bed, but I’m fourteen, almost fifteen.  I’m old enough to handle anything.  Besides which, it was insanely early to go to bed.  It had only been dark outside for about an hour.  It wasn’t even my curfew yet, let alone my bedtime.

“What?”  Not very elegant, but I think it summed up all my arguments.

“Jonathon, please.”  My father’s voice was much more of a request than a command.  He was trying to be nice to me.  I rejected it.  No matter what his tone of voice was, he was out of line by trying to send me to bed.  At the same time, I knew it was fruitless to argue with him.  I grabbed my books, went upstairs, and studied in my room.

The next day I woke up for school.  I went downstairs, wondering what I would find.  Although I looked all over, I did not find the mysterious figure.  That meant he was probably sleeping in my dad’s room.  My dad, not yet gone for work, was probably still in the room, and I dared not go in for fear of his wrath.

I biked into school with curiosity stirring in me.  First hour as always I sat next to David.

I soon lost interest in what the teacher was saying.  “Hey, David,” I whispered.  “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“What?”

“I can’t say it here.  It’s top secret.”

“Well at break then?”

“Yeah.”

“Jonathon!  David!  Do I have to send you two to the office yet again?”

“No ma’am,” we quickly answered.

“Okay, then be quiet.  Now, I’ve got your stories graded already.  They were pretty good for the most part.”  The teacher patted the stack of papers next to her.  “Katie,” she handed Katie back her paper.  “Well done.”

“Thank you ma’am.”

“Kevin.  Where’s Kevin?  There you go Kevin.  Well done.”

“Thank you.”

“Joshua.  You’ve got a good story, but you need to work on your style.  And add more details.  Sally, here’s your paper, good job.  Alison, beautifully written.  Clodius, see me after class.  David.”  The teacher paused by David.  “You’ve really got a nice writing style.”

David blushed slightly.  “Thank you.”

The teacher’s face turned to a frown as she looked at me.  “And Jonathon, you still haven’t handed in your story.”

“I know ma’am.”

“Can I expect it anytime soon?”

“I’ve got better things to do ma’am.”

All right reader, that last line was a lie.  I had enough sense not to say that, although I was certainly thinking it.  I mumbled something about how it was almost done, and she intensified her glare and then moved on.  “Matthew, good job.  Icarus, excellent paper.  Arthur, decent story, but you’ve got to be careful about putting words in the mouth’s of historical figures.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Molly, great paper.  Sue blah blah blah blah…”

David reached over and tapped Arthur on the shoulder.  “Hey, can I read your story?”

Arthur was surprised at the interest in his work.  “Sure man, if you want.”  Arthur handed his story to David, who put it in his folder to read later.  The bell rang and I was off to my second class.  I met David at break.

Reader, do not judge me too harshly.  It wasn’t that I was intentionally defying my father by telling David about the Tramp who inhabited our house.  I just thought it was assumed when we promised not to tell anybody, that David did not count.

At break, David and I went into a classroom.  They were empty during break, and I described the strange visitor that had surprised us last night.  David was curious, as was I, to find out who this stranger was.  I made sure David was sworn to secrecy, then we went back out into the hall.

After school got out, curiosity had all but torn me apart.  I hopped on my bike and raced back, not even taking time to socialize.  My father would still be at work when I got home, so it was my chance to discover this stranger.  I biked so fast my legs felt like jelly when I finally arrived home.

I ran into the house.  The stranger was no where to be seen.  I flung open the door to my father’s room, and there was the Tramp.

I don’t know what he had been doing in that room by himself.  Staring at the wall?  He was just sitting and staring blankly ahead.  He looked at me without speaking and I looked back.  I was still trying to catch my breath, and we probably stared at each other for at least one minute without either of us talking.

“Who are you?” I said still breathless, made bold by my curiosity.  He just stared blankly back at me.  I noticed for the first time how old he looked.  Much older than my Dad.  I knew he could talk; he was not getting out of this question.  “Who are you?” I repeated.  Again a blank stare.  I became infuriated.  “Answer me!” I yelled.  He must have been shocked that a young boy would speak so harshly to an older man.  It registered on his face.

“I’m a friend of your father’s” he answered.

“My name’s Jonathon,” I volunteered.

“My name’s Timothy.”  This much I had picked up last night, but it was a good step to getting him talking.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I have no where else to go.”

What did that mean?  “How come I’ve never seen you before?  Why doesn’t my father want anyone to know you’re here?”

“Do you know where your father keeps his alcohol?”

That wasn’t exactly an answer to my question.  “Yes, I do.”

The tramp licked his lips.  “Can I have some?”

“If you answer my questions, I’ll give it to you.”

“Can I have a drink first?”

No way buddy.  These questions have been eating at me all day.  I shook my head.

The tramp sighed.  “What do you want to know?”

“Who are you and why are you here?”

“I’m a friend of your father’s.  We were friends all through school.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged.  “Nothing happened, we just grew apart.”  He saw a blank look on my face.  “You’ll understand when you’re older.  We both went off to the University and made new friends there.  And why am I here?  I’m here because I’m cold, I’m hungry, I’m out of money, and I need a place to sleep for a few days.”

“Why doesn’t my father want anyone to know you’re here.”

“Because I’m a criminal.”

My father?  Harboring a fugitive?  It was unbelievable.  My interest could not have been higher.  “What did you do?”

“I was hungry.  I stole some food.”  Wow!  A criminal, in my house.  “Can I have a drink now Jonathon?  Please?”  I led Timothy to my father’s alcohol.  He guzzled it down.  “You want some kid?” he asked.

I made a face of distaste.  “I can’t stand the stuff.”

Timothy smiled.  “You’ll grow to like it someday,” he said, as he took another swallow.

Abel arrived home not long after.  Leaving Abel to entertain the visitor, I studied in my room.  My father arrived home a couple hours later.  I was made aware of this by an angry rapping on my door.  I opened it.

“Did you give Timothy my alcohol?” my father asked fiercely.

I was surprised that I was in trouble for this.  “He wanted some,” I said defensively.

“Don’t you ever, ever give that man anymore alcohol.”  My father was furious.  I didn’t even know I had sinned.  “He’s had far too much of that already.”

“But he asked for it.”  After all, I was just being a good host.  Why should I get chewed out for that?

“I don’t care.  He can’t handle it anymore.”  My father turned to leave.

“So he’s a fugitive?” I asked, very curious to get my Dad’s perspective.

My father stopped and turned around.  “Yes, yes he is.”

“But you’re hiding him anyway?”

“He was my friend.”  I couldn’t believe it.  My father was flat out disobeying the Duke.  It was a side of him I had never seen before.

“Like me and David?”

“Oh no.  No nothing at all like–“ My father stopped himself and thought.  “Well, yes I suppose.  Maybe we weren’t all that dissimilar from you and David.”

It was a rare moment of closeness with my father.  Just for a little bit I was beginning to see what made him really tick.  “And then you just gradually grew apart?”

“No.  No that wasn’t what happened at all.”

“That’s what he said.”

“He’s lying.”

“Then what happened?”

My father stood up.  “I don’t want to talk about it, Jonathon.”  He walked towards the door.  “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said.  I agreed.

At dinnertime I left my studies to return to the kitchen.  Timothy was not there, however.  Able asked where the strange man was, and my father flatly answered that Timothy would be eating by himself.  After dinner, Abel and I did the dishes.  I retired to my room to finish my studies until, weary of homework, I decided just to go to bed.

I had only climbed into bed and the light was just out when my father came into the room.  He apologized for intruding on my sleep and offered to come back later and I assured him it was all right.  He wanted to know everything Timothy had told me, and I told him.  “Lies,” my father said.  “Those are all lies.”  My father then preceded to tell me what really happened.

According to my father, he and Timothy had not drifted apart gradually, but had a decisive fight that had ended their friendship.  My father refused to tell me what the fight had been about.  Timothy did not become a wanted man for stealing food, although my father remarked that “he had probably done that too.”  Instead Timothy, in a drunken rage, had attacked one of the Duke’s men.  The Duke’s second in command to be precise.  Angelo, Flash’s right hand man, had tried to clear Timothy from the streets and gotten punched because of it.  Because of that, Angelo wanted Timothy’s head.

Timothy, my father told me, had once been a promising young man who at the university showed every sign of brilliance and looked like he was well on his way to success.  Unfortunately, Timothy had become an alcoholic, and drank his way into apathy and poverty.  Timothy’s alcoholism, my father asserted, had been his downfall.

My father seemed very bitter towards Timothy still, but risked his whole career to shelter him.  I was astonished.

The last time I talked to Timothy before he left our house was the following afternoon.  I arrived home after school.  Timothy was eating food out of our kitchen.  My father had apparently decided there was no need to hide him in the bedroom anymore.  Timothy didn’t even look up at me when I entered.  He just kept eating, sitting at the table.

“You lied to me,” I said fiercely.

He looked up, stuffing his mouth with more bread.  “What are you talking about,” he said with mouth full.

I pulled out a chair and sat down at the other side of the table.  “My dad told me what really happened.”

“What did he tell you?”  His mouth was still full.

“He told me you two had a fight.  He also told me you’re a fugitive because you attacked Angelo.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s for sure.”

“How do you know he’s right?”

It was a simple question, but I was not expecting it.  I was silenced briefly before answering, “because I trust him.”

“But you don’t even know me.  You don’t know if I’m trustworthy or not.”

“Are you trustworthy?”

“You’ll have to make that decision.  But don’t make it until you know me.”  I didn’t know what else to say.  We just looked at each other and then he went back to eating our bread.

I was motivated by a desire to say something.  The silence was awkward for me.  “Do you work?” I asked.

He shook his head.  “I can’t hold down a job.  I can only work for about a week or two before I start showing up drunk.”

I didn’t understand.  “Why don’t you just not show up drunk?”

“Why don’t you shut up kid?”  His tone had a distinctive edge to it.  I had angered him without intending to.

“I’m sorry,” I said.  At the risk of getting snapped at by this touchy man, I gave into my growing curiosity.  “Where do you stay?”

“I don’t stay anywhere.”

“I mean, where do you sleep?”

“On the ground.”

This was unbelievable to me.  “In this weather?”

He became irritated again.  “Well, where else am I going to stay?  Nobody will give me a bed I can afford.”

I was silent again.  In the back of my mind lurked the question I really wanted to ask.  I was afraid he would explode.  Bracing myself, I asked anyway.  “Dad says all your misery is self-inflicted.”

“So?”

“So what are you complaining about?”

His eyes hardened.  “So that gives everyone else the right to treat me like scum?”  I shrugged.  “You have no idea what it’s like.”  He looked away from me and continued eating bread.  Not wanting to anger him any further, I retreated to my room.

When my father arrived home, he knocked on my door.  After we exchanged greetings, my father asked where Timothy was.

“Isn’t he downstairs?” I asked.

My father shook his head.  “He’s not in the house.”

A thought hit me.  My heart beat faster as I thought about what I had done.  “I think I might have offended him.”

“You think he left because of something you said?”  I nodded, worried about what trouble I would be in.

“Good,” my father said, without changing his tone or his expression.  “I’ll see you at dinner Jonathon.”

Chapter 6

I have just been looking over what I wrote.  What an odd feeling.  Reading one’s own words is like listening to one’s own voice.  If only we weren’t so used to reading our own words, then I’m sure it would shock us a lot more.

I notice, reader, that I had promised to tell you about my classmates and their view on church.  I had a specific instance in mind when I said that, and now is as good a time to record it as any.  I’m not entirely sure where it fits into the chronology, but I believe it was after the Tramp incident.  I am fairly certain.  And so I believe I was still fourteen, but I could have been fifteen by this time.

Now, as I have already mentioned, with exception of Rosa none of my classmates attended the same church I did.  There was, however, compulsory chapel at School.  Daily.  It was right before lunch.  Attendance was taken viciously.

Believe it or not reader, I did not mind Chapel.  Does this surprise you?  As much as I hated church, I hated school more.  Chapel to me was a break from school where I could just turn my mind off and daydream.  Sometimes I could even get away with sleeping in the pew.  Not everyone felt the same way.

It was just after fourth hour.  Our class was preparing to join the rest of the school at Chapel.  If I remember right it was Clodius who began the discussion. Yes, that would have made perfect sense.

The teacher was in the front of the room.  “Now, I know we’ve had some issues of behavior before in Chapel.  I want you all to be on your best behavior this time.  When you do that you show respect to the speaker and you show respect to God.  Is everyone clear on that?  That means no talking, no sleeping, and no doing your homework during chapel.  It is a time of worship.”  I could feel myself become the focus of attention.  I was a repeat offender on all three crimes.  Pairs of eyes began pointing my way.  As if that wasn’t enough, the teacher had to point me out by name.  “Is that clear, Jonathon?”

“Yes sir,” I answered my face red with embarrassment.

“Good, now the rest of you have also been rather lacking in your chapel conduct lately blah blah blah blah…”

I felt a tugging at my sleeve.  I turned around and it was Clodius trying to get my attention.  “Hey!  Jon!” he whispered.  Was Clodius’ hair out of control by this point?  I don’t thinks so, but my memory refuses to cooperate.  Even though I know the wild hair did not come until a couple years later, my mind will not let me picture him otherwise.  So how to describe him here?  What I know is accurate, or what my memory is telling me?  Or perhaps literary descriptions are worthless.  Picture him how you like reader.

I leaned back.  “Yeah.”

“Don’t listen to him.  They can make us go to chapel, but they can’t make us pay attention.”

This man was speaking my language.  “Right on,” I replied.

“I still don’t believe how ridiculous this is,” Clodius said.  “That they force us to listen to this nonsense everyday.”

“It is boring,” I agreed.

“It’s more then boring.  It’s blatantly fake.  They’re feeding us lies.  Propaganda.”

This was going a little far for my tastes.  My objection to church was that I found it boring, not that I fundamentally disagreed with what was being said.  I mean, I liked to have fun but I didn’t want to go to hell.  Clodius was on his own for this one.  “I don’t know about that,” I said in response to Clodius’ statement.

“Oh don’t tell me you actually believe their lies.  I thought you were smarter than that Jon.”

Reader, I was absolutely shocked.  I had never heard our religion openly criticized before.  It was not the first time I had doubts, but it was the first time I had heard some one else vocalizing those doubts.

Is this possible?  Could one make it to fifteen without hearing criticism of religion?  Was I just incredibly sheltered?

Well, that was part of it.  Most of my classmates were not as shocked as I to hear Clodius’ ideas.  However, the religion was very powerful in Fabulae, and especially in Urbae.  The religious community enjoyed a very symbiotic relationship with the Duke.  The Duke did everything he could to encourage religion.  Religious institutions were not only free from tax but received healthy checks from the government.  No public criticism of religion was allowed.  In fact, membership in a church was obligatory.  Those citizens who were not members of a church were liable to harassment by the Duke’s men.  In return, the Duke and his policies were constantly supported from the pulpit.  We were constantly reminded that God had appointed the Duke, and so it was our religious duty to obey him.

And so, for those reasons, Clodius’ comments took me by surprise.  Hearing his out right disdain for religion caused me to doubt it as well.  I stammered for a few seconds, before saying, “I don’t know.  I think I believe it.”

Christopher, who had been listening to our conversation, came to my defense.  “Lay off of him Clodius.  Don’t listen to him Jon.”

“You’re a bigger idiot than I thought you were Chris.  People like you make me sick.”

“At least I’m not an enemy of God,” Christopher said back to Clodius.

Clodius laughed disdainfully.  “God.”  The very word was uttered from his lips with contempt.  “Tell me Christopher, why is it so important to God that I not have sex that he spends one chapel a week reminding me of it, but God has apparently forgotten about all the homeless in Urbae.  When was the last time God dedicated one of his chapels to helping them?  Why does God spend millions of dollars to build churches and can’t feed the hungry?  How come God keeps telling me how evil it is for me to drink alcohol because I’m only fifteen, but God doesn’t mind that my forty-year-old father comes home drunk every night.  God doesn’t make sense Christopher.”

“That’s not God.”  A new voice entered the discussion.  It was Joshua.  “Don’t confuse what God does with what people do.”

Clodius turned sharply on Joshua.  “Oh, really?  Well what do you think of chapel Joshua?  Do you like Chapel?”  Clodius’ voice had a very accusing tone to it, as if liking Chapel was the worst crime imaginable.

Joshua tilted his head in thought, then responded, “I like God.”

“So you think Chapel is a good idea then,” Clodius pressed.

Joshua shook his head.  “No.  No I don’t.  I don’t think you can force people to worship God.  And I don’t always agree with everything they say, or everything they do in Chapel, but I love God.”

I could tell Clodius was becoming uncomfortable.  Clodius was used to arguing with Christopher, and Christopher could usually be counted on to say the exact opposite of what Clodius’ believed.  With Joshua, Clodius wasn’t sure where to go.  He didn’t like the concept of a God, but that concept became harder to hate when it was in the hands of Joshua.  Clodius was wishing he could return to arguing against the God of Christopher.  Clodius changed his tactics.  “Don’t tell me you actually believe in God.”

“Very much.”

Clodius leaned forward eagerly.  “How can you believe in a God when there are so many hungry people?”

Again, Joshua was forced to think, before he meekly responded.  “I have love in my life.  How can there be love without a God?”

“How can there be hate with a God?” Clodius quickly countered.

“Hey, will everyone in that corner shut up.”  It was the teacher.  Actually, I was surprised he let it go that long.  “Alright, now everyone be respectful in Chapel, and I’m sure we won’t have any problems.”  The class filed towards the door in reverent silence.  I fell into line, but found my way blocked by Orion, who had been sitting on the other side of the room during class.

He got right in front of me and just stood there, a leering smile on his face.  I moved, and he moved with me, preventing me from going forward with that stupid smile.  My right hand tingled and I envisioned my hand slamming into his face and knocking him over.  I didn’t dare though.  He was stronger than me.

“What do you want?” I said at last.  

“Oh, nothing.  I’m just here to see my favorite group of philosophers.”

Apparently he had overheard our conversation.  “You’re going to make me late for chapel Orion,” I said.  Behind me were Clodius, Joshua, and Christopher, also blocked by Orion.

Orion laughed.  “What a pity, Jonny.  I know how much you enjoy chapel.”

“Hey, this isn’t funny Orion.  The teacher hates me already.”

Orion pointed to himself innocently.  “What?  Do you think the teacher is loves me?”  Now this was an interesting question because as far as I could tell the teacher loved Orion.  Everybody loved Orion.  It was one of the reasons he was such a problem.

A voice piped up behind me.  “You’re a bright boy Orion.  What do you think of Chapel?”  I could hardly believe my ears.  What was Clodius thinking?  Was he trying to get Orion involved in a philosophical discussion about Chapel?  That would never work.  Nothing Orion did had reasons, and he didn’t need it to be reasonable.

At least Clodius took the pressure off of me.  Orion walked right past me and got up close to Clodius.  I could have, I realized later, probably sneaked of to Chapel at that moment if I really wanted to.  Even if it had occurred to me though I wouldn’t have left these three sheep with the lion.

“Chapel,” Orion whispered to Clodius, “is the perfect distraction.”

“Get out of our way Orion,” Christopher declared.  “We’re missing Chapel.”

Orion was surprised that Christopher was talking to him.  “Who are you?” he asked.  “You don’t know who I am.”

Rather suddenly Orion turned on Joshua.  Joshua was one of his favorite victims.  “Of course you know all about me, don’t you Joshua?  Why don’t you tell the rest of these boys what I’m really like?”  Joshua did not answer.  In frustration at Joshua’s silence, Orion grabbed Joshua by the hair.  “Say something Joshua!” he demanded harshly.  He lifted Joshua up by the hair.  Joshua’s face squirmed with pain, but he did not resist Orion.  We all grimaced.

“Let him go Orion,” Clodius demanded.  Orion ignored him, looking intently at the pained face of Joshua.  “I said let him go.”  Clodius punched Orion in the face.

Now reader, I knew Clodius was fiery, but I still could not believe his audacity.  Orion was bulging with muscles.  Clodius had arms that reminded me of spaghetti.  Orion’s head jerked backwards in the direction of Clodius’ punch.  One still had to admire Clodius’ bravery.

Orion dropped Joshua.  His powerful arm swung out wildly and impacted Clodius.  Clodius fell backwards, hitting a desk on the way down.

Orion wiped his mouth to make sure he wasn’t bleeding.  He looked with satisfaction on the fallen Clodius, then turned his attention back to Joshua.  “You little bastard,” he said with contempt.  Orion grabbed Joshua’s collar and pushed him up against the wall.  “Who is your father, Joshua?  Where is your father, Joshua?”  Joshua remained silent.  Orion hit him in the stomach, and walked away as Joshua fell to the ground.

Chapter 7

It was a foolish impulse really.

It was summer again.  I am positive I was fifteen now.  Believe it or not reader, I had avoided clashing with the Strates for almost a year.

An insignificant amount of time?  Well, maybe.  I had my warning at fourteen, by fifteen I had disregarded it.  It was not even a year and I had forgotten my lesson.  At the time it seemed like a long stretch though.  After all, I had made it though a whole school year.  The summer before seemed like an eternity ago.

It was another carefree summer.  Somehow I took it for granted that every summer would be, and every summer should be, like that.

And reader, absolutely nothing had changed.  It was like a rerun of last summer.  Abel still complained about how he had nothing to do.  My father was still the Duke’s fourth in command.  David was still my best friend.  We spent virtually every summer day together, along with our other friends: Simon, whom you have already met and others.

One day David and I passed the Strate Park.

The Duke treated his men well.  He created a park especially for the Strates, which was off limits to civilians.  A high fence ensured not only that we would not enter, but that we could not even see what was inside.

Of course the Duke did not call it Strate Park.  That was our name for it.  I do not even remember what the real name was anymore—not that it matters anyway.

Curiosity had always nibbled away at me.  I longed to see what was in Strate Park.  Rumors declared that there were streams, waterfalls, green grass, all sorts of beauty.  The rumors even declared it was the most beautiful place in Urbae, and it was reserved exclusively for the use of the Strates.

I remarked to David upon passing that I would really love to see what was inside, and he, not realizing the danger of his answer, replied that he would as well, and all too quickly I became obsessed with the place.

I remarked frequently to David and all our other friends that I would love to get inside.  One day our friend Icarus told me he knew a way in.

“I’ve thought about this quite often myself,” said Icarus to David and I.  “And I think I might have found a way in.”  Icarus shared my curiosity.  He had a very inquisitive mind.

We walked along the steel wall.  It was much too high to hope to leap over.  There was nothing to grab onto, so one could not climb over.

“Do you boys really want to get into the park?” Icarus asked.

“Very much so,” I answered.

David, who should have talked me out of anything stupid, was caught up in curiosity himself.  All of us badly wanted to know what exactly was hidden behind those steel walls.

Old Flash was really quite clever when he designed the place.  No trees or tall objects were allowed near it.  No one could climb up a tree and peer over the walls to get a glimpse of the park.  If it was possible to see part of the park from any other part of Urbae, I was not aware of it.

Icarus pointed to the wall.  “See how there’s a ledge on top of it?  What we need is a rope with a hook attached to it.  We could throw the hook up, get it caught on the ledge, then use the rope to climb up.”

“Sweet.”  I was overjoyed at the prospect.

“How are we going to get down?” David asked.

“Easy,” Icarus answered.  “We’ll use the rope on the way down.”

A flaw in the plan occurred to me.  “Where in the world are we going to find a rope with a hook on it?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Icarus replied.  “My dad has one we could borrow.”  Icarus’ father was an inventor.  I had not yet met the man myself at this point in my life, but I had heard stories that described him as a rather eccentric gentleman.  But what is myth and what is fact?  What deserves to be recorded here, and what is nonsense?  To be honest, I am not sure if most of what I heard in the school hallways was true or not, but we heard plenty of stories about Dedalus, Icarus’ father.  According to these stories Dedalus had created many different wonderful and magical tools.  He had created a pair of wings that people could actually fly with.  He had also created all sorts of wonderful toys, which he had refused to let anyone market.  Again, I stress reader that I doubt the reliability of all these myths.

Another problem remained.  Strate Park was in the middle of the city.  Its walls were patrolled.  We couldn’t just very well climb over in front of everybody.  I asked Icarus about this.

“Yes, that is a problem,” he agreed.  “We’re going to have to go around by 49th street.  It’s relatively isolated back there.”

“There’s still plenty of people who go past,” David interjected.  “Besides, it’s still patrolled.”

“That’s why were going to have to move fast, but I think it’s still doable,” Icarus answered.

I was excited, so when Icarus asked if we were in, without thinking I replied, “definitely.”

David looked at the wall.  Curiosity was eating at him just like the rest of us.  One could almost see the inner turmoil with in him.  “I don’t know,” he replied at last.

“When will you know by,” I asked.

“I don’t know.  I want to see what’s over there but…” David’s voice trailed off.

“Come on Dave,” I encouraged.  “We won’t get caught.

“Not so fast,” Icarus interjected.  “This is a high risk operation we’re running here boys.  There is a high possibility we will be caught.”  Icarus looked at me to make sure I understood.  I nodded in acknowledgement.  “Alright, now we need to set some ground rules here.  The more people we have in on this, the more likely it is we will get caught.  Right?”  David and I agreed.  “Okay, so nobody knows about this except us.”

Icarus already began planning out the finer detail of our journey.  He wanted to go early in the morning so not many people would be around and we would decrease our chances of getting caught.  Icarus also sneaked the rope and hook out of his dad’s collection, and he wanted us to begin practicing with it before the big day.  It did take some getting used to, but after a while we felt like we could scale anything.  David practiced with Icarus and me, and I think that’s what caused him to make up his mind.  After all those hours of practice, it would seem like a waste not to go into the park.  The whole time we followed Icarus’ directive, keeping our operation a secret from our friends and especially from our parents.

And then we decided to turn fantasy into reality.  Icarus and I slept over at David’s house the night before.  The following morning we awoke before it was light out.  We walked in the cool of the night air to the place where we had decided, where people did not pass by as frequently as they did in other places.

Icarus had the rope ready, as well as a spring device also designed by his dad.  Icarus used this to catapult the hook over the wall.  It took a few tries, but eventually he got it over, and then he pulled it tight.  He tugged it to make sure it was secure, and then he climbed up.  David and I nervously kept watch down below.  Once Icarus was at the top he perched himself on the ledge and waved, signaling for us to follow.

David and I glanced uneasily at each other.  “Do you want to go first?” I asked David.

“Sure,” he replied.  I knew he was very nervous by the way that his voice sounded.  I almost offered to go first instead, but then I thought David might not follow once Icarus and I got to the top.  With my encouragement, David began climbing the rope.

The air was beginning to assume a pink quality as the sun slowly rose up.  Off in the not too far distance, I could see a light go on in a house.  Pretty soon, the whole city would begin to wake up.

I was shaking, despite the fact that it was a summer morning, and the weather was not cold at all.  It was relatively cool out, but the weather showed every sign that it would be another warm summer’s day.

David made it too the top and sat down on the ledge.  It was hard for me to tell from down below, but I think he looked pale.  Icarus eagerly waved for me to follow.

I gripped the rope firmly.  Cool sweat was on my hands, and I worried that my hands would slip once I was higher up, but I lost the presence of mind to wipe them off.  I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the ascension.

Up on top, Icarus was already beginning to lose his patience.  At any moment a Strate on patrol could have passed by (the outside of the park was well patrolled) and that would have ended our little expedition very quickly.  Icarus waved wildly for me to begin my ascent.

I wasn’t ready.  I let go of the rope and shook my hands, trying to shake all the nervousness out of them.  I closed my eyes and tried to picture myself at the top.  Icarus’ voice disturbed my concentration.  “Hey, come on man.  Let’s go.”

Pushing the worries out of my mind, I grabbed the rope and started my ascent.  I climbed as fast as I could and with such purpose of mind that I didn’t even start to get nervous until I neared the top.  It was rather petrifying being up so high.  The wall was probably about as tall as a three-story building.  The scariest part was when I reached the top and had to climb up on the ledge, even though Icarus and David were there to help me.

Once I had gotten to the top, Icarus wasted no time before he reversed the hook and began his descent down into the park.  David followed after him.  I sat in silence and gazed at what I had so long wondered about.

In the hazy glow of the first light I looked out at the park.  It was a disappointment.  How could it be otherwise when my expectations were so high?

It was beautiful though; there was no denying that.  Rows of trees reached upward to catch the first rays of sunlight, which rested gently on their leaves.  Green grass nestled up against gently flowing streams.  Hills rippled through the ground.

“Hey, Jonny, let’s go!  Come on, look alive,” Icarus yelled up from the ground, shattering my thoughts.  I grabbed the rope and began the descent.  It was not nearly as scary as the climb up.

Once I was on the ground, Icarus grabbed the rope and tried to pull the hook down.  It remained stuck in it’s spot.  Icarus then tried to shake the hook loose.  No effect.  “Well,” David said, filling a tense silence, “at least we know the hook’s secure.”

Icarus swore.  He pulled hard at the rope in anger.  He cursed himself loudly.  “It would have been so easy,” he said “to bring two ropes.  Why didn’t I think of that?”

I attempted to calm Icarus down.  “It’s no big deal.  We’ll just have to remember where we came in.”  And, in truth it really wasn’t all that big of a deal.  We would lose flexibility, but we still had our way out.  The thing was that Icarus had everything perfectly planned out, and now things weren’t going according to his plan.

We turned our attention from the rope, and looked at the park.  There was a moment of silence as we surveyed everything.  “It’s beautiful,” David said in a quiet awe filled voice.

And it was beautiful.  But many things are beautiful.  We routinely, in those summer days, retreated to the hills just outside of the city, and nature in her full majesty inhabited the hills as well.  This was not the first time any of us had been exposed to nature.

Icarus must have felt like I did.  “This is it?”  We all looked at each other.  Was this indeed all?  “Come on, let’s see what else is out there,” Icarus declared, going forth.  David and I fell behind him like sheep.

Our bold leader Icarus led the way as we spent the afternoon weaving in and out of trees, climbing hills and running down them, walking through mud and green fields, swatting insects and marveling at the occasional sign of wildlife.  Though we saw nothing astounding our curiosity kept us hoping that something fantastic and magical justified Flash’s attempts to keep us out of the park.  Curiosity and hope excited us, and the time raced by.

Before we knew it the sun was directly over us, and we became hot and sweaty.  No strangers to summer weather, we were all in light clothing: short legged pants and short sleeve shirts.  Nonetheless, we longed for something to cool us off.  Our stomachs also made us aware that in all the excitement of getting into the park we had neglected to bring food and drink for the day and Icarus cursed himself for overlooking this and we all wondered how we could have been so foolish.

The first instance of relief was when we came across a stream.  Clear water rushed over rocks.  It was cold, but our bodies were hot and tired.  We took off our shoes and socks and rushed into the stream.  In some places the water was almost up to our knees.  We yelled and splashed each other and gently moved our tender feet along the rocky floor.

I noticed there was a sound of rushing water further upstream, and I called on both Icarus and David to come with me to discover what it was.  David was happy where he was, and even the curiosity of Icarus appeared to have given way to his weariness, so I splashed upstream by myself.

Not long after my friends dropped out of view, I found the source of the roaring.  A waterfall.  A beautiful waterfall.  I called excitedly for David and Icarus to join me.  I’m not sure if my voice carried down to them or not, but if they heard me they chose to ignore me, for they did not come.

I raised my arms as if to welcome the pouring water.  With arms still upright, I stepped inside the waterfall.  Water poured all around me.  The water caressed me.  My shirt and pants were soaked.  I felt my cares escape from me and be released into the water.  The water rushed on carrying my cares with it.  It was a very relaxing feeling.

I ran back to the others as fast as the slippery surface would allow me, eager to tell them of my expedition.  I got back, and they were no where to be found.  Neither their bodies, nor their shoes and socks were visible.  I called out for them, and heard a faint sound that resembled voices.  I put on my shoes and plunged ahead through the dirt yelling occasionally; and allowing their replies to guide me.

Eventually, the outline of a lake became visible to me.  As I approached I could see two figures which resembled my friends, one on the shore, the other in the lake.  I broke into a run.

David was standing by the shore.  Icarus was swimming in the lake.  His clothes were in a pile by David.

“Fine idea just leaving me,” I said somewhat irritated to David.  David explained that they had meant to come back for me, but in the meantime had followed the stream down to where it filled into the lake.  I had simply taken the more direct route by crossing over land.

“Come on,” Icarus shouted.  “Come on in Jonny, the water’s warm.”  I removed my shoes and waded out into the lake.  Yes, the water was warm, surprisingly so considering how cold the streams had been.  I did not completely understand but I did not care at the moment.

I looked at David.  “Well, what are you standing on the bank for?  Let’s go in.”  David was hesitant about removing his clothes, and it felt awkward to me at first too, but once I flung my clothes off and embraced the warmness of the water, nothing could seem more natural.  My body already wet from the waterfall, I swam right out to Icarus while David let his body become slowly accustomed to the water.

“The water’s clean enough to drink,” Icarus called out to me.  He took a swallow to prove it.  I was hesitant.  The water looked clean, but one never knew in nature.  Icarus took another swallow.  He plunged his tongue inside the water and swished it around to show he was not afraid.  “Come on, what else are you going to drink,” he called out.  “We have to drink something.”

I agreed with this, and allowed the water to enter my mouth.  It quenched my thirst, but not my hunger.  Icarus was thinking the same thing.  “Well get more food eventually,” he declared.  “Until then we’ll have to let breakfast hold us.”

David, accustomed to the water now, swam out to us.  “Drink up,” Icarus declared.  “We shall never be thirsty again.”

“What a beautiful lake,” David commented.  “How unusually clear.”

“I could spend all day here,” I declared.

Icarus closed his eyes and plunged into the water.  We saw his shape go deeper and deeper into the water until we lost sight of him.

David and I looked at each other.  I went down, and felt every part of my body surrounded by water.  It was a pleasant feeling, but I could not stay there forever.  I hot up and swam towards the round sun to breathe the sweet air.  David’s body was penetrating the water now.

David broke through and breathed hard to recover his air.  Both of us caught our breath, and then realized that Icarus was no where in sight.  

“Where is he,” I said, panicking.  “Is he still under?”

David looked around.  With a voice that tried to be calm, he replied, “I’m sure he’s alright.”

I plunged underwater again, looking for Icarus.  A school of fish swam by me, and then I saw Icarus’ body heading for the sun.

Icarus came, breathing deeply the sweet air.  Once he was done, I asked him if he had been underwater the whole time.

“Yes,” he replied excitedly.  “You wouldn’t believe what I saw.  It was really quite remarkable.”

“You were under that whole time?” David repeated his question in disbelief.  Icarus nodded proudly.  Neither of us could believe his stamina.  Both of us had come for air so quickly.

We relaxed in the warm embrace of the lake, while Icarus filled our ears with all the wonders the depths of the lake contained.

I didn’t want to leave.  I don’t think any of us did, but eventually curiosity about what else was in the park overtook us.

We swam to the shore and put our clothes back on.  “It was so nice,” David said.  “I hate to leave it.”

“We’ll be back,” Icarus answered.  “We’ll be back everyday now that we know it’s here.”  I eagerly voiced my support.

We struck out again, seeking to have our bodies dried by the sun.  Icarus tilted his face towards the sun and basked in its warmth. He turned to me suddenly, his eyes glowing.  “Imagine,” he said, “being able to touch the sun.”  Icarus stretched out his hands eagerly, as if he was trying to grab it.

“Careful Icarus,” David warned.  “Don’t look directly at the sun.”

Icarus, appearing to disregard David’s warnings, stretched with longing towards the sun.

And we continued on, weaving in and out of trees, climbing up hills and running down them.

We did not know where we were going, and so we wandered right into the main part of the park.  It was astonishing as well, with sculptures, fountains, nicely groomed bushes, benches and a herd of Strates enjoying themselves.

We all saw them at once and hurriedly returned to the trees, hoping that we had not been seen.  In our hurry to retreat, I fear we created too much noise as leaves rustled and twigs cracked under our bodies.  We did not look back to see if they saw us.

“Let’s get out of here,” I declared.  It was what we were all thinking, but for some reason I felt the need to vocalize it.

We ran through the park.  Icarus was leaps and bounds ahead of David and I as we struggled to keep up with him.

We heard, or thought we heard, the sounds of pursuers behind us.  I was never sure if it was my imagination or not until I looked behind me and saw men in black uniforms with black hats behind us.  We ran blindly forward.

“Icarus,” I yelled out, “which way is it?”  I meant the rope that we had left behind.

“I don’t know,” Icarus replied.  “Just run.”

Blindly following Icarus, who was blindly following his impulses, we ran right into another field, where another group of Strates were performing training exercises.

Icarus abruptly turned around and began running the other way.  Strates were coming at us from both sides.  David and I were running together.  I think he got tackled first, but I was soon after.  Icarus, as if he were suddenly equipped with wings, burst into a great speed.  The Strates leaped at him but he escaped them all and ran on.

I would later find out that Icarus would eventually wander around until he found the rope and hook where we had left it.  Icarus climbed up the rope and climbed down.  Did anyone see him?  If they did everyone turned away, quite leisurely, not knowing what near disasters this boy had just escaped from.  The sun shone as it had to on the swift legs disappearing into the crowd.  No one knew what amazing adventures had just befallen this boy climbing down from the sky, and everyone went calmly on.

Chapter 8

I heard a clicking sound and I knew it was the door opening.  I rolled over quickly, away from the wall.  David bolted upright from his sitting position.  As a figure stepped through the doorway, I stood up also.

He was tall and menacing.  Everyone here was tall and menacing.  He looked at us with a piercing gaze, and though I tried to, I could not stand looking back at him.  I averted my eyes and looked at the ground instead.  David chose to look at the ceiling.

The Strate unlocked the door and swung it open violently.  The door creaked loudly in protest at the rough treatment.

Yes reader, your suspicions are correct.  I was in jail.  After having been apprehended in Strate Park, David and I found ourselves put into this jail cell before we knew what was happening.  The jail cell was dirty and grimy.  It stank of human filth, and a lonely ray of sunlight shown through the window into an otherwise dark room.  And this was how we had spent the second half of our day, in sharp contrast to the surroundings that had filled the first half.

David and I had been placed in the same jail cell, and that was the only redeemable quality about the situation.  And so in David’s company I spent the rest of the afternoon, and that evening, and that night.  The fact that we were in jail, despite the fact that jail itself is a rather boring reality, was enough to get our hearts pumping, and neither of us were able to get a lot of sleep.  We stayed up talking about every thing we could think off.  Anything that ever happened to either of us in our lifetime, no matter how insignificant, was revealed.  I talked to avoid boredom, but I felt comfortable telling David everything.  It was the next morning before I began to drift off to sleep, and even then I only slept for a few hours before finding myself wide awake again.

The Strate came forward and roughly grabbed me by my shirt.  He gave me a pull and my body followed his hands and I was yanked out of the jail cell.  The Strate pointed to David, and motioned for him to stand next to me.  David followed obediently.

In silence, we followed the Strate through the door and out of the jail.  Once we were outside, the Strate turned to us.  “You boys are free to go,” he said.  “I trust you’ve learned your lesson.

Yes sir, oh yes sir, oh we won’t do that again sir, no sir we’ve learned our lesson.  We apologized profusely, and he sent us on our way.  One night in jail, was that it?  Appearenlty that’s how much Strate Park was worth.

We rushed with light hearts back to David’s house.  David suggested, and I whole-heartedly agreed, that I should not enter his house.  Instead I grabbed my bike, still in the place I had left it, and sped home.  I had endured enough excitement for a while.

I had eaten only minimally while I was in prison, and so immediately headed into the kitchen upon arriving home.  A note was on the kitchen table.  It was unmistakably my fathers hand writing.

“Jonathon,

        Don’t you dare leave this house until I get home.”

So he knew.  No real surprise there.  He certainly had plenty of sources.

“Jonny?  Jonny is that you?”  Abel’s voice sounded from upstairs.  Abel was about the last person in the world I wanted to talk to right now.  “Who’s there?  Jonny?  Somebody?”  I heard the sound of small feet scurrying down the stairs.  I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to talk to him.  Abel ran into the kitchen.

“Jonny!”  Well, bless his little heart, at least he was glad to see me.  Abel dashed across the room and hugged me as tight as he could.  “Jon!  I was so worried about you.  Did they hurt you in jail?  I was so worried.  Dad was so worried.”  Yeah, I could picture that actually.  I felt guilty for making him worry.

“Well, I’m alright,” I said, gently freeing myself from Abel’s grip.

“But what was jail like?  How did they catch you?  Is David alright?”

I didn’t really feel like answering those questions, so I just ignored Abel and turned to the cupboard, scanning for food.

“You’re in big trouble you know.”  Yes, I knew.

“I know Abel.”  From the tone of my voice anyone else would have realized I did not want to talk about it.  Abel didn’t always pick up on these things though.

“Dad says you’re a big disappointment.”

I turned sharply on him.  “Abel, I don’t want to here it,” I yelled.

“But he was really mad at you.”

“Shut up Abel!”  In anger at this unwanted messenger I grabbed him and shoved him against the wall.  Immediately I could tell I had been too rough with him.  His eyes filled with tears.  I had probably caused his head to collide with the wall.  At once I felt remorse.  “Abel, I’m sorry.”

“Leave me alone,” Abel shouted out in wounded anger.  He ran past me, heading outside with his tears.  I let him go.

Abel was cross with me for most of the afternoon for treating him so roughly.  However, he never could hold a grudge for very long.  I avoided him while his anger was still festering, then once he seemed sufficiently calmed down, I offered him the food I had made as a peace offering.  He accepted, at first sulkily, but we were soon friends again.

“You know though,” he said eventually, “Dad’s really going to yell at you when he comes home.”  Somehow, Abel must have thought that I didn’t understand.

“I know,” I said quietly.  “Don’t talk about it.”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m not looking forward to it,” I answered.  “Please Abel, don’t talk about it.”  And this time Abel listened to me.  He probably didn’t want to get his head banged into the wall again.

It was about three hours later when my father came home.  Ideally, I would have liked to have been elsewhere when he got home, but I didn’t want to get my father more upset by disobeying the note.  I went in my room when I heard my father entering the house.  Although my bedroom door was closed I strained my ears to hear what was going on downstairs.  I heard the muffled deep voice of my father, and the muffled high voice of Abel answering him, but I could not hear what either was saying.  I waited and waited.  Was my father deliberately postponing the confrontation just to keep me nervous?  Eventually I heard a knock on the door.  “Come in,” I said.

My father opened the door.  “Good evening Jonathon,” he said calmly.  “And how are you doing tonight?”

“I’m good.”

“Good, and how was prison?”  I was surprised by the calmness of his voice.

“It was okay.”

“Did they hurt you?”  The concern in my father’s voice touched me.

“No, not very much.”

“Step into the light.”  My father motioned me, and when I was in the light, he examined my face.  There were a couple of bruises above my left eye.  He gently touched them, and I flinched.  “They did this?” he asked.  I nodded.  “Right after they caught you?”  I nodded again.  “With their hands or with their clubs?”

“With their hands.”

He frowned, looking closely at the bruise.  “It might not be a bad idea to have it examined anyway.  I’ll have the doctor come by tomorrow.”

“It’s not a big deal at all,” I protested.

“It never hurts to have these things checked out though.  Do you have bruises anywhere else?”

A couple on my side,” I answered.  I lifted my shirt so he could see them.

“With their hands?”

“With their hands.”

“They don’t look bad, but I want them checked out anyway.”  I nodded, letting my shirt fall back down.  “You know, the Duke himself sent a message as soon as he heard you had been arrested.  He instructed that they not lay a hand on either of you.”  I could picture that pretty easily.  David and I had been knocked around at the station a bit, where our names were taken and sent to the filer.  The filer, when checking my identity, must have realized who my father was and told old Flash.  Flash would then have sent a message to the prison telling those brutes not to give us the routine beating.  “He also arranged for you to be released today.  You should really be grateful to him.”

“I am.”

“You know he’s quite fond of you Jonathon.  He thinks you’re a brilliant young man.”  He tried to smile, but his eyes wouldn’t help in the deception.  Failing, he shook his head and walked to the other side of the room.  He looked up.  “I’m really disappointed in you, Jonathon.”  He looked up and just stared at me, and I could tell I had really hurt him, and I felt an urge to say something in response.

“I’m sorry.”

In anger, he clenched his hand into a fist and struck my desk.  “Don’t say that!  Don’t say it because I know you don’t mean it.  You always say that Jonathon, but it keeps happening.”  He meant of course my conflicts with the authorities at school.  I had never been caught for something on this scale before.  “And now,” his voice rose, as if to symbolize my increasing depravity, “And now you’ve gotten yourself in trouble with the State.  What were you thinking?  What in the world would possess you to go into that park?”  Why did he even ask?  We both knew he wasn’t going to understand, and he didn’t want to understand.  And yet my silence would not get me out of this question.  “Jonathon, answer me.”

“I wanted to see what was inside.”  Why try and be more elegant that that?  It wouldn’t do any good.

“That’s it?  That’s why you endangered your future?  You wanted to see what was inside?  Did it ever occur to you that there might be a reason why the Duke kept everyone out?  You think you can just make up your own rules?”  What was the Duke’s reason for keeping us out?  We weren’t hurting the park.  He sat down in my chair, his head collapsed in his hands.  “Jonathon, you can’t do this.  Your future is too important.  You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

His hands worked their way further up into his hair.  “No you don’t Jonathon”, he said quietly.  “David can get in trouble at school, and run around on the streets, and go to jail.  It doesn’t matter for David, because David is going to end up just like his father anyway.  A nobody.  A man who can barely make enough money each week to keep his house.  All your friends will end up like that.  But I’ve given you a chance to do something more.  You’re going to be somebody Jonathon.  You want to be somebody, don’t you?”

I was torn.  I wanted to be well off.  I wanted to be respected.  I wanted to be famous and have lots of money.  These were all things that appealed to me, but I did not want to work for Flash.  I did not want to live my father’s sycophantic existence, doing everything old Flash did.  Dressing up everyday, and going to work early in the morning, and coming back in the evening, and spending all night in the study going over papers.  These were not things that appealed to me at all.

“Yes.  I do.”

The answer seemed to satisfy him.  “You’re a good kid inside, I know you are.  Maybe the problem is you’ve got too much time on your hands.  I could arrange something maybe, something that would be good experience for your future.”  My heart quickened.  I did not like the sound of this.  “I’ll see if I can arrange something for you.  Okay?”

The worst punishment he could have given, and he thought he was letting me of easy.  “Okay.”

The next day found me back in town.  David and I had agreed to meet at a certain corner.  We both felt it was unwise for me to go directly to his house.

I biked in.  David was already standing at the corner.  “Well, you look healthy,’ he said to me.  “Your father decided not to skin you after all I see.”

“David, I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be much worse than that.  What about your place?”

David shook his head.  “Man, you would have thought I’d killed somebody.  You wouldn’t believe my mom.  I didn’t think she had that many tears in her.”

“But they let you out today?”

“My dad said spending the night in jail was punishment enough.”

After talking some more, David and I decided to embark over to Icarus.

Dedalus had built his family’s house himself.  The architecture was unbelievable.  Dedalus seemed to disregard the laws of physics when building the thing.  It was as if the whole structure was daring gravity to knock it over.  It started out in a small base, and then spread out in every direction, perhaps that is a better way to say it.  A simple hallway might escape from the small house and extend out over the ground, and one wondered what was keeping this hallway from breaking off and falling down.  A couple of these extensions even twisted themselves upwards in the air.

And the colors this house was decorated with.  Unbelievable.  Blood red was splashed all over the base, moving upwards to bright purple.  Pink, orange, yellow, green and gold covered the various wings of the house.  It was one of the city's oddities.  It was built before I was born, but I have many times heard stories of how Dedalus had overseen the whole thing himself and was often gesturing wildly to the poor workers and shouting that they were doing everything wrong.

Icarus came to the door at our knock.  "David!  Jonny!" he shouted out.  "Come on in boys."  We followed his gesturing hand inside cautiously, somewhat worried about what we might find.  "I sure am glad to see you boys.  Out already?  I heard you were in jail.  Sit down, tell me all about it."  And so, David and I related our experience and Icarus shared with us his escape.

At the conclusion of both tales, Icarus came in with new information.  "Hey, I've been having a few talks with my dad, and I think the next time we go I might have that hook thing figured out."

"What do you mean," I asked.

"Well the next time we go in we won't have to leave the hook behind.  Instead, we'll just--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Hold on a second Icarus."  It was David talking.  "Icarus, we just spent the night in jail.  In jail.  We're not going back in that park."

Icarus almost seemed surprised by our refusal to return to the calamity.  "But we promised ourselves we'd go back to the lake.  Don't you guys want to go back?"

"You go right ahead Icarus," I said.  "You're not the one who spent the night in jail.  David and I have absolutely no desire to get caught again."

"But we won't get caught again."  Icarus leaned forward.  "Listen, the last time we were there we wandered all over the park.  That was stupid.  We won't do that again thought.  We'll go to the lake and not any further.  There's nobody out there."

"Somebody could come out there," David ventured.

"It took a whole pack of them to catch us last time," Icarus said.  "And we'd be able to hear if a whole pack of them was coming."  The logic seemed faulty to me, but Icarus was on a roll, and so I did not interrupt.  "I don't want to go to jail either, but that place is too wonderful not to go back.  We have to see it again."

"You realize we got lucky," I said to Icarus.  "The next time we get caught it could be for a lot longer than a day."

"But we won't get caught again."

"How do you know?" asked David.

"Because we won't.  We won't let ourselves get caught again."  Icarus threw up his hands in frustration with us.  "Fine.  If you don't want to come you don't have to, but I’m going back.  I'm not going to stay away now that I know what's in there."

I got up to leave.  "Okay Icarus, go back.  I'm not going back to jail."  I started walking towards the door.  David was confused by my sudden exit and stayed where he was.  Icarus ran to catch up with me.  "Come on man," he pleaded.  "Imagine never going back there.  This big beautiful lake that nobody's using and we won't ever go swimming in it again."

"Icarus!"

"Don't you want to go back?"

I did.  I couldn't imagine never going back.  What's more, I could not imagine Icarus having all that fun without me.  "I'll think about it," I said.

By the end of the week, the three of us had returned to the park.

Chapter 9

Go forward reader, go forward.  I am sixteen now.  The summer had past, and we entered a new school year, and that past as well, and then another summer, and now the beginning of another school year.  And absolutely nothing had changed.  Nothing ever changes.

It was the first day of school.  The usual downcast faces broadcast the message that another summer was down the drain.  Students were beginning to resign themselves to the fact that they must face another nine months in school.

I don't remember what period it was: second? Third? Fourth? First?  The point is it happened.  I was sitting in class in those precious few moments before class began.  David was not with me in this class, so I was sitting by myself, trying to imagine what the world would be like without doors.  A new girl entered the classroom.  She sat down next to me, the seat next to me being one of only a few left open.

I was kind of absorbed in thought at the moment, but I managed enough to nod my head in her direction to indicate I acknowledged her existence.  My hand, which had previously been supporting my chin, temporarily left its post to close briefly and then open in what I was content to call a wave.  I attempted to return to my thoughts.

"Hello," she said eagerly in response to my lazy wave.  "How are you?"

I turned my head back in her direction.  "Good," I said.  "And how are you?"

Her eyes seemed to sparkle with brightness.  They were wide and excited and focused on me.  I think it was at this moment that I first realized that she had a very pretty face.  The bright eyes and eager face almost scared me.  I turned my head around as if there was something on the opposite side of the room that required my immediate attention.  It was not a premeditated move, more of a reaction.  She did not give up on me though.  "What's your name?"

I turned back towards her.  "Jon."

She stuck out her hand for me to shake.  "I'm Helen.  Good to meet you."  She leaned in close to me.  Again, almost frightened by her friendliness, I instinctively leaned back.  "Hey, what's this teacher like anyway," she asked.

"What?  Oh.  The Teacher?"  I had heard her perfectly, but began stumbling over my words anyway.  I became frustrated with myself, and felt my cheeks heat up, and I hoped I wasn't blushing.  She just smiled and nodded.  "Him?  Oh, he's all right.  He's not very interesting to listen to, but he's easy."

"That's good.  I'm new here you know."

"I thought you looked unfamiliar."

"My family moved into Urbae this summer."

"From where?"

"All the way from the West Coast."  She was obviously proud of her distant home.  She paused for a second, as if lost in memories of the West.  Then, seeming to snap out of it, she asked, "what about you?  Where are you from?"  She caught herself, and shook her head slightly to dismiss what she had said before.  "I mean, are you from somewhere, besides Urbae of course?"

My life was so boring.  Not only was I from Urbea, and only Urbae, but I could count on two fingers the number of times I had left it.  "No, I've spent all my life here."

"So you can answer any questions I have?"

I suppose that was the positive way to look at it, yes.  "I'd be happy to."

"Great.  I' m so confused about so many things.  It's different in the West you know."

Actually, I didn't know.  How would I know?  "Really?"

"Oh, yes, night and day difference.  Nothing is the same over there."

"Why did you leave?"

"My dad got a new job offer here.  A really good offer."

There was only one kind of really good job in Urbae.  "For the Duke, then?"

"Yes, for the Duke.  He's going to be supervising all the police in the city."

"We call them Strates here."

"Really?  Nothing is the same over here."

"It's not a nice name.  We only call them that when they're not around."

"So the official term is police?"  I nodded.  "Perfect.  That's just like in the West.  One less thing I have to adjust to."

"Your Dad will be working under my dad," I volunteered.

"What does your dad do?"

"He's the Duke's fourth man."  Odd, I didn't think I was proud of my dad, but was that pride creeping into my voice?

"Oh, that's neat.  I bet our fathers will be seeing lots of each other then."

"They certainly will."

And that was all we had an opportunity to say before class began.  The teacher called everyone to order, and began.  Several times I looked over at Helen during the drudgery of class, and most of those times she was sitting smiling back at me.  Reader, I have chosen to avoid describing Helen so far because she is so vibrant in my mind, and I am afraid that she would be dead on my paper.  When I first saw her at the beginning of that class, she looked rather plain to me, but at the end of that class I was beginning to become infatuated with her beauty.  I wonder if I had known at that moment how obsessed I would become with that face currently beside me, if I could have seen it then.  Her beauty just kind of gradually took me.

I longed to lean over and whisper to her, but I didn't know how she would react.  Would she be like David, and be worried about getting in trouble?  I didn't want to do anything that would offend her.  Eventually, however, the desire to talk to her overtook me, and I decided to risk it.  I leaned over cautiously when the teacher wasn't looking.  "This is awfully boring, isn't it?"

She turned excitedly, delighted that I was talking to her.  "Yes, terribly.  Is he always like this?"

"Always.  This will be one of our longest classes, but it's easy."

"That's good.  I can't wait till it's over.  Look at the teacher's pants.  Aren't they funny looking?"

"Yes, yes.  Listen to the way he talks.  That’s even funnier.  His voice keeps going up and down."  I had figured this out long ago, and it was obvious if one only listened for it.  The pitch of his voice was like a roller coaster, constantly rising and falling.

She sat back and listened, and I could see her brow wrinkle as she tried to figure out what I meant.  Suddenly it hit her, and she realized how absolutely ridiculous the teacher's voice really was, and she bit her arm to keep from laughing.  Seeing her fight to keep somber made me appreciate anew the funniness of his voice, which I had noticed so many times before that it no longer seemed funny to me.  I laughed silently, although my whole body shook.  We looked at each other, and knew what the other was thinking, and at that point she lost the struggle and had to collapse in laugher.  She put her head down into her arms, which sufficiently muffled the sound.  I shook all the harder.  A stern look from the teacher sobered me up, but Helen had her head down still and missed the look.  Once Helen was done laughing, she looked at me again, and we almost both lost it again.

The bell rang, the class got over.  Helen and I laughed as we went into the hallway.  "Hey, let me see your schedule," I said.  I looked to see if any of our other classes were the same.  To my disappointment, they were not.  I parted from her.

It is hard for me to remember exactly what my first impression of Helen was.  I spent years being in love with her, so it is difficult for me to imagine myself meeting her and not being awestruck.  And yet if I push hard on my memory, I don't think I was absolutely blown away with her on the first meeting.  Rather, I was interested in this pretty new face, but she was one of many girls who competed for my interest.  I was interested though, I was definitely interested.

After school I deliberately hung around the hallways, hoping to run into her.  I was not disappointed.  "Hey," I called out to Helen, who was looking lost as other students swarmed by her.  "Helen.  Hey!  Over here!"

She looked.  "Oh Jon!  Hello."  I noticed she smiled when she saw me.

"How was your first day of school?"  I fought my way through the crowd to stand next to her.  As kids flooded through the doors and outside into freedom, the hallway rush was beginning to die down.

"Jon it's so different.  I'm really not used to this kind of school at all."

"Different in the West?" I suggested, sensing a pattern.

Her eyes almost seemed to flash.  "Yes Jon, well done."

"Where are you going now?"

"Well, home I suppose.  Why?"

She was one of the elite.  Her dad had a nice state job.  Not quite as high up as my father, but a nice well paying state job just the same.  There was a good chance she would live out by my neighborhood.  "How are you getting home?"

"Walking.  Why do you ask Jon?"

That wasn't a good sign.  If she lived out by me, chances are she would bike.  I asked anyway.  "Where's home?"

"Oh, just down the road, about a ten minute walk from here.  Really Jon, why all these questions?"

I shrugged.  "I just thought because of your father's job and stuff you might live out a little ways."

"Is that where you live?"

I nodded.  "Yeah."

"My father wanted to live in the city.  He said that if he was going to be in charge of the police, he should live in the city where they operated."

I was slightly disappointed.  "Well, that sounds like a good idea."

"Yeah."

Think of something else to say!  Think of something else to say, my brain screamed at me.

"Well, I've got to go Jon, but it was really nice meeting you.  I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, right.  I'll see you tomorrow Helen," I said as I was backing up.  My hand waved good-bye, then I turned to go, furious at myself for not being able to extend that conversation any further.  I had gotten nervous and froze, but I suppose it hadn't been all that bad.

I talked to Helen several times the rest of the week during the one class we had together, and often after school if I could catch her.  She always seemed happy to see me.  She was always smiling and laughing.  Her beauty grew steadily in my mind.  I was becoming more and more in love with her.  By that Friday, she had eclipsed all the other girls in my mind.  She became the one girl that I cared about impressing.

At the end of that week, I got out of school and made a point of running into Helen.  We talked about our plans for the weekend.  "Tonight I'm going with my family to see the symphony," she said, bubbling over with excitement.  "Saturday my dad is taking me fishing.  We're going to bike out into the country, and if the weather is warm it really ought to be a lot of fun.  Sunday, I'm going to church with my family and then my mother and I are going for a walk.  What are you doing Jon?"

"I don't know yet.  Something fun."  I shrugged.  

"You don't have any idea yet?"

"Something will turn up."

We talked for a little while longer, before going our separate ways.

After parting from Helen I went over with David to his house.  Other friends of ours stopped by, and we all went over to the local field and competed with each other until dark, when our friends began to talk about their parents wanting them home, and they slowly trickled away until just David and I were left.

We flung our tired bodies down on the soft grass.  It was a relaxing feeling, and we laid in silence for a while, just enjoying the peacefulness of our surroundings.

I was not used to being at eye level with the grass, and began to see my old green friend in a different way.  I was so used to seeing the grass as just a blanket, which covered everything, not as thousands of individual pieces.  The grass wove itself together, as each blade overlapped on another blade and was overlapped in turn, but each piece was an individual distinct from the rest.  What, I wondered, would it be like to view the grass like this all the time?  What if I was a bug?  Each blade would be like a giant tree.  The whole thing would be a gigantic jungle, full of dangers and surprises, and I would weave my way through the green jungle each day.  The grass was so much more important to a bug, and yet to me the grass was just a covering.

David interrupted my thoughts.  "Hey Jonny, look at that will you?"

I looked around.  "What?"

"No, up there."  David's hand pointed to the sky.

"Yeah?"

"I don't know.  Just look at the stars.  Aren't they beautiful?"

"They look very nice Dave."

His voice was still in awe.  "So many of them.  They're all lights against the darkness.  Look at the patterns they form.  It's so beautiful Jon."  He turned on me suddenly.  "What are you thinking about Jonny?"

My thoughts had wandered to Helen.  "Hey Dave, you know that new girl at school?"

"Helen?  Yeah, she's in a couple of my classes.  Nice girl, very friendly."  David thought for a moment.  "Why do you ask Jon?  Do you like her?"

"I think I'm in love."

David was surprised by the strong language.  "What does that mean exactly, Jon?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Well, what do you want Dave, a dictionary definition?"

David decided to change his tactics.  "You think she's quite special though?"

"Oh yeah."

"Are you gonna ask her out?"

"Well, I'm going to have to sooner or later if I ever want to go anywhere with this."

"The sooner the better Jon.  Girls like her get a lot of attention."

This was not what I wanted to hear.  "What do you mean?" I said rather angrily.

"Calm down Jonny.  I don't think anyone else is interested in her, but she's a friendly girl, very outgoing.  I mean, she's not the kind of girl who stays at home on a Saturday night, right?"  I remained silent as I brooded over what David had said.  Eventually, he broke the silence.  "Don't worry Jon, I'm sure you'll do fine.  It's been a while since you had a girlfriend, hasn't it?  Since Phyrria was it?"

Ah Phyrria, who I dated for two and a half weeks when I was thirteen.  "Oh no, don't bring her up again," I said laughing at what seemed to be a distant memory.

David joined in the laugher.  "You were pretty crazy about her for a while."

I covered my ears.  "Stop it Dave.  I don't want to hear it.  Man, what was I thinking."

"Jonny, we tried to talk some sense in you too, but you wouldn't listen.  Do you remember that?"

"Enough Dave, enough.  You guys will never let me forget."  The night exploded into laughter for us.

I talked to Helen again on Monday.  We exchanged stories from the weekend.  It was Tuesday before I got the courage to ask her out.

I had caught her after school.  The flood of students had subsided, and we were all alone.  We started talking about something silly, I don't even remember what it was.  She said she had to go, and turned to leave.  I was nervous, but knew I would hate myself if I didn't ask her now.

"Hey," I called out as she was walking away.  "Helen, I was thinking, you're still pretty confused about this city, right?"

She stopped and turned back.  "Yes Jon, extremely."

I swallowed.  "I could show you around some afternoon perhaps.  Just a little tour of the city or something.  Would that help?"

That smile.  That sweet smile that always melted me, there it flashed again.  "Yes Jon, thank you, that's very sweet of you.  I think that would help.  I'm busy tonight.  How about tomorrow?"

"Wednesday's are no good for me.  I volunteer at the Central Office."

Her eyebrows raised.  "Really?  Well I'm impressed Jon.  Alright, how about Thursday after school?"

"Thursday's cool."

Oh, there went that smile again.  "Okay, it's a plan.  I'll see you tomorrow, okay Jon?"

"Okay."

I turned to leave.  My hands were shaking with joy.  My insides were turning.  I was filled with energy for the rest of the day.

The Central Office.  Did that catch your eye reader?  Ever since that incident at Strate Park, my father thought the best way to keep me out of trouble was to keep me busy.  I knew better than to fight him on it directly, but I tried to weasel out of hours there as often as I could.

The Central Office was a government building.  It was one of the more important government buildings, but certainly not one of the more glamorous.  It was not where the Senate met, and none of the Senators ever went over to the Central Office.  Old Flash would drop by once and a while, and when he did he would usually make a point of chatting with me, but aside from him no one remotely famous frequented the Central Office.  It was a place where paper work got done, and low level, self-important beaurocrats lived out their boring existence.  This was the pit of drudgery where I was forced to volunteer.

During the summer, my father would have liked to have me at the Central Office five days a week.  I was frequently able to weasel out of many days, but five was his goal.  During the school year, my father wanted me to get good grades, so he shortened it down to one day, but on that one day he was firm.  No matter what else was going on in my life, every Wednesday I would go to the Central Office as soon as school got out, and stay there till is closed down at eleven O' clock at night.  If I got there late or left early, he heard about it.

It was my father's hope that these hours spent in the Central Office would give me a better idea of how government worked, and would prepare me for when I grew up and began working for Flash.  Looking back on the experience, he was right.  It did teach me a lot about the complexity of government, from the conversations I would often overhear if nothing else.  At the time, however, it seemed utterly useless.  My task was to file papers and I believed it to be nothing more than a complete waste of time.

And so, with visions of Helen dancing in my head, I filed away dutifully, thinking every minute about her.  It is entirely possible that I might have lapsed into day dreaming about her once or twice during the afternoon.  Actually, it is likely that my head was in the clouds the whole time.

"Jonathon!  Snap out of it.  This FJC needs his paperwork."

I shook my head, trying to temporarily remove Helen from my brain.  I inquired about the name and went into the Fabulae Junior Corp, looking for the young man's papers.  I found the appropriate file and ran over to the front.  "Here you go sir."

The Cadet took the material and looked it over.  He was young.  In fact, he really didn't look any older than I was.  He had probably just turned eighteen.  Innocent young eyes shone from his acne covered face.  He signed the appropriate papers and handed the folder back to me.  I took it and watched him as he disappeared down the hall.

"Are you old enough to join the FJC yet?" my supervisor asked me.  

"I'm only sixteen."

"A couple more years then huh?  Don't worry, it will go faster than you think."

The FJCs, also known as the Cadets or, as we called them, the SJs.  Strate Juniors.  It was all a lot of nonsense really, they didn't do anything.  They marched around and got shiny new uniforms and went around with their backs straight and their chins high and did absolutely nothing of any importance.  They just learned how to march pretty and how to take orders and be subservient.  Once in a while they would perform a public service, like cleaning up the street or the park, but mostly they were useless.  And yet, membership in the SJ was mandatory for anyone who hoped to get a government job.  My father never directly mentioned it to me, but we both knew that when I turned eighteen I was going to register with the SJs, and spend four years marching around and looking stupid while I attended classes at the university.  It was not something I was looking forward to at all.

"I had a fun time in the FJC," my supervisor said, "made some of my best friends there.  Don't worry though, you'll be eighteen soon enough.  No rush to grow up, right?

Thursday came.  Helen poked me in class.  "Hey, we're still on for tonight, right?"

Of course we were still on.  Nothing could stop me from being still on.  "Yeah.  You're still planning on it, right?"

"I'm looking forward to it," she said with a smile.

And so, I meet her in the hallways after school.  "Well, where do you want to go first?" I asked her.

"I don't know.  What is there?"

"Let's just walk.  We'll find stuff."

In the interest of keeping her entertained, I assumed a tour guide role for the first half hour or so.  "That's the best candy store in Urbae.  It used to be the place to hang out when we were twelve.  I haven't gone there in a long time though.  It's mostly little kids there now."

She listened attentively and politely.  I showed her where our frequent hangouts were.  All the cheap restaurants where teen-agers could afford to eat, all the stores we patronized, all the places not to go.  "Yeah, stay away from there.  It may look cool but nobody under thirty ever goes in."  We got to Strate Park, and I could not resist telling her the story of our adventure.  She listened spell bound.

"That's incredible Jon.  Did you ever go back?"

"Yeah, we couldn't stay away.  We went back every day for a while.  We still go every once and a while."

"And you've never gotten caught again?"

I shook my head.  "No, no we're a lot smarter about it now.  We don't dare go any farther than the lake and none of the Strates ever goes out by the lake."

"But someone could."  I just shrugged.  "I mean, it's possible, right?"

"We've been lucky so far."

We stopped in to get a drink at a local hang out.  I continued telling stories.  Helen stopped me.

"Alright, I know who David is.  I don't believe I've met this Icarus fellow."

"I'll try and point him out to you sometime," I said. "This guy is insane though.  You wouldn't believe the things Icarus comes up with."

Not wanting to bore her with my stories, however, I decided to give her a chance to talk.  I asked her about her life in the West, and a stream of stories erupted forth.  She became very animated as she talked about the West.  "I'm not saying Urbae is a bad place Jon, don't misunderstand me.  It's a fine place, at least what I've seen of it.  I loved the West though Jon, I'm sure you would too if you saw it.  I'm going back there some day.  I really can't imagine spending the rest of my life here.  As soon as I graduate from the University, I'm going back out West."

We talked a long time.  Afternoon turned into early evening, and then late evening.  "I've really got to get back," Helen said eventually.  "I've got homework to do."

"Yeah, I do too.  Do you want me to walk you home?"

That smile again.  "Why thank you Jon, yes that would be sweet of you."

Once we arrived at her house, she paused by the doorway.  "Do you want to come in?" she asked.

I accepted.  She showed me all around the house.  I met her little sister Cressida, who was ten years old.  I also met her mother, who was in the kitchen making dinner.  Next, we went to meet her dad in the living room, reading the daily newspaper.  He was very friendly, and stood up as I was introduced to him.  "This is Jon," Helen said.  "His father works for the Duke too."

"Is that so?  Well, maybe I know your father Jonathon.  What’s his name?"

"Paul."

Helen's dad whistled.  “Impressive.  Helen dear, be careful with this boy.  We've got a very important kid in this house right now.  If he gets damaged, we're all in trouble."  I did my best to laugh.

Helen showed me her room.  "Now I’m a little embarrassed," she said as she opened the door, "because I've been here for over a month now and I haven't even finished unpacking yet."  The door opened, and I looked in the room.  It was mostly neat and orderly, except for several boxes stacked in the middle.

"You can come in if you want," she said, walking inside herself.  I followed her in.  It was a nicely decorated room; paintings of flowers and kittens were hung on the wall.

The boxes made me curious.  I went over and lifted the lid of one.  "Do you mind if I look at your stuff?" I asked.

"Knock yourself out."

I peered in.  The box was full of books.  I looked over in another one.  Also filled with books.  "Are these all books?"

"Mmm Hmm," she nodded proudly.  "My prize possessions."

"You like to read then, huh?"

"Very much so, yes.  What about you Jon?"

"Yeah, reading's okay."  Whatever she liked, I liked.

I was very cautious not to overstay my welcome.  I knew she had homework to do, and so I left.

A couple days later my father came up to me.  I was at the dinner table, trying to eat and study at the same time.  "How are you doing, Jonathon?"

"Good."  I was trying hard to study, and so did not even look up from my books.  

"Good.  Hey, I was talking to someone at work today.  He said you were at his house recently visiting his daughter."

This could get annoying fast, I thought, if he heard about it every time I was over at Helen's house.  "Oh, yeah.  That's Helen probably."

"Really?"  He hovered over me.  He wanted more information, but I didn't feel like this was any of his business.  "Is she a nice girl?"

"Yeah, she's cool."

"How did you meet her?"

The answer was obvious, and my tone of voice reflected my annoyance at being asked an obvious question.  "Dad, we go to school together."

"Oh.  Well, okay."  He was searching for more questions.  "So do you spend a lot of time with this girl then?"

"Not a ton."

"But you think she's pretty cool?"  I really did not appreciate him trying to dig into my romantic life, but I knew that if I kept cool it would blow over soon enough.

"Yeah, she's okay."

At last he gave up.  "Alright, well keep me informed Jonathon."  He gave me a pat on the back, and then left.

News spread fast.  I'm not really sure how he found out about it.  Perhaps Helen had casually mentioned to someone how nice I was to show her around.  Perhaps David let it slip that I was interested in Helen.  Nothing ever stays a secret for too long.

Orion confronted me in the school hallways during break one day.  Around him were several snickering boys, who knew he planned to humiliate me and hoped to get a good laugh out of it.

The boys blocked my way.  Orion stepped forward.  "Jonny, Jonny, Jonny."  A smile was on his face, but it was not a friendly smile.  It was a smile for him alone.  “I hear you've been spending a lot of time with Helen lately."

I backed up, cautious of Orion.  The passage of time had only served to increase his muscles.  He had grown taller too.  He was, without a doubt, the one kid no one else in the school dared mess with.

There was no right answer to his question.  "I might be."

Orion looked around and the other boys grinned.  I was squirming already.  "Now what kind of an answer is that Jonny?  Are you afraid to tell us something?  We hear you two spent all of Thursday afternoon together.  Now that's a lot of time, isn't it Jonny?  You even went to her house?"

"Does this have a point?"

"Calm down Jonny, I just want to talk to you."  I turned to go the other way, and found the circle had expanded to block my path from behind as well.  I was trapped in a circle of boys.  "Do you like her Jonny?  Is our Jonny boy in love?"  The voice had assumed a mocking tone.

"Leave me alone Orion."

"She's not bad looking Jon, not bad at all.  What do you suppose she looks like without her clothes on?  Do you think she's good in bed Jon?  Have you screwed her yet Jonny?  Have you?  I bet you want to."  Orion's tone was dripping with a mocking quality.  The boys were practically rolling with laughter.

"Go screw yourself, Orion."

He tolerated no back talk.  The words were barely out of my mouth when Orion's fist hit my jaw.  I was knocked to the ground.  "You watch it Jon.  I'll tear you apart."  Orion stepped on me as he walked off.  The laughing boys followed.  I rubbed my bruised jaw and stood up and watched him leave before I went back into the crowd.

I talked to Helen every day, but it was about a week since our tour of the city when I asked her out again.  "She seems to be an intelligent girl," David said.  "Take her to that play."

"What play?"

"Boy, you are out of it Jonny.  Angela is playing this week.  It's a classic."

I shook my head.  "I've never heard of it."

"She'll like it Jon, trust me.  She seems like that kind of girl."

I asked her the following day after school.  "Hey, Helen, what are you doing this Friday?"

"No plans yet Jon, why?"

"Well, there's a play in town I'd like to go to, and I'm looking for someone to go with."

"Angela?  Why yes Jon, I want to see that play too.  This Friday?  Yes I'd love to go."

And so we were on.  Friday arrived and after going home initially when school got out, I biked back to her house.  I had on some of my nicest clothes.

I knocked on the door.  Her father answered.  "Well, well.  Jonathon.  Come in, come in, just be careful.  If anything happens to you in my house I think I'll be out of a job."  His wide smile let me know he was joking, but there was probably truth behind that joke.  "Helen's still getting ready," he explained to me, before shouting upstairs, "Helen, Jonathon's here."

"Tell him I'll be right down," she shouted back.

He turned to me.  "She'll be right down."

"Okay."

"Would you like a drink?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You know I really enjoy working with your father.  He seems like a man of real integrity."

"I suppose."

"Helen says you're really proud of him."  Had I given that impression?  I didn't mean to.  I was slightly taken aback by it, but no use denying it now.

"Yeah, I think he's pretty cool."

We both heard Helen coming down the stairs and turned to look.  She was dressed very nicely.  A red shirt and black dress pants.  Helen's dad whistled his appreciation.  "My you look nice tonight dear."  She blushed, and knowing that she was embarrassed made me feel uncomfortable as well.  "Well, you kids better get going if you want to catch the show," he said, opening the door for us.

We walked towards the theater.  "I'm really excited about this Jon," she said.  "I've always wanted to see this play.  I read the book when I was younger, and enjoyed every word of it."

"I'm looking forward to it too."

"That was very nice of you to ask me."

"Well I'm glad you came Helen."

We arrived at the theater.  I had already bought the tickets.  They were up high near the back, but I couldn't afford much better, and I'm sure she understood.  We could still tell what was going on.

But what to do next?  Once the play ended and everyone began to disperse, I recommended we go to a coffee house.  She said that was fine, but the play had gone so late that nothing was open.  We walked up and down the brick roads, alone in the glow of the street lamps.  In the dimness, we eventually just ended up at the field where my school friends and I competed in sports.

"Do you want to just sit down on the grass for a while?" I suggested.

"Yes that sounds good.  It's too bad nothing was open."

"It's okay.  I don't like the taste of coffee anyway.  I was just looking for something to do."  I sat first on the grassy field, and she did the same.  "It's probably nicer being outside anyway."  I moved my hand and felt the softness of the grass.  I dug my and into the dirt and flet how firm and comfortable it was.  "Feel the ground," I suggested to her.  "Isn't it soft?"

"Oh Jon, look at the stars," she said.  I jerked my head up.  If she was interested in the stars, so was I.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"There are so many of them Jon.  It's incredible."  I gripped the soil with my hand while I gazed upwards.  I felt the dirt run through my hands.  So many grains of dirt too.

It was a quiet moment; a magical moment as we both gazed up at the sky.  She was in wonder.  I felt like I should say something profound.  "What do you to do Helen?"  She looked at me blankly.  "I mean with your life.  What do you want to do with your life?"

"Oh I don't know.  We're a little young to start thinking about that, don't you think?"

"I guess, yeah."  It did not seem to me like we were too young at all, but then my future was already all planned out for me.

She thought for a moment.  "I really don't know.  I mean I like to read," she laughed, "but you can't do that for a living, right?  I enjoy writing."

"Maybe you could write then?"

"Yeah, maybe."  She started to stare off into space as if she were intrigued with the thought, but then shook it off.  "I don't know if I'm good enough though.  I'd like to."

I moved closer to her.  I was sitting right beside her now.  "Your family seems pretty cool."

Smile.  "You like them?"

"What I've seen of them, yeah.  You guys act like you're pretty close."

"I think we are," she laughed nervously.  "I don't know what other families are like though.  I can see them, but you never really know what they're like.  Do you know what I mean?"

I nodded.  Things aren't always what they seem."

"Yes, well put Jon."

I put my arm around her, cautiously at first.  Carefully I observed her reactions.  She did not tense up.  In fact she leaned against me.  I felt her body against mine, the warmth of it surprised me.  I tightened my grip.  I looked over at her, and she was looking up at me.  "Helen I-" I faltered, temporarily over come by nervousness.  I swallowed.  "Helen I think you're a really special girl."

She looked away quickly.  Did her body tense up as well, or was that just my imagination.  My heartbeat quickened.  I was fearful I had ruined everything.  "Was that the wrong thing to say?" I asked, my voice no doubt shaking.

She looked back at me.  I focused on her face, trying to decipher her expression.  What did it mean?  The smile was gone.  The eyes weren't gleaming.  Was she upset?  Was she just serious?  I couldn't tell.  "I don't think so," she said, after a moment of silence.

I leaned towards her.  Her eyes at first opened wide with surprise when my lips met hers, but she did not back away.  Soon, she began to return my kiss.  I felt a softness and tenderness in her lips that had been absent from Phyrria's.  

We pulled away at the same time.  I scanned her face again.  What did that expression mean?  Was she happy?  She looked so serious.  Could she be happy when that smile was not covering her face?  I was so confused.  "Are you okay?" I asked.  She nodded her head, but she did not convince me.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing.  Nothing Jon.  I'm okay."  A smile flashed across her lips.

In my nervousness I felt along the ground with my hand.  While keeping my eyes on her I felt the grass.  My hand went deeper, and I got to the dirt, and I tried to grab a handful of it, but this time I did not find loose soil, just well packed dirt.  I dug my fingers in, and a few chunks broke off, but it was not the soft soil I was expecting.  The whole time, my hand acted beside me while I remained focused on her face.  I didn't know what else to do, so I just asked, "May I kiss you again, Helen?"  She answered by putting her lips against mine.

Chapter 10

I took Helen home later that night, and biked to the suburbs where my home was.  I didn't even know what time it was, but when I looked at the clock it was much later than I expected.  No one else was up, so I just went to bed.

I didn't see Helen the rest of the weekend.  I decided to just wait until Monday.  I biked into town and in my play with David I was brought into a moments walk from her house, but I wanted to just wait until Monday.  I was nervous enough anyway, so I could use the break.

I went to school on Monday, and sat next to Helen again in class.  We chatted pleasantly and I told her about what I did for the rest of the weekend and she mentioned that she really enjoyed the play.  The teacher entered the classroom, and the conversation ceased.

During class, I felt her hit my arm.  I looked over and she motioned that she wanted to talk to me.  I leaned close, and she whispered, "Can I talk to you after school?"

"Is anything wrong?"

"I just want to talk."

"Okay."  I returned to my upright position, but I did not listen to the teacher.  In fact the rest of the day I tuned out all my teachers.  I thought only of Helen, and what she might want to talk about.  

I met her in the hallways.  "Let's not talk here Jon.  Is there somewhere else we can go?"

The answers to that question were so numerous that I didn't know where to begin.  I simply shrugged.  "Take your pick."

"I want to go somewhere where there aren't a lot of people.  What about that field we were on the other night?"

"Not this time of day.  Not if you're trying to avoid other people.  It's a popular sports spot.”

"What about all those coffee shops?"

"Those are fine.  Those have other people in them of course."

"Can we talk there?"

"Yeah.  I'm sure other people won't try and eavesdrop on us there.  We can keep to ourselves."  We talked about silly stuff on the way over, how our respective days at school went and what teachers we wished would drop off of the face of the planet and why.  We arrived at the coffee shop.  Neither of us having a taste for coffee, we each ordered sodas.  Helen was beginning to act increasingly nervous.  Once we sat down I could contain myself no longer.  "What did you want to talk about?"

She reached out and grabbed my hand and squeezed it.  I squeezed her hand in return.  "You're a very sweet boy Jon," her face became anxious, "but I'm new here.  I haven't even met most of the guys in our grade yet.  I'm not looking to hook up with someone the first month I'm here."  She squeezed my hand.  "Jon, I'm sorry.  I got confused a little of Friday night.  Do you understand?"  My mouth was dry, but I nodded.  "Are you okay Jon?"

"Yeah, I'm okay.  Don't worry Helen, I understand."

"Well, these things happen Jonny."  I was sprawled out on David's bed.  He was sitting on the floor of his room.  "Hey, cheer up man.  She's just one girl.  You'll get over her eventually."

"All this time I thought she liked me, but she was probably just being friendly."

"Yeah, you've got to be careful with girls like her."

A terrible thought struck me.  "Dave, do you think I messed up somewhere along the line?  Maybe she liked me at first and I blew it."

"Now come on Jonny, don’t start thinking like that.  What did you do wrong?"  A flood of potential mistakes entered my brain.  I put my hand to my head and groaned.  "Jon, you're thinking about this too much.  What good is second guessing yourself going to do?"  I recognized the wisdom in his words, and yet I could not stop thinking about it.  "You know Jonny, I don't know if this is any comfort or not, but she did feel bad about it."

I bolted upright.  "What?  How do you know?"

"She's in a couple of my classes.  She told me."

He had my complete attention.  "What did she say?"

"Oh, she said you had agreed to talk to her later that afternoon, and she went on and on about how she was afraid she was going to hurt your feelings, and that you wouldn't want to be friends with her anymore.  I told her that she was only going to hurt your feelings more if she wasn't honest with you, and she agreed.”

"You knew about this?"  I felt stabbed in the back.  The two of them had been planning together on how she was going to give me the bad news.  

"Well, what was I supposed to do Jon?  You wouldn't have wanted to hear it from me anyway."

That was true.  I'm glad she told me face to face at least.  "Yeah, you're right Dave."

He stood up and patted me on my back.  "You'll be okay Jon."

I lay back on the bed.  This wouldn't kill me, no, but it would be hard just the same.

The next day I felt awkward at first sitting next to Helen, but her friendliness put me at ease.  I was even able to talk to her after school without feeling too out of place, but things were not the same.  She was obviously interested in staying friends, and I still adored her, so we maintained talking to each other just as much.

And then one Friday before a month had even passed I arrived at school in the morning, and as everyone was scrambling to get to class I saw Helen walking with her arm wrapped around another guy.  He had his arm around her as well.  They were obviously comfortable with each other.  Who was the other guy?

Oh no!  Oh no!  Not him!  Anyone in the world but him!

Orion walked proudly.  He and Helen were in each other's embrace.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  I was standing behind them, but I thought I saw Orion look behind him and smile at me.  Was he really smiling at me, or was I just being paranoid in my hurt?  Did Orion, as I believed in my anger at the time, woo Helen just so he could crush my feelings.  I still don't know.  All I know is that I was horrified.

At break, I saw them again arm in arm.  After school I tried to leave as soon as possible so I would not have to talk to Helen.  Keeping my head down to avoid making eye contact with her just in case she was out there, I headed for the door.  She would probably want to talk to me and explain things and she was the last person I wanted to talk to right now.

I sneaked outside, walked with my head down to my bike, fumbled quickly with my lock, and turned to go.  I wanted to get out of that place as soon as I could.  A leg flashed out and blocked my way.  I looked up and there was Orion.  His snickering gang of boys was with him.

I looked Orion over.  He was tall, he was handsome, he was good at everything, he was adored by all.  He could have any girl he wanted.  How could Helen resist him?

"Hey Jonny."  The boys were laughing already in anticipation of what was coming.  

"I'm in a hurry Orion."

"No you're not Jon."  Orion gave a kick and my bike fell to the ground.  I rushed to it protectively, but Orion stepped on it to prevent me from picking it back up.  The boys closed in one me once again.  "We just want to talk to you."  He knelt down by me, as I hovered protectively over my bicycle.  "We understand you've had a rough time lately."

I stood up.  He stood up.  "What do you want?"

"Just think of us as your therapists Jon.  Now, we understand your tender little heart was broken earlier.  Is that true?  I remained silent, so Orion continued.  "Well the boys and I just wanted you to know how sorry we were."

There were shouts of agreement from the crowd, and voices piped in, "Cheer up Jon."

Or "don't be down Jon, it happens to all of us."

"Yeah, you’re a good fellow Jon."

Their tones seemed very sincere.  If it had been any other circumstance, I would not even have believed they were mocking me.

"Helen's a real nice girl Jon, a real nice girl.  A real intelligent girl too.  She's a real catch all around, huh?"  Orion circled me as he talked.  He was right; Helen was a real intelligent girl.  No doubt Orion had knocked her off her feet with his knowledge of literary classics.  No doubt she had been absolutely astounded by how much he had read, how many plays he knew about, and how intelligent he was.  The fact that he was tall dark and handsome certainly did not hurt.  "It's really too bad you let her get away.  You won't come across another girl like her in a thousand years you know."

The boys echoed him.  "What were you thinking Jon?"

And "How could you let her get away?"

"Now Jonny, word out on the street is that you and Helen shared a few kisses.  Is that true?"  There was no way I wanted to answer that question in front of a leering crowd, but Orion did not intend to let me off the hook.  "I think we deserve an answer here Jon.  We can't help you if you won't talk to us."

"I'm not answering that question Orion."

The crowd made an oooing sound.  Orion turned to the boy closest to him.  "Well, that sounds like a yes to me.  What do you think?"

"I think that's a yes."

"Now Jon would you like to deny the fact that you kissed her?"  I remained silent.  Orion briefly assumed the deep important voice of a court judge.  "Let your silence condemn you sir.  We find you guilty."  (Yes, sadly in Fabulae silence was almost always taken for a sign of guilt in our courts).

Orion stopped circling and got right in front of me.  "Not bad Jon, not bad at all.  You've got fire in your blood, stealing her kisses like that.  Of course, Helen and I, we've gone much farther than just kissing.  How far do you think we've gone Jon?"  I wanted nothing more than just to hit him right then.  Oh, he was much stronger than I was, but I'd get one good hit in at least before he beat me into a bloody pulp.  Maybe then Helen would see what kind of a guy she was snuggling with.  The only thing that was holding me back was that it seemed to be what he wanted me to do.

"This question," Orion rolled up his sleeves, "you will answer Jon."  

He intends to physically force me to answer?  Well no point in prolonging it then.  With as much distaste as I could put into voice I replied, "let me guess Orion.  You screwed her."

Orion rubbed my head.  "Good guess Jonny boy.  Boy, you're really a lot smarter than I thought."  I could all to easily imagine him seducing her.  What woman could resist him?  I could no longer contain myself.  My arm flew out towards him.

But he was quicker than I thought.  His right hand flashed up to block my punch, and almost simultaneously his left hand punched me in the face.  He was left-handed.

I fell to the ground.  "Stand him up boys," Orion called out.  I was roughly pulled to my feet.  I had given Orion an excuse to beat me, which he did repeatedly before his boys let me drop.  Orion straightened his shirt when he was done, as I lay bruised on the ground.  His boys watched to see what he would do next.  How they adored him.  He was irresistible to boys as well as girls.  "It's okay Jonny," Orion said stepping over me as he left.  "Everyone gets their heart broken sometime."

I picked myself up, retrieved my bike, and carefully examined it for any signs of damage before heading over to David's house.

I knocked on the door.  David was not pleased to see me when he answered.  "Jon!  You know better than to come to my house like this."

"What?"

"You're bleeding Jon.  My parents would freak out if they saw you right now."

"Are they home?"

"Yes, but come on.  If we get you downstairs you should be alright."  David led me down stairs to his room and began cleaning me up.  I told him about the encounter with Orion.

"My, you're a mess Jon."

"How bad is it?"

He looked me over.  "Well, Orion was smart enough not to do any permanent damage.  You're gonna look like you were in a fight for a couple of days though."

I rolled my eyes.  "My dad's going to love that."

I did my best to avoid my father that night, but he found me anyway.  He demanded to know what had happened, and insisted on having the doctor come to look me over, and lectured me sternly about how getting into fights at school was bad for my future.  I did not even try and explain the circumstances to him.  He wouldn't understand, and he wouldn't try to understand.

David cornered me on Monday at the beginning of school.  "Hey, Jon, I've got some great news."  We had five minutes before the bell officially ran to begin classes.  We left the crowded hallways and went in an empty classroom.

"I went over to Helen's house of Friday after you left.  I told her everything you told me."  Oh great, now Orion would bug me about being a squealer.  David must have read what I was thinking on my face.  "No, don't worry Jon, it's okay.  Helen was so disgusted by Orion she immediately decided she wanted nothing to do with him.  And, it turns out she had only met him the night before, that Thursday night.  What Orion told you about having sex was an absolute lie.  They never even kissed."  Well, I guess David was right after all.  This was good news.

David put his hand on my shoulder.  "Now Jon, I don't know how you're going to feel about this, but I think Helen might be interested in me."

"And you?"

"I think she's a great girl Jon.  Would you be okay with, I mean if we ever-"

It was an interesting position.  At first I was rather pleased with the prospect.  If I could not be close to Helen, then I could think of no one more deserving of it than David.  It was certainly a better choice than Orion.

Reader, perhaps you yourself have been in a similar position.  You are in love, but she is in love with your friend, and you think to yourself, "well if I can't have her, at least it's him and not someone else.  At least she'll be close by."  But eventually you come to realize what this means.  It means they are always together around you, and the closeness you early welcomed becomes a dagger in disguise.  It is a constant reminder, like a wound that keeps getting torn open.  And soon, you can hardly spend any time with him, because he is always with her, and she is always with him, and you begin to resent both of them and you start to think to yourself, "Why did it have to be him?  Please, anyone in the world but him."

Chapter 11

A knock aroused me from my activities.  I went to the door and opened it.  Icarus was standing in the doorway.  “Hello Icarus,” I said, greeting him with a nod of my head before returning to my activities.

“Hello Jonny,” Icarus replied.  “Um, I’ll just let myself in then, okay Jon?”

I opened another box.  “Oh yeah, come in, come in Icarus.  I don’t mean to be rude, I’ve just got a lot of unpacking to do.”

“Still?  Jon we’ve been here for almost a week and you still haven’t unpacked yet?”

I threw some clothes on a shelf.  “I’ve been busy.”

“You didn’t even have time to unpack?”  Jon, what in the world have you been doing?  Classes don’t even start for another couple days.”

Well, truthfully I hadn’t been doing much of anything.  I’d just been hanging around with various people, goofing off during our first week at the University.  “You know, having fun.”

Icarus plopped down in my chair.  “Hey, I stopped by David’s place this evening.  He wasn’t there.  Do you know where he went?”

“Yeah, he’s out with Helen.”

Icarus leaned back in the chair.  That boy could never sit still for long.  “Figures.  Those two spend a lot of time together, don’t they?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“Man, you’d think they were married or something.  How long have they been going out?”

“Oh, about a couple years now.”

“That long already?  Do you ever see David anymore?”

I shrugged.  “A little bit.  It’s not like it used to be.”

Icarus stood up and walked to the window.  “Lots of things aren’t like they used to be.”  He spit out the window.  “Hey Jon, check it out.  I made it all the way to the sidewalk.”

“Nice Icarus,” I said, unpacking my journal carefully and placing it in a desk drawer.

“Like I was saying though, things are really changing.  I mean, we’re at the University now.”  Icarus flung out his hands to punctuate what he was saying.  “The University Jon.  We’re not kids anymore.  Did you ever seriously think we’d ever make it to this point?”

“I knew I had to go somewhere.”

“You know what I mean.  Did you ever think we’d be this old?  I mean, didn’t you think we’d be kids forever?”

I smiled.  “There was a part of me that thought that, yeah.”

Icarus went over and looked at my boxes.  “Need any help unpacking?”

“Nah, I got it.”

“Hey, how come you didn’t get stuck with a room mate like the rest of us?”  I shrugged, too embarrassed to say.  Icarus turned from my boxes to look at me.  His face relaxed into a knowing look.  “Because of your father huh?  Old Flash pulled a few strings to make sure you got your own room.”

I decided to change the subject.  “How do you like your room mate?”

Icarus issued a short laugh.  “What a moron.  How I hate him.  Hey Jonny, do you have anything to eat?  I’m starving over here.”

“You’re not scrounging my food again Icarus.”

“Oh come on.  Your dad can afford it.”

I opened a desk drawer and found a sack of nuts.  “Here, take it,” I said, throwing it at Icarus.

“Much obliged Jonny.”  I took my socks out of a box and started putting them in a dresser.  “Well Jon, I suppose you were wondering what you’re doing tonight?”

“I know what I’m doing tonight.  I’m unpacking.”

“Not tonight you’re not.  Tonight you are going to the University art show.”  Icarus flashed a flier in my face.  “Check this out Jon.  All art by University students on display, plus information about how we can contribute to the art community.”  Icarus removed the flier away from my face and read from it.  “See art on display by your fellow students, interact with fellow art lovers, learn about other cultural events the University offers, and even opportunities to submit your own art.”

“I’m not going.”

“What?  Give me one good reason why not.”  Icarus folded the flier back up and returned it to his pocket as he talked.

“I don’t like art and I have to unpack tonight.”

I opened another box, but Icarus walked over and closed it.  “Alright Jon, this stuff has been in boxes all week.  It can stay here another night.”

“I’ve got to unpack sometime.”

“Tomorrow is sometime.”

“Icarus, I don’t even like art.”

Icarus tried to assume a disgusted look, which was ruined by his continued eating of my food.  “Don’t like art?  Well then my boy, I absolutely insist you come to the art show.  Besides, it will be an opportunity for you to meet some new people.”

“But I don’t--”

“Come on,” Icarus said, opening the door.  “We’re going to be late.”  When I just stared blankly at him, Icarus pleaded with me.  “Come on Jonny, just spend two hours with me at this art show and I promise I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”  He could see I needed more convincing.  “Jon, you know I can make your night miserable.”

I reopened the box and removed a pair of pants.  “Two hours?”

“That’s all I ask from you.”

I breathed out a long sigh.  “You really tire me sometimes Icarus.”

“Come on Jonny.  Art’s a waiting.”

I expected a magnificent affair.  The University had several beautiful buildings which would have lended themselves excellently to the event.  There were buildings with tall magnificent dome ceilings, and beautiful halls lighted by wide glass windows.

The art show, however, was tucked away in the basement of one of the buildings.  It was somewhat dimly lit, but well enough so that the artwork could be seen.

Icarus insisted on making an entrance.  He flung open the doors and walked in with his arms outstretched, as if welcoming the art.  Heads turned towards him, and I sneaked in afterwards rather embarrassed.  A few portraits lined the wall where we first entered.  Icarus stood back and admired them.  I looked around at the other people.

“Hey, Jon, pay attention here.  You’re embarrassing me.  I brought you to an art show, quit starting at the people.”  Icarus suddenly thought of something.  “Are there any beautiful girls?”

“No.”

“Well come on then Jon, look at the art.  I mean, why do you think I brought you here.”  I looked over at the portraits to appease Icarus.  After a couple minutes, he hit my shoulder lightly.  “Alright Jon, which one’s your favorite?”

“Um, that one I guess.”

“Which one?”

“That one, on the right.”

“Why?”

“It looks the most realistic.”  Icarus laughed.  “What?  What did I say?”

“Come on Jon.  Let’s go see some more stuff.”

We went down the hall.  Icarus stopped me suddenly.  “Now look at that Jon.  That is art.  Do you see that painting?  I nodded.  “Absolutely beautiful.  That really speaks to me Jon.  Look at the way the colors play with each other, the message of conflict in it.  The inner struggle of the artist is manifested here on this piece of paper.  I must meet this artist.”  Icarus spoke loudly, not caring who heard him.  I put my head into my hand in embarrassment at being with him.  “Com on Jon, this is an art show.  Look at the painting.  Really, I can’t go anywhere with you.  Now quit embarrassing me.”

Quietly resolving never again to accompany Icarus anywhere, I peeked at the painting through my fingers.  It was simply a swirl of colors, nothing that made sense.  Icarus remained fascinated by it and it was some time before we moved on.

Sculptures and paintings loomed before our eyes.  Icarus was invariably attracted to the ones that didn’t make sense.  A sculpture that appeared to be just a bunch of random stones thrown together he raved about.  A painting that was just different colored dots he talked to me about for a full five minutes.

Icarus stopped at a painting and was fascinated by it.  He was fascinated by so much at this show.  “Look at this Jon.  This painting is absolutely magnificent.  I must meet the artist.”  It was an interesting painting certainly, although it did not fit my tastes.  The colors were white at the center, branching out to include a wide variety of red, yellow and black, but only at the fringes.  The center of the painting was mostly white.

The picture was of two different men, one imposed over the other.  Both men were shown from the back so that their faces were not visible.  Both men had their arms raised, although since their figures overlapped, things became muddled and I couldn’t quite tell what either was doing with their hands.

“Now tell me Jon, what do you see when you look at this painting?”

The answer seemed obvious.  “Two separate paintings of men overlapping?”

“No.  No, no, no Jonny.  What does it mean to you?”  Icarus leaned back and contemplated the painting.  His eyes narrowed, his hand rested under his chin.  He had assumed the posture of an art critic.  “Now see Jon, when I look at this painting, I see the sun.”

“What?”

“No, look.  You’ve got pure hot brilliant white in the center, and then it moves out to different colors.  You know all color comes from the sun Jon.”

“What about the two men in the middle?”

“The symbolize life.  All life is dependent on the sun.  And they both have their arms raised, welcoming the sun.”

“But they’re in the sun.”

“No, that’s just symbolic.  Imagine they’re on Earth, reaching towards the sun, and yet at the same time they’re placed in the sun.”  Icarus snapped his fingers, pleased at his explanation.  “This painting is absolutely brilliant.  I would love to meet the artist.”

Another student perked his head up.  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help over hearing.  I can introduce you to him if you like.”

“You know him?”  Icarus asked excitedly.

“He’s my roommate.”

Icarus quickly introduced himself and me.  “My name is Adonis,” the student answered.  “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”  Adonis took us to the refreshment room.  Four or five people were hanging out in there, eating cake and drinking punch.  Adonis took us to one of them and introduced us.

The artist was not a short person, but he was certainly not tall.  The top of his head only reached to about my chin.  He had big arms, but they were rather undefined.  He was wearing a plain T-shirt, and did not look at all like many of the other art goers present.

Adonis introduced us.  “Hermes, these are fans of yours.”

Hermes was eating a piece of cake when Adonis came up to him.  Hermes hurriedly  took one last bite of the cake, put the rest down, licked his fingers and then wiped them off on a napkin while talking to us.  “Really?  You guys like my art work?”

“Loved it,” Icarus responded.

“Here, let me pour you guys a drink.  Have you tried this punch yet?  It’s fantastic.”

“You sir, are a genius,” Icarus said.  “I found your painting absolutely astounding.

“Which one?”

Icarus turned to me.  “Oh, now I didn’t quite catch the name of it.  Did you happen to see the tittle of it by any chance Jon?”

“No.”

“Well it was the big one with two people imposed over each other if that rings any bells.”

“Of course,” Hermes snapped his fingers in recognition.  He extended his hand to us.  “I didn’t catch either of your names.”

We both introduced ourselves, and Hermes was so pleased at having admirers that he walked with us back to the actual painting.

“Now as you can see I haven’t even named the piece,” Hermes said.  Icarus and I glanced at the painting and, sure enough, the words, “Untitled by Hermes”, resided at the bottom.  “Maybe you can help me think of a name.”

Icarus held out his hand suddenly.  “No, no no Hermes, I wouldn’t dream of toying with your masterpiece.  You were right the first time.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well it’s a stroke of genius really,” Icarus asserted.  “Hermes here has recognized the powerfulness of what he was trying to convey, and he knew that a name would only be a distraction.  You see Jon, the danger with putting a name on a piece of art is some of those morons out there will try and use the name to encapsulate the whole piece, as if it could be defined in a word or phrase.”  Icarus turned to Hermes.  “Sir, I commend you on being able to break free of that.”

Hermes nodded his head graciously.  “Would you like to see some of my other art work?”

“You bet I would,” Icarus responded eagerly.

We walked down the hall.  “You guys first year students here?”  We both answered yes.  “That’s cool.  I’m a second year student myself.  You guys like art I take it?”  Icarus said yes.  “Well hey, you should join the art guild.  You could display some of your own stuff.  Do you paint?”

“A little bit,” Icarus answered.  “I’m not very good, but I have a few pieces.”

“Don’t worry about it man.  This whole show is just students.  Anyone who wants to display a painting can do so, no matter how good it is.  By the way, where are you guys from?”  We both answered we were from Urbae.  “Ah, local boys, huh?  You probably know more about the University than I do.  I’m from Alba.”

Icarus raised his eyebrows.  “My, you’ve come a long way to go to school.”

Hermes nodded.  “I sure have.  I wanted to go to school in the capital city, where all the action is.”

Icarus and I exchanged looks.  “Listen Hermes, let me save you the anticipation,” Icarus said.  “There is no action in Urbae.”

“It’s a sleeping city,” I chimed in.  “Nothing ever happens here.”

“Then why are you two still here.”

“I don’t know.  Why are we still here Jonny?”

I knew why I was here.  My father would tolerate me going no where else.  What would I gain from going to school in another city?  My future was here in Urbae.

Hermes showed us other various pieces of his that were in the show.  There was a rock painted with various colors sitting on a stand.  “Astounding,” Icarus raved.  There was a painting of a tree trunk, which turned into a man as it grew upwards.  “Now see Jon, this is a stroke of genius by Hermes.  I’ve never seen anyone so expertly express the human condition.  That’s how we all are.  We long to fly with the birds, to leave the ground, but we’re rooted to the ground, just as trees are.  We’re really only slightly freer than the trees, who can’t even move at all.  And the real tragedy of this whole thing is that we don’t even realize it.  And here Hermes has excellently expressed the longing we all feel.  Well done Hermes.”

I was once again becoming embarrassed by Icarus, who talked about Hermes as if Hermes wasn’t there.  Hermes seemed pleased by the attention.

“Hey, are you boys doing anything after the show?  Do you want to join me for a cup of coffee or something?”

Icarus was overjoyed.  “Why we’d be honored.”

“Actually, I’ve got to finish unpacking.  I’m sure you two will have fun.”

Icarus grabbed my shoulder.  “Are you telling me that you are passing up an opportunity to go out with the artist?”

“Icarus, you told me two hours.”

“This is a special case, Jon.  I can’t let you miss this.  In fact I insist you come.  I’ll pay for you.”

I considered the offer.  “Okay, deal, but I can’t stay out too late.”

Hermes took us to an out of the way coffee shop a little ways down from the university.  “This place doesn’t’ really get much business.  Nobody even knows it’s here really, just because of the location of it.  You boys like coffee, right?”

“Love it,” Icarus responded.

“Actually, the coffee at this place really isn’t anything special.  I mean, it’s not bad, but it’s not outstanding.  The real reason I love to go to this place is the people here.  I’ve met some of the most interesting people I know at this place.  Artists, poets, writers, and art lovers, you can find them all here.”  That prospect excited Icarus I think.

The coffee shop really was an interesting place.  It was only about a half-mile from the University, and yet it was in a dark, out of the way alley with an entrance that was hardly visible.  It was a wonder anyone knew this place existed at all.

Hermes brought us to the door.  In red paint above the door the words, “The Cave” were paint, but it was obvious not a lot of care had gone into their creation.  They looked hastily scribbled, and the paint had dripped down to the door before it dried.

Hermes pushed the old door and went inside.  We followed him.  There was a flight of stairs immediately after the door, which we climbed up.  They were wet and slippery and the place smelled like vomit.  As we neared the top of the stairs, the smell of vomit disappeared and was replaced by the smell of smoke.

The place was actually a lot larger than the small entrance had led me to believe.  The coffee shop was roughly the size of a basketball court, maybe a little bigger.  It was extremely smoky though.  Everyone had a pipe or a cigarette.  I think I even saw a few cigars there.  Involuntarily I coughed as the smoke invaded my lungs.  Hermes was right about one thing certainly.  The people who went here were interesting characters.  I looked over a sea of wire-rimmed eyeglasses and hair that went in every direction.

Icarus jabbed me.  “Hey ease up on the coughing.  You’re making the smokers uncomfortable.”

Hermes motioned to an empty table.  “You boys sit there.  I’ll go pick you up something special, my treat.”

Hermes went to the counter to order.  Icarus and I sat at the empty table.  Icarus’ face beamed with excitement.  “This is so cool Jon.  Coffee with the artist.”

“I think we’re the first fans he’s ever had,” I said.  “I think he cares more about making a good impression on us then we do on him.”

Icarus leaned forward.  “Jon, do you realize the genius of this man?  He’s like a prophet of our generation.”

I didn’t feel like arguing the point, so I decided to change the subject.  “So Icarus, have you met any new and exciting people at the University?”

Icarus laughed.  “Ah Jonny, you wouldn’t believe it.  I’ve been going out of my way to meet new people.”  In contrast to Icarus, I had hung out only with people I knew from the old school, not really caring about meeting new people.  “I’ve met this girl with legs like you wouldn’t believe.  She’s like a supermodel Jonny.”

I smiled.  “So Icarus, any possibilities here?”

He turned his head to the side in a contemplative pose.  “Well, I’m definitely interested.  We’ll have to see how things go.  I’m not sure if she’s as interested in me as I am in her.”

“Tell me more, tell me more.”

“Well, her name in Venus, and get this Jon: I’m going out with her this Friday.”

I suddenly became worried for Icarus, well at the same time not entirely surprised that he would do something like this.  “You mean, this Friday as in today?” I asked dryly.

“What?”  The smile vanished from Icarus’ face as he realized what I was talking about.  “Oh no.”  Icarus used just about every swear word he knew as he looked around frantically for a clock.  “Blast it!  Jonny, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“It was eight when we came in.”

“I still have time if I hurry.  Jon, it’s been fun.”  Icarus stood up, kissed me on the cheek, and bolted out the door before I even had time to protest.  And there I was, left alone with this new prophet of our generation.

Hermes showed up with three steaming cups.  He sat down, and gave me a cup.  ‘Try this.  You’ll love it.”

I brought the cup cautiously to my face and smelled the contents.  “Is this coffee?”

“It has coffee in it.  Go ahead, try it.”

I brought it to my lips and took a small sip.  An incredibly sweet taste passed through my mouth.  I took a bigger gulp.  “This is delicious,” I exclaimed.  “What is it?”

“A little mixture they serve here.  It doesn’t even taste like coffee, does it?”

“I don’t like coffee, but I like this.”

“Good, good.”  Hermes put a cup in front of Icarus’ chair, then indicated towards the empty spot.  “Is he just in the bathroom?”

“Actually no, he had to leave suddenly.  He forgot he had a date tonight.”

“Oh.”  Hermes seemed disappointed.

“Well, more drink for the rest of us,” I said, trying to cheer Hermes up.

“That’s really too bad.  He seemed like an insightful person.”

“I’m sure he is.”

An awkward silence followed.  “Well I was quiet impressed with your artwork as well Hermes,” I lied, for the sake of breaking the silence.

“Really?”

I gulped down some more of the sweet drink.  “Now I have a question.  You know that exhibit of the rock you had?  The rock painted all different colors?”

“Yes.”

“What was the meaning behind that?”

“There was no meaning.”

“Your message then?”

Hermes shrugged.  “I found that rock on the ground one day when I was walking around.  I thought it looked pretty cool so I picked it up and kept it for a while.  Then one day I thought it needed a little some thing more, so I took it down to the art shop with me and painted it all different colors.”

“And the picture of the tree man?”

Hermes put his fingers to his lips in thought.  “Oh, now let me think.  I’m not really sure exactly where I first got the idea for that.  That looks pretty cool though, doesn’t it?  I was particularly pleased with the way the tree trunk very smoothly turned into a man’s torso.”

I was becoming interested in what Hermes was saying.  I gulped down the last of my drink.  “So all the stuff Icarus was saying about a human’s desire to fly like the birds?”

“I didn’t think of that when I drew it.”

I snapped my fingers eagerly.  “So everything he was saying was just fluff?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that.”

I reached for Icarus’ cup.  “May I?”

“Help yourself.  No, that’s not the way I would look at it at all.  Just because I didn’t consciously put something into the painting doesn’t mean it’s not in there.”

I didn’t feel like debating the point at that moment.  “Okay, okay.  Tell me about the picture of the two figures.  What is the story behind that one?”

Hermes became excited.  “Now that is a painting I had fun creating.  It started out as a simple outline sketch.  I had a friend of mine pose and I drew him from the back.  I drew the whole thing in black.”

“And?”

“Well it was a simple sketch.  I just drew the outline of his body and then I covered the whole thing in with black.  Nothing special.  I didn’t really like the way it looked though, so I covered the whole thing in white paint in frustration.”  Hermes leaned forward in his enthusiasm as he talked about the creation of his masterpiece.  “The interesting thing was that even after painting over the whole thing, I could still see where it had been, so I just traced the outline and put it back on the picture.  It looked pretty cool because it now had a dark outline, and the rest of it looked faded.  But it still needed something, so I got another friend of mine to pose also from the back, and I painted his figure over the one I already had.  I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I thought that maybe it would turn out cool.  Then I just colored the edges so it wouldn’t look so plain.”

I just raised my eyebrows and took another drink.  I did not want to get caught up in another discussion.  “Interesting.”

Hermes, however, was the one who pushed me on it.  “What did Icarus think of it?”

“He uh,” I looked up from my drink to Hermes.  “He’s under the impression that it represents the sun.”

“Well now see, it could be that too.”

“But that’s not what you intended?”  Hermes shook his head.  I could contain myself no longer.  “I don’t know if I necessarily agree with this Hermes.”  Looking for some way to prove my point, I glanced around the table and found some silverware.  “Alright, let’s take this silverware here, and let’s put it on the middle of the table.”  I lumped it down in a loose pile.  “Now it needs a little more, wouldn’t you say?”  I mean silverware in a pile is rather plain, isn’t it?”

“I see where you’re going with this Jon.”

“Well hear me out anyway.”  I grabbed the salt and pepper shakers.  “Okay, now let’s say our mutual friend Icarus comes suddenly back and sees our new creation here and says that,” I struggled for a minute to think of a suitable explanation.  “Alright, let’s say that Icarus says this structure represents the end of conventional middle class mores.  The silverware, which represents Middle class conventions, lie in a fallen position.  The salt and pepper on the other hand are in a dominant upright position.  The salt and pepper are of course spices.  We can use the word spicy in the sense of raunchy or inappropriate.  And so, this seemingly simple structure becomes a subtle prophecy.  Table manners are on their way out, and spiciness is on it’s way in.”  I cleared the table suddenly with a sweep of my arm.  The contents clattered noisily to the ground.  There was a brief silence as people looked over to see what the noise had been, and then the hum of conversation resumed.  “And you and Icarus can make up all the explanations you want.  That pile on the ground is now a new piece of art.  This table is a work of art.  The vomit in that alley outside is art.”

Hermes took a deep breath.  “I see your point Jon.  Why don’t you clean that stuff of the floor?”  I knelt to the floor and picked up the fallen silverware.  “I think you’re looking at this all wrong.  A couple of years ago I was wandering around Alba one day with my sketchpad, just looking for something to draw.  I went just outside of the city, on a little hill.  And on that hill there was a rock, and on that rock there was a broken bottle, so I sketched in the broken bottle in my pad, and then I drew the city in the background.  I liked it so much I later did a whole painting of it.  To me it represented how broken our society is.  The brokenness of the bottle was shown against the city.  I never thought of that when I drew it, but it was all there.  That structure you made on the table that was art because you made it art.  This table could be art to us if we were able to give meaning to it.”

“But can a painting mean something that the artist never intended it to?”

“Why not?  Meaning is determined not by the artist, but by those who interpret the artist’s work.”  I shook my head in confusion.  “Remember also Jon, that not everything has to have a meaning.  Some art is there just for its visual appeal.”

“You mean, beauty for the sake of beauty?”

“Perhaps, yes, but remember not all art is beautiful.  Some art goes out of its way to be ugly or disturbing.”

“To make a point?”

“Sometimes, but don’t forgot what I just said.  Not all art has a point.”

I finished the last of Icarus’ drink.  “I’m not sure I agree with everything you say.”

Hermes leaned back.  “Well you’re certainly entitled to your own opinion.  Maybe you ought to stop by the art guild sometime and learn some more.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.  I don’t like art.”

“You mean you don’t like any art at all?”  I shrugged.  “Come on Jon, you stop by and we’ll be sure to find a piece of art that you like.”

“I don’t know.”

“Here, do you have a piece of paper handy?”  I searched my pockets for paper.  “Never mind.  I’ll just write it on this napkin.  We meet on Tuesday afternoon’s at this time at this place.  Just stop by sometime.  You might be pleasantly surprised.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, pocketing the napkin.

“Hey Jon, do you like music?”

The question caught me off guard.  “I guess so, yeah.  Why?”

“There’s a band playing in a few minutes in the music hall.  I think you might like it.  They’re some of my favorite musicians.”

I thought for a moment.  I did have unpacking to do, but I was beginning to enjoy Hermes’ company, and the unpacking could always wait for another day.

Chapter 12

It was two days after classes started.  I had arranged to meet David and Helen in the cafeteria.  Those two were seldom seen apart.  It was an exception when I was able to spend time with one and not the other.  The three of us sat down at a table.

David opened up his sandwich to look at it, carefully examined it for a moment, and concluded, ‘I think this could use some mustard.”  David grabbed his sandwich and walked over to the condiments.

I bit into my sandwich hungrily, and after swallowing asked Helen, “so, how are classes for you?”

Her eyes widened in excitement.  “Jon, they’re so interesting.  I think this is definitely the place for me.”

“Now you’re enrolled in all literature classes, right?”

“Yes.  I’m impressed that you remembered.”  As if I ever forgot anything concerning her.  “What are you taking.”

“Oh, a little bit of everything.  I haven’t decided what I want to study yet.”  Not that it mattered anyway.  I was going to do the same thing when I graduated no matter what I studied.”

“Are you taking any literature courses?”

“Nope, I’m in physics, math, geography, history, and biology.”  And for some reason, I felt the need to add, “I’m thinking of taking a few art courses next term though.”

“Really?  Why I never thought of you as an artist Jon.”

“I’m not, but I have an interest in it.”

“Well you should take some art classes then.  You might find your niche there after all.  Who knows?”  David sat back down.  “Did you get mustard?” Helen asked.

“Nah, I decided just to forget about it.  I didn’t want to wait in that line.”

Helen rubbed his back.  “Poor Davey.  I’m sure the sandwich will taste alright.”

I saw Simon off in the corner looking for a place to sit, and I waved him over.  “You guys don’t mind, do you?” I asked them after I made the gesture.

“I have no problem with Simon,” David answered, and Helen nodded her agreement.  Simon came over and sat with us, and the four of us made small talk about our classes for a while.

“Hey, have you guys heard about Joshua?” Simon asked at a pause in the conversation.

“Yes,” David answered, wiping his mouth.  “Isn’t that amazing?”

“What?  What happened to Joshua?” I asked.  “He’s at the University, right?”

The other three of them exchanged glances.  “So you don’t know yet?” David asked.

“Tell me,” I demanded impatiently.

“Well, did you know Joshua dropped out of school?” David asked me.

I shook my head.  “Nobody told me.  When did this happen?”

“Yeah, I hardly noticed myself.  He was such a quiet figure it was so easy to forget about him.  Anyway,” David continued, “he dropped out of school a couple of years ago when we were sixteen.”  David turned to Simon.  “Is that right?”

“I think so.  Around then at any rate.”

“So he never made it to the University,” I asked.

“Never even finished school,” Simon said.

“Weird.  I never even noticed.  I just assumed he was here at the University with us.  I mean, he was a smart kid.”

“He seemed to be,” Simon said.  “I’m not sure why he dropped out.  He certainly could have handled things.”

“But get this Jonny, I know we’ve all been getting ready to go to this University the past couple months and stuff and none of us have been following the news or anything, but Joshua has been creating quite a sensation.”

“Joshua?”

“Yeah, who would have thought, huh?” David repeated.

Simon picked up the story.  “Apparently Joshua left his home and just went down to live with the poor.”

“Why in the world would he do that?”

“I don’t know, but the past couple months he’s starting preaching to people.”

“About what?”

Simon twirled his fork on the table.  “I don’t know.  About love or God or something like that.”

It did not sound to me like the actions of a sane man, to live in the streets and tell people about God.  “And people actually listen to him?”

“Yeah, that’s the strange thing,” Simon said.  “Huge crowds go out to listen to him every day.  Some one told me it was getting hard to even see Joshua because of all the people who crowd around him.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, isn’t it?  That’s why I want to go and hear him preach.  You know, find out for myself what the big deal is,” Simon asserted.  “You guys want to come?”

“That sounds interesting Simon,” Helen replied.  “When are you going?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Sometime this week, maybe.  What do you say?  Are you guys in?”

David stopped scooping food into his moth long enough to look over at Helen.  “Yeah, yeah maybe.  That does sound interesting.”

“Not this week Simon,” I decided.  “It’s the first week of classes.  I’ve got way too much to do.  Some other time maybe.”

David looked over at me.  “What are you talking about Jon?  The first week is when we have the least homework.  Things are only going to get busier from here on in.”  I sighed in frustration at having to repeatedly explain this, and David realized what he had forgotten.  “Oh, right right.  I’m sorry Jon.  I forgot all about FJC.”

Yes, there was not much of a honeymoon at all.  Classes started, and with in that same week the campus chapter of FJC started out.  My father visited me the day before FJC registration.  Although he never mentioned FJC once, I am sure that the purpose of his visit was to remind me not to disappoint him.

Abel accompanied my father.  Abel by this time was twelve years old, and had matured a lot since you last saw him reader, when he was still a whiny nine year old.  Still, at the same time he was very much still a child and I felt more distant from him at that time than ever.  I was eighteen.  I was as mature as I believed I would be.

My father surprised me as I was sleeping.  His high position allowed him access to the dorms, no questions asked.  Since my door was never locked, he simply opened it up.

“Alright, rise and shine Jonathon,” my father said, rapping his hand loudly on the wall.  “It’s four a clock in the afternoon.”

“Are you going to sleep all day?” Abel chimed in.

I looked around groggily.  “I was only taking a nap dad.  I’ve been up since eight O clock this morning.”

My father walked around the room inspecting things.  Abel stayed by the door.  “You were out late last night partying, weren’t you Jonathon.”

I grinned sheepishly.  “Maybe.”

“Jonathon don’t you forget why you’re here.  You need to study hard.  You’re going to have a lot of responsibility once you graduate.”

“Okay.”

“You can have fun, but you better do well in your studies, okay?”

“Okay.”

My father looked disapprovingly at the floor.  “The state of your room is really unacceptable Jonathon.”  A week’s worth of dirty laundry was scattered on the floor.  “Your room was never this dirty when you lived in my house.”  Of course it wasn’t.  He would never have tolerated a mess.  “I go through all the trouble to get you a single, and this is how you take care of it?”  I just shrugged.  The room really didn’t look that bad to me.  “This is just not acceptable.  If you don’t clean this up, we’ll stick you with a room mate.”

I nodded sleepily. “I’ll clean it up.”

“Alright, the next time I come over I want to see a clean room that you can be proud of.”  He opened the window shade, and I squinted as sunlight poured into the room.  My father pulled out a chair and sat down.  Abel went over to my desk and hoped up on it.  “So tell me how classes are going.”  I sat up, resigning myself to the fact that I was not getting anymore sleep.

The next morning, bright and early, I went to sign up for the campus chapter of FJC.  The Duke controlled the University, just as he controlled the schools, and so a whole campus building was dedicated to the FJC.  It was in many respects a beautiful building.  It was beautiful as my father would define beauty.  The landscaping around the building was very elaborate, but not natural.  Every plant was in its place; every growing thing was strictly controlled.  The building itself had straight columns that met the roof at a perfect ninety-degree angle.  It was an impressive looking building certainly, of that there was no doubt.  If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it was an unimportant government building instead of just the FJC building.

I had never entered the building before.  In fact, I had purposely avoided it, but now I had no choice.  I walked up the many stairs and in through the grand entrance.  I walked through a magnificent lobby, whose domed ceiling looked to be about fifty feet high.  I inquired at the desk where registration was, and the receptionist, showing annoyance at having been disturbed, pointed to a sign which directed all new cadets to registration.

I followed the signs through the magnificent hallways to where a large group of my fellow University Students awaiting registration.  I took a seat and waited for things to begin.  I glanced over the others seated to see if I knew anybody.  Christopher was sitting reading a book.  Well, no big surprise there.  I had always figured Christopher for a government job.  There were a couple other former schoolmates of mine there as well.  And, there in front of that group, was Orion.  Yeah, I suppose that shouldn’t have surprised me either.  Orion was ambitious, and to get anywhere in the government a background in the FJC was essential.  At the time, however, I was upset at seeing him there.  Just when I thought the FJC couldn’t get any worse, Orion had to show his face.

After we waited around for a while, a man dressed in a military uniform came to the front.  He shouted for quiet and received it immediately.  “Alright listen up,” he bellowed.  “My name is Zeus.  You will obey me unquestionably or you will have no place in the FJC.  Is that clear?”

“Yes,” we all yelled back.

Zeus smiled.  “I like you boys already.  Now, let us not be deceived gentleman.  The FJC requires a lot of hard work, dedication, and discipline.  Most importantly, the FJC requires obedience: Obedience to the state, obedience to the Duke, obedience to me.  If anyone here does not think they can handle that, then they can just turn around and march right out of here, and the rest of us will promise not to laugh until after you’re gone.”  Nobody left, although I think a couple of my fellow soon-to-be Cadets might have caught me looking longingly at the door.  “That’s what I like to see.  All right boys, you can relax for this first day.  All we want from you right now is your name, your age, and some other important information.  Then we want to get your measurements, and we’ll be issuing you the appropriate equipment.  Now there are a lot of you here so just sit tight, be patient, and we’ll get through all of you eventually.  Monday be here at five in the morning for—“ there were a couple groans from the audience at the mention of that obscenely early time.  I was probably among them.  Zeus let his speech come to a full halt, and gazed out fiercely at the audience.  “Do any of you boys have a problem with the time we meet?  Do you?  Is five to early in the morning for you rich kids?”  Zeus gave a rhetorical pause afterwards, as if he almost expected someone to reply.  “You will be here at five on Monday morning gentleman and you will be here on time or you will deal with me.”  Zeus looked around the room one last time; his eyes darted from person to person as if he was just waiting for somebody to make a mistake.  “Alright, go to it boys.”  Zeus stepped down from the podium, and there was a movement forward in the crowd.  Everyone was eager to get registration over with and get on with their day and not be stuck forever waiting in line.  Zeus quickly re-ascended the platform however.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Hold on a minute boys, I almost forgot the most important part.  Remember this isn’t some campus club you are signing up for, this is the FJC.  Once you’ve signed up, you’re signed up.  You can’t just drop out of the FJC if you decide you don’t like it.”

“Absolutely stunning Jonny.  I think we’ve found the look for you at last.”  David applauded as I modeled my new FJC uniform in front of the mirror.

“That uniform actually makes you look kind of sexy Jon,” Helen cooed.

I blushed.  “Knock it off guys.  It’s bad enough I have to wear this monkey suit every where I go, I don’t need you guys making fun of it.”

“No I mean it,” Helen said.

“How many uniforms did they give you?” David asked.

“Five, but get this: I have to show up everyday with a perfectly clean uniform just so I can go tramping through the mud and get it dirty again.”

“What’s the problem with that?” Helen asked.

“Well it’s pointless, that’s what.  I mean if they’re going to make me run through the mud every day, why do they care if I show up with a clean uniform or not?”

David chuckled.  “Looks like you’re going to be doing a lot of wash in the next few years Jon.”

“Yeah, go ahead and laugh.  Just be glad you don’t have to be a SJ.”

“Nice Jon, very nice.”  A new voice entered the conversation.  Hermes walked in through my open door.

I simply made a face in response to the comment.  “David, Helen, I’d like you to meet a new friend of mine, Hermes.”

David stood up to shake his hand.  “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Hermes responded.  “Hey Jon, we missed you Tuesday.”

“Yeah, I know.  I’m sorry.  I’ll try and be there next week.”

“What’s on Tuesday?” Helen asked.

I looked to Hermes to answer that question, but a nod of his head sent it right back to me.  “Oh, just some art thing.”

Hermes decided to help me out, deeming my answer unsatisfactory.  “It’s the art guild.  It’s a place where students can get together to share their work and learn about what art opportunities the campus offers.”

Helen smiled at me.  “My Jon, you really are getting into this art thing, aren’t you?”

Seeing that she seemed pleased by my interest in art, I played into that role.  “I suppose I am.”  David shook his head.  “Jon the Artist.  Man, I never would have thought it.”

Chapter 13

It was barely even light out.  The sun was just a pink glow at the horizon, and darkness was reluctantly giving up its hold on the sky.  The air, not yet warmed by the sun, was still cold even though summer had only recently left us.

Five O clock.  We all gathered on time on the field by the FJC building.  “Alright Gentleman,” Zeus screamed at us, “I can’t tell you what great pleasure it gives me to see you all assembled here on time like this.  I was a little worried that some of you might not quite be able to make it.”

Was everyone here?  How did he know?  I looked around me at all the other cadets gathered.

I felt a hand roughly grab my shirt and pull it forward.  I snapped my head back to its original position.  “You want to lose your eyes boy?” Zeus yelled into my face.

“No sir.”

“Then you look at me when I’m talking.  Is that too much to ask?”

“Sorry sir.”

He let me go with a push and I almost fell into the Cadet behind me.

“Gentleman, I hope you came ready to work today, because if you don’t leave here feeling like you want to die, then I haven’t done my job.”

I entered cautiously.  The meeting looked like it was in progress already, and so I quickly retreated and thought about leaving.  Hermes saw me.  “Jon!  Jon!” he called out, breaking up the rest of the conversation.  “Come on in Jon.”  I walked in cautiously and red faced.  “Here, have a seat Jon,” Hermes said, gesturing to an open chair.

There were about twenty other people present.  I gave a sheepish wave to everyone as I walked to my seat.  I noticed that everyone else there was well equipped with thick pencils and paintbrushes and other drawing supplies.  I had come empty handed.

“Well Hermes, would you like to introduce your friend?” someone asked.

Hermes almost seemed to study me, as if evaluating whether I was acceptable or not.  “No, no I think I’ll let him introduce himself.

I looked out on the faces.  “Hello.  My name is Jonathon.  I’m a first year student here, but I’m actually a native of Urbae.  I haven’t decided what I want to study yet.”  I paused, looking for something else to say.  “I’m not really sure why I’m here.  I’ve never really been interested in art, but I thought I wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”

Someone nodded to me.  “Welcome to our second meeting Jon.  I hop you find it interesting.”

“Take a good look at it gentleman, because you’ll be having nightmares about it for a long time.  This is quite possibly the worst obstacle course designed by human ingenuity, and you will do it every day as a warm up.  Anyone who fails to complete the obstacles in the alloted time will have to do it again, and again, until he gets it right.  Any questions?”  None of us dared say anything.  “Good.  Well, what are you waiting for?  Get to it Gentleman.  Let’s go.  Your time is running.”

“The format here is pretty simple Jon.  We let people share different works they have done on their own to begin with.  Then we move on to all doing some kind of group activity.  For instance last week we all drew portraits of the person sitting next to each of us.”

Zeus had us begin the obstacle course in pairs.  In each pair the men raced against each other, and the rest of us cheered them on.

I was paired with another young cadet named Ajax.  We were lined up at the start, and Zeus yelled for the race to begin.

Ajax and I scrambled through the mud.  The cheering sounds from the rest of the cadets swirled into my ears.  We both leapt over the first obstacle.  He was slightly ahead of me.  The roaring of the crowd was beginning to seep into me.  My old competition instincts began to creep back.  It suddenly became very important for me to beat Ajax.

With renewed drive I pushed my body forward.  We both leaped over the second obstacle.  He was still ahead of me.  By the time we got to the wall I was beginning to catch him.  I clambered up the wall.  When I got to the top I flung my legs over, and leapt down into the muddy pit below.  Some where on that obstacle I had passed Ajax.

“This next piece is very special to me.  I was trying to represent a lot of the various themes that I think make us all human.  The different colors in the picture represent different emotions.  In most cases I’ve stuck with traditional interpretations.  Red represents anger, blue sadness, and so on.  Another thing I thought was important was the fact that all of us have different personalities at different times.  That’s what the many different faces represent.”

Hermes nudged me.  “See?  Isn’t this great?”

I shrugged, and we both returned our attention to the artist.  “I also wanted to create a sense of being trapped or imprisoned by our humanity.  That’s why I’ve set the whole painting behind these bars, as if the whole scene takes place in a jail.  Now I have one final piece I would like to share with all of you…”

My hands clawed the dirt as I ascended the hill.  Once to the top, I swung on a rope to a platform, leaped off into the soft mud, and raced to the finish line.  I had finished almost a full minute before Ajax.

I collapsed into the mud in exhaustion at having completed the course.  Zeus walked over to me.  “Well done Cadet.  You won.  Now get to your feet and act like a man.”

Almost mechanically I obeyed.  My hands placed themselves in the mud and pushed.  My mud caked face was lifted off of the ground.  Then, unexpectedly, my arms gave way in protest at having been so abused.  My face plopped back into the mud.

“You will get up Cadet or you will run this course again.  Do you understand me?  You will stand up or I will make it my personal duty to make your life miserable.  Do I make myself clear?”  With strength I didn’t know I had I stood up.  “Good.  Never think you’re done Cadet.  You’re not done until I say you are.  Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.  You may fall back in the mud now.”

“I thought maybe a fun activity for us would be if we all drew a picture of the room we are sitting in.  Then, we could compare all of the pictures and see how much things were affected by our different perspectives.  We could also see how different people pick up on different things, and talk about that.”

People talked excitedly about the idea.  They rearranged their chairs around the room.  “Hermes, I didn’t bring anything,” I whispered.

“No problem,” Hermes replied.  “We’ll get you some stuff out of the drawer.”

“Congratulations men, you have completed your warm up.  Now this next exercise will tell me what you’re really made of.”  We all sat in a circle surrounding Zeus, who held a long slender stick.  “These are padded,” he declared, “but be careful.  They can still cause a lot of damage if you hit hard enough with them.  Your object is to get your opponent on the ground anyway you can, using these sticks or not using them.  Remember, no hits above the shoulders or directly below the waste.

Hermes supplied me with a drawing pencil and a thick pad of white paper.  I positioned myself in a corner.  I could see the whole room and I could see it perfectly.  Clearly.

It was a warm appealing room.  Soft couches stretched invitingly for anyone who wished to sit down.  Plant life flourished in various clumps.  It was a very green room.  It was a very bright room.  Red carpet gave way to orange walls, and the ceiling was a color that many people have described as bright purple.  It was a well-lit room.  Light flooded all these images into my mind.

And there I sat.  I could not convey all the colors with only a white piece of paper and a black pencil.  I could not convey any of the colors.  But the shapes loomed before me with perfect precision.  All I had to do was transfer them onto my paper.  In my mind, the paper was already filled.  I could see exactly what I wanted it to look like to the exact detail.

My hand began to follow the pattern in my mind.  But my hand would not obey my mind.  The shape I had made representing the couch did not look at all like the couch I had in my mind.  “Hermes, I need an eraser.”

Ajax, my former competitor, staggered from the force of the last blow dealt to him.  We all leapt to our feet cheering.  His feet were wavering.  It looked as if he would fall any minute.  His opponent struck at him with enthusiasm equal to his last blow.  Ajax was on his knees now.  My view of him became obscured by the surging crowd.  I heard Zeus’ commanding voice above the noise.  “He’s still legal.  Give him some room boys; this match isn’t over yet.”

When the crowd parted so that I could see Ajax again, he had somehow returned to his feet.  His opponent was a man named Hector, a big strong man, and this Ajax was clearly the lesser, but he fought to hang on.

A feeble swing by Ajax was blocked easily by Hector.  Hector took another swing, which Ajax was only able to block at the cost of losing his footing.  A third swing was aimed directly at Ajax’s legs, and they were swept out from under him.  Ajax hit the ground with an audible thud that made me whence.  Hector threw his stick down in triumph.  A couple friends rushed to help the dazed Ajax off the field.  The fall seemed to have knocked the wind out of him.

Zeus pointed at me.  “You’re next, Cadet.”  I stood up obediently.  Zeus threw me a stick.  “Anyone want to challenge this young man, or do I have to pick?”

Orion arose.  “I’ll take him.”

Newly equipped with my erasure, I cleaned my paper and started again.  I had a steady hand.  It did what I told it to.  Perhaps the problem was not my hand at all.  Perhaps the picture in my mind was wrong.  But the picture in my mind was perfect.  What could be wrong?

The couch did not look on the paper how I envisioned it, no matter how many times I tried.  I kept erasing and redrawing to no avail.  Eventually, I had to let it go.  I had a whole room to draw.

I held the stick nervously, oblivious to the obnoxious crowd.  Orion held his stick fiercely before me.  I tried to discern his expression.  Why did he want to fight me?  What did he have against me?  We circled around each other, but it was like we were standing still and everyone else was moving.

“What are you boys waiting for?” Zeus yelled.  “Get to it.”

“Are you ready Jonny?” Orion asked me.  Before I could answer his stick swung out at me.  I blocked it instinctively.  He swung at me again; I blocked it again.  A third swing; a third block.

“Come on!  I want to see both cadets on the offensive here,” Zeus declared.

I eyed Orion cautiously.  He swung; I dodged and swung back.  In doing so I left myself exposed.  Orion struck my left shoulder.  He had swung the stick forcefully, and I had expected a hard blow, but the soft cushioning of the stick protected me.  Orion struck at me again, hitting me in the side.  Although my body involuntarily tensed up, once again the padding made it a rather painless blow.  I swung at Orion, but he jumped back to avoid my swing.

Nothing.  Nothing looked at all like I pictured it.  Nothing looked at all like I wanted it to.  Near the end I became frustrated and started sketching faster and with less care, seeking merely to finish the work and get it over with.  The plant didn’t look how I wanted it too.  Who cares?  Nothing looked like I wanted it too.  A few strokes and I finished it off.  Faster, faster, just get this stupid thing over with.  My hand was a blunt instrument, incapable of producing beauty.  A series of lumps appeared where I had intended precise shapes.

“Let’s get this over with boys.  Who’s ever going to win, do it quickly.

Orion, seeing his stick was not effective as a striking object, came forward and pressed it against me, trying to use his leverage to knock me over.  As you have probably imagined reader, the passage of time had only served to increase Orion’s stature.  He was taller, stronger now then he had been at sixteen.  However I had been growing too, and I was becoming a well built young man as well, although I was not yet caught up to him.  Mustering up my reserved strength I pushed against him and he stumbled backwards.  I breathed a quick sigh of relief, and then he was upon me again.

“How’s it coming Jon,” Hermes asked me.

“It is finished.”  And it was.  It looked terrible, but with every line I added it only got worse.  I wanted to hide it away and not show anyone, but, imagine doing all that work and having nobody see it.  There was definitely some resemblance to the room, but it was an inaccurate representation.  If it had been an inaccurate representation of the room alone, I could have handled that, but it was also an inaccurate representation of what I had wished to create.

I took the offensive against Orion, pressing my stick against his stick, my weight against his, trying to push him over.  He was leaning back, and, encouraged by this sign, I pushed even harder.

Abruptly, Orion slid out from under me.  With nothing to hold me back my inertia pushed me forward.  My feet scrambled to keep up with the rest of my body.  Orion’s stick dropped down to catch my feet and I fell forward.  All I could do was to put my hands out to break my fall.  Orion hit me with his stick as I fell, as if to encourage gravity.  As a final indignity, he placed his foot on top of my fallen body.

“Clear the field Cadets, clear the field. We’ve got a lot of pairs to get through today.  Okay, next couple!”

“Fascinating.  See, I wouldn’t have even thought to draw that.”

“I like your attention to detail.”

“Wow.  What an interesting interpretation.”

They chatted about each other’s pictures, and abstract terms, and all sorts of things I did not understand.  I sat silently ashamed next to my own drawing, infinitely flawed compared to what I saw around me.  They made reference to my work occasionally, but they complemented me only to be polite.

“I like your spatial arrangement Jon.”

Or, “I think it’s very interesting how you centered everything around the coach.”

But what did I expect?  What had possessed me with the notion that I would be an artist?  If I didn’t appreciate it, how could I have expected to be good at it?

I left quickly after the meeting, slipping away without staying to socialize.  Hermes, however, caught up with me.  “You seem down Jon.  What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay.  I just felt out of place there, you know.  Like maybe art’s not really my thing.”

Hermes nodded his head in recognition.  “Picture not turn out the way you wanted it to?”

“No.  Not at all.”

“Well, we’ve all been there Jon, at one point or another.  Don’t get discouraged.”

“I think it might be more than that.”

“Don’t give up after your first try.  Come again next week.”

Well, no harm in trying again, I thought.  “Alright.  I’ll give it another go.”

“Gentleman, your first day of training is officially over.  Be here at five tomorrow or I’ll quarter you.  Dismissed.”

Between classes, David ran into me in the hall.  In the course of the conversation, David asked, “Have you heard about Clodius?”

“No, what?”

Poor Clodius never learned his lesson.  All those years of school and the teachers failed to impress upon him the danger of expressing his opinions.  At the University, the professors were not near as kind.  The first week of class, an inappropriate comment had earned him a stern lecture in which he was told he was now a University student, and what was forgivable when he was younger was no longer acceptable.  (Flash only tightened the reigns on us as we got older).  Two weeks into classes, and Clodius had stunned his professors by openly advocating that Old Flash be done away with and true democracy restored.  There was absolutely no question in their minds he had to go.  Without further thought, Clodius was expelled from the University.

Reader, I can not help but wonder what the professors thought about their own decision.  Did they pat each other on the back as they congratulated themselves for dealing so well with the problem?  They probably did.  They probably thought, “Well, there goes that problem.  We won’t have to deal with that kid anymore.”

Chapter 14

My friend the reader, do you tire of my leaps in chronology?  Have I abused the privilege?  I can think of no other way to tell my story.  I need to jump ahead yet again.  I am still in my first year at the University, but it is the spring now, not the fall.  I am only a couple months short of turning nineteen.

I had continued rather aimlessly in my studies.  I had even signed up for a couple art courses for second term as I told Helen I would.  FJC consumed my mornings, but my body soon adjusted to the rigors.  I learned to march in place, to obey orders and to arrive on time and to be attentive and I hated every moment of it.  I also found myself continually attending art guild meetings throughout the year, and becoming better and better acquainted with the other members.

Eating lunch with David and Helen in the University cafeteria had become almost a ritual for me.  Since I saw David less and less then, both of us treasure our daily meeting at lunch.  On one particular Monday afternoon, we were sharing our stories about the weekend.  David mentioned how he had spent Sunday dinner at his parent’s house.  “What about you Jon?  Have you gone home recently?”

“I try not to go there anymore then necessary.”

“When was the last time you were there?” Helen asked.

My mind researched its archives.  ‘A month ago maybe.  I don’t know.”

“You know Jon, I don’t think I’ve ever met your dad,” Helen said.

I laughed.  “Don’t worry about it.  You’re really not missing out on too much.”

David snapped his fingers excitedly.  “Hey Jon, do you remember when Simon and I were at your house and we were all pretending we were gorillas and your dad walked downstairs just as we were –“

The mention of Simon set off a train of thought in my mind, and I interrupted David’s reminiscing.  “Hey, Dave, whatever happened to Simon.  I heard he dropped out?”

“Yeah, I heard that too.  I haven’t seen that guy in a while.”

“We should visit him sometime.”  I mentioned it only casually.  It seemed like the appropriate thing to say.  David took me seriously.

“Yeah, we should.  Do you think he’s gone back to living with his parents again?”

“I don’t know.  Probably.”  I stared off, and thought aloud, “who would know where he is?”

“You know his house isn’t that far from mine.  We could just bike over there sometime and see.”

Well, I had nothing against seeing Simon.  “Sounds good to me Dave.”

“What about tomorrow night?”

Helen nudged David.  “He has art guild tomorrow night dear.”

“Oh, right.”  David paused to take another bite of his food.  “Well, what about tonight then?  I’m free.”

The more I thought about it, a night away from my studies did not sound that bad.  “Sure.  Yeah, tonight is fine.”

Helen, David and I biked over to Simon’s house that evening.  Simon’s father, who spent all his life in manual labor, was not a rich man by any means.  He was a hard working man, however, and had provided enough money for Simon to attend the University, and Simon had repaid his father’s dedication by dropping out after one term.

The house was simple.  It was nothing like the luxurious surroundings I had grown up in.  It was a middle class dwelling by most estimates, but one of the poorest looking I had seen.

Parking our bicycles, we approached the door, and David rapped on it.  An older woman came to the door.  David and I had met Simon’s mother before, and there was mutual recognition as she looked at us.

“Hello Ma’am,” David said.

She put her forearm against the doorframe and leaned wearily on it.  She looked tired.  “What do you want?”

‘We came to see Simon,” David replied.  “Does he live here?”

There was a pause.  A pained expression filled her face.  A tint of red creeped into her eyes.  She closed the door part way, viewing us only threw a thing opening.  She had retreated into the house.  “He’s gone off to follow Joshua.”

“What?”  Which one of us blurted out the question?  It was probably all three of us.

The door closed completely, but I was not satisfied.  “Wait,” I yelled after the door.  “Where is he staying?  When did he go?”

David put his hand on my shoulder.  “It looks like she doesn’t want to talk about it Jon.  Come on, let’s go.”

We walked back to our bicycles.  “I thought this whole Joshua thing had blown over,” I said.  “I mean I hadn’t heard about if for a while.”

“You haven’t been following the news Jon,” Helen said.  That was true enough.  The University had become my world.  I had time for little else.

David nodded.  “Joshua has only gotten bigger, if anything.”

“I don’t see how this is possible,” I wondered aloud, picking up my bike.  “How does Joshua attract so many people.  David, you and I grew up with him.  Was there anything about him that impressed you?”

David picked up his bike as well, but he was looking off thoughtfully.  “You know Jon, we really ought to go down to see him tomorrow and find out for ourselves what all the fuss is about.”

“But we have class tomorrow.”

“Jon, every time I suggest we go down to see Joshua you always say you’re busy.”

“I am busy!  How would you like to kiss away four hours of every day to running obstacle courses and marching in formation!”

Helen put her hand on my shoulder.  “Easy Jon.”  She was concerned because I had raised my voice.  Her touch felt good but I resented the fact that I couldn’t even raise my voice a little without her worrying.  I stepped out of her touch.

David spread his hands out to indicate he was giving up.  “Fine Jon, you don’t have to come.”

But I was just as curious as he was.  I swallowed.  “No, I want to come.  I just wish we didn’t have to miss class.”

But when the morning came I would decide not to go.  David was disappointed in me of course.

He looked at me with a disgusted face.  “What?  Why?”  The sun was still climbing in the sky, and was directly behind David.  It surrounded him with a golden glow, and made it hard for me to look at him.  His hair was getting slightly longer now then it was in high school, and the sun glistened on the tips of it.

I didn’t feel like arguing.  I was tired.  I had spent all morning running through the mud with Zeus yelling at me and Orion harassing me and every muscle in my body was aching.  The last thing I felt like doing was jumping on my bicycle to go across town trying to find Simon.  “I don’t want to David.  I don’t feel like it.”  Let it go David.  I don’t want to debate it.

“You said you would.”  I gave a tired shrug in response.  “It figures I guess,” David said before he turned to go.  He walked away into the sunlight, and I had to turn to shield my eyes.

Helen turned with him.  “Have a good day at class Jon,” she cooed.

And that was that, they sped off without me.  I stayed at the University and attended classes and dragged my weary body back to my dorm room where I lay down in a daze.

I saw David and Helen the next day at lunch at sat down with them.  David had quickly forgiven me for not coming.  He was happy to see me and he chatted about classes and offered me his extra food.  He has always been like that, never one to hold a grudge for very long.  I kept waiting for either him or Helen to tell me what had happened, but neither did.  Helen opened her mouth a couple times as if to bring it up, but David kept rambling on about inconsequential stuff, and she never got a chance to speak.  Finally I just asked.  David quickly and rather painlessly switched into the story of the day before and told me how they had found the crowds without any problem, and how he was amazed at how many people were there, and how there had been so many people he could hardly hear Joshua talk.  Helen simply nodded her agreement.  Apparently it had taken the two of them a while but they eventually tracked down Simon and tried to talk to him.  Simon was one of Joshua’s inner circle interestingly enough.

“So has Simon changed at all?” I asked.

No, not that they could tell.  Same old Simon.  They had talked to Simon for a while, but soon Simon was needed by Joshua.  “He asked about you,” David added at the end of the story.

“Who did?”

“Simon.  It’s too bad you weren’t there.”

But eventually I would run into Simon.  One day he was just waiting for me when I got back from class.  I opened my door and found him sitting on my chair.

I was obviously surprised at first, and he stood right up to greet me with an embarrassed little smile.  “You don’t mind do you?  The door was unlocked?”

His physical appearance at least had not changed as far as I could tell.  He was still the same old Simon.  Tall, muscular but well toned, glistening green eyes.  I smiled back to try and make him feel at ease.  “If I cared I would keep the door locked.”  He returned my smile out of courtesy.

“Are you just getting back from class?”  There was a nervousness in his voice that made me uncomfortable.  Perhaps he felt awkward about dropping by uninvited.  We were childhood friends, and yet we had not talked to each other in months.  That shouldn’t have made a difference, and yet some how it did.

I slipped one arm out of my book bag and let it fall to the ground.  “Yeah all done for the day.”  I motioned for him to sit back down, and he did but sat on the edge of the seat instead of leaning back in it.  “So what has been happening in your world recently Simon?”

A quick smile flashed on his face.  “Where do I begin?”

I sat down on the bed, right next to the chair.  “I heard David and Helen dropped by to see you last week.”  He nodded.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry too.  I’m sorry I couldn’t have talked to them longer.  And I’m sorry I’ve never dropped by.  Things have been so busy for me lately.”

“We’ve all been busy.  Hey, do you want some food or anything?”

“If you have some, yes.  I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

I walked over to my desk and rummaged around.  “All I’ve got is candy,” I said apologetically.  “Are you really hungry?”  He shrugged.  “Do you want to go out and get some food?”

“I don’t have any money.”

I hesitated briefly.  I had plenty of money, and Simon knew that, and I knew Simon knew that.  My father’s wealth was no secret.  But would Simon accept it?  To my surprise he eagerly did.  We walked across campus to the local student diner, and I paid for both of us.

Simon ate his food hungrily.  He tore away at the loaf of bread on his plate.  For a while I just watched him eat.  “Do you have a job?” I asked him finally.

He shook his head.  “No time,” he said with his mouth full.

“I’m guessing your parents don’t feed you.”

Simon guzzled down some grape juice.  He put down the cup and wiped his chin.  “I haven’t seen them in months.”

“So how to you eat?”

“I don’t know.  I find food I guess.  Some one will always give it to us.”

“Who does?”

“I don’t know.  People.  It always turns out somehow.  People give food to Joshua, and he shares it with all of us.”

“With his followers?  How many of you guys are there?”

“There are eleven of us.  Hey, Jon, I’m so sorry I didn’t ever bother to get in touch with you guys.  I’ve just been so busy lately.  When David and Helen stopped by I just realized what a lousy friend I had been and I thought I’d come over and see you too.”

I flashed a brief smile out of habit more then anything else.  “It’s okay.  Who has time?  I don’t have time for anything anymore either.”

“FJC?”  I nodded.  “Are you happy doing that Jon?”

No of course not.  “I guess so, yeah.  I mean it’s something to do.  It’s a future, you know?  Are you happy following Joshua around?”

“I think so yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

Simon put down his piece of bread and starred off thoughtfully while he collected his thoughts.  “Where do I begin?”

“I didn’t know him well in school at all.”

“Neither did I.  None of us did.  I heard about what he was doing and I decided just to check it out and stuff, and afterwards I was walking back and he came up to me.  I wasn’t even sure if he would recognize me, but he knew my name and everything.  He just struck up a conversation with me, and he was so easy to talk to and I felt so relaxed with him.  It really made me wish I had gotten to know him in school.  He asked me to come and join him, and I did.  My parents were furious, but I felt like I had to do it.”

“Your parents didn’t understand?”

“Not at all.  It’s like they had all these ideas of what I was going to be like, and this wasn’t close to any of them.  They wanted me to go to school and get a good job and make lots of money, and now I sleep on the ground and I beg for food.  They just couldn’t understand why.”

And for that matter neither could I.  Why anyone would leave school for that kind of life.  But what I could understand is the frustration of not being understood by your parents.  “I can dig that, yeah.”

“So I haven’t spoken to them sense.  I keep so busy I don’t have time to think about them much anyway.”

“Keep busy doing what?”

“Trying to get food for the day takes up a lot of time.  Joshua always wants us to get extra food, and then we give it to the hungry people.  Joshua has all these people that depend on him for food.  People are always trying to come to him with their problems, and everyone wants to hear him talk all the time.”

“Is he that interesting?”

Simon shrugged.  “I don’t know.  It’s more—“  Simon stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts.  “It’s more that people can identify with what he’s saying I think.  But everyone wants to see him all the time.  He gets so tired.  We have to hide him from the crowds, he just gets so worn out.”  Simon tore off another hunk of bread with his teeth and chewed it thoughtfully.  “Do you know what I think his problem is?  He wants to solve everyone’s problems.  The whole world is in misery and he thinks he can make it all better.  But he’s just a man, just like you and me and he get so drained.  I feel so bad for him sometimes.  He gets so weak sometimes, and sometimes he spends all day trying to help people and his eyes just get glazed over.  And everyone who is hungry he thinks it’s his job to feed them.  But no matter how many hungry people he feeds there are always more of them.  Some days it’s hard enough just to feed ourselves.  And he’s got so many things we wants to say to people, and he tries to preach to the crowds ever day even though his voice gets so worn out.”  Simon took a drink to refresh his voice from the monologue.  “I don’t know.  Sometimes I just don’t understand the man.”  As if caught up in the significance of his own words, Simon drifted off into thought.  I bit down into my food while I waited for him to recover.

“Well, Simon,” I said after a while to break the silence.  “If you ever need a warm bed to sleep on you could come on over to my place for the night.  I don’t have a roommate and I’m sure we could find extra blankets for you or something.”  I only had one bed, but it wouldn’t hurt me to sleep on the floor for a night.

Simon shook his head.  “No, thank you though Jon.  Sleeping on the ground isn’t that bad.  I’m close to Joshua and I’m close to the others and that’s all that matters.  All the other things don’t really seem to make a difference after a while.”

This I didn’t understand either, but I let it go.  “Well if you ever need food then.”

Simon looked at me thankfully.  “Yes, yes I might take you up on that sometime Jon.”  Simon and I talked a little longer.  He left shortly before too long, saying he had to get back to the others before it got late.  He promised to try and do a better job of keeping in touch.

It was certainly one of the more interesting conversations I had taken part in during the past few months.  However there was little time to dwell on it.  I had schoolwork to do and that morning I was up early for FJC again.