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front seat of the Jacara before she finished speaking.
"Hello." Alan didn't look at me as he heaved himself into the backseat.
"Hello." I smiled, not too broadly, and looked at Charis. "Do you have all
your datablocs?"
"Yes, Uncle Jonat."
"And you have your reader cards, Alan?"
The five-year-old nodded.
Neither said much more until I was away from the Academy and headed eastward
toward the turnoff for
Old Carriage Lane.
"Will we see Aunt Deidre and Uncle Rousel this afternoon?"
"No. They had to get back to their house. But they'll be over for Christmas
eve tomorrow night, and for
Christmas dinner." It was definitely a good thing, because, while my food
preparation skills were adequate, they weren't up to a full dinner, and Deidre
had been most gracious in offering to help. We'd gone over the menu, and I'd
ordered everything and gotten it delivered.
"It won't be as good ... as Mother's was," Alan said.
"No," I admitted. "But your aunt is going to help, and we will be together."
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"Can you cook, Uncle Jonat?" asked Charis.
"Yes. Not as well as your mother, but better than many people." I'd had to
learn, because I hated reformulated food and disliked going out to eat alone.
"What's for dinner?" asked the pragmatic Alan.
"Whatever I fix. I'd thought we might have pork chops with potatoes, green
beans, and fried apples."
"Fried apples?"Charis's voice held surprise and horror.
"You fry them in butter with maple syrup and a little cinnamon. They're much
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better than mushy applesauce." I also enjoyed them cool, as leftovers. I'd had
a lot of leftovers over the past ten years.
I didn't glance at the two, but I could sense the look that passed between
them. Their uncle had a lot to learn. One just didn't fry apples.
I smiled. "Your mother had a rule, as I remember."
More silence.
"You didn't have to eat everything on your plate, but you did have to take at
least one bite from everything."
Charis offered a groan.
After a moment, she said, "You're not Mother, though."
"No, I'm not. But I thought her rules were good, and she left me a letter
asking me to follow them."
Surprisingly, I got a nod a small and reluctant nod, but a nod from Charis.
Alan, I suspected, remained horrified by the thought of frying apples.
When we returned to the house, I made sure of security, then headed to the
kitchen.
The two were allowed one hour of linktime when they got home from school, but
they had to watch together. Aliora had been firm about that, saying it was
part of learning to work things out. I used that time to fix dinner. Even so,
they actually got about an hour and ten minutes before I announced that dinner
was ready. No one even peered into the enormous kitchen with center island
stove that could have handled the needs of most restaurants. I thought they
were afraid that they might actually see me frying apples.
When they sat down, I looked to Charis. "You'll have to say grace."
She cleared her throat. "Thank you, God above all, for the goodness of life
and for the bounty that we behold, and please bring better lives to all those
who suffer and are in want or need."
I nodded. "Thank you."
"That's the short one."
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"You can say the long one tomorrow."
Alan looked at his plate. I'd already cut his chops into pieces, but not
Charis's. Finally, he speared a piece with his fork, the smallest piece, and
put it in his mouth. He must have decided it wasn't poison or worse, because
he immediately had another.
On the other hand, Charis picked out the smallest chunk of fried apple, as if
to get the terrible substance taken care of first, and slowly lifted it into
her mouth.
A puzzled expression flashed across her face. Then she looked at me. "Those
are good."
I managed not to laugh, because her words implied that it was amazing that I
could cook something good that she didn't know about. "I've always liked them.
I always thought applesauce was mushy."
Because I was hungry, I didn't press for conversation.
We were about halfway through dinner when Charis stopped and looked at me.
"What really happened to you, Uncle Jonat?"
"I was hurt. Someone shot a rocket at me, like they did at your mother and
father. I was lucky because it happened closer to my house and I'd already
linked for help when I got hit."
"Aunt Deidre said you should have linked us," said Alan.
"I should have," I admitted, "but I couldn't. I got taken to a research center
because it was close. They didn't have any links close to me. And my jaw and
lungs were hurt so badly that I couldn't talk until just a few days before I
got out."
"You didn't link then," Charis said.
"I didn't. The people at the center asked me not to. They do very special
research, and they were afraid other people would find out about it. They
saved my life, and they didn't ask much except for that."
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"You still should have linked," said Alan.
"I can't change what I didn't do. We can only change what we do from now on."
There was another look between brother and sister, and it was one I couldn't
interpret.
Although Charis ate every bit of her fried apples, and even dipped the last
bits of chop in the sauce, Alan wasn't convinced. He ate everything else,
leaving the apples on the corner of his plate until the very last.
Finally,he speared the smallest portion and ate slowly.
"It's all right."
Charis grinned at me as he gobbled up the rest of his apples.
Then ... dinner was over, and the two were fidgeting in their chairs.
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I stood, and they carried their dishes to the cleaner, stacking them inside.
"Bath time ... and don't forget to wash your hair, Charis," I reminded her as
she headed up the stairs.
She glanced back, as if to say something, and her eyes glistened. Then she
shook her head, minutely, and hurried up the stairs. I had the feeling that my
words had been too close to Aliora's, but I'd been following the routines that
I'd seen.
I cleaned up the mess I'd made in the kitchen partly from just not knowing
where things were and within a few minutes of finishing, Alan peered down the
stairs, holding a book.
"You ready for me to read?"
He nodded solemnly.
I headed up the wide marble steps to the upper level.
Reading time was always in the sitting room outside their respective bedrooms,
on an old soft leather couch covered with a cotton comforter. That made sense,
because leather was either cold or sticky, especially for children in pajamas.
I sat in the middle of the couch, and Charis plopped herself to my left, Alan
to the right. Alan held two books, and Charis one. Charis's was thick.
"You read Alan's first," she announced.
I already knew that routine, but just nodded and looked at Alan. "Which one do
you want me to start with?"
He thrust
Tyler Tiger's Tail at me.
Tyler was a tiger, obviously, a white tiger, who was convinced he had no tail
because whenever he turned to look at it, it wasn't there.
The second book was an old one, one that I'd read before, The Three Billy
Goats Gruff.
That was also a tradition of sorts, because it was "my" story to read to them.
Aliora had always demurred, saying that it was "Uncle Jonat's."
At that thought, for a moment, I could say nothing. Then I swallowed, and
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| Cytat |
Dobre pomysły nie mają przeszłości, mają tylko przyszłość. Robert Mallet
De minimis - o najmniejszych rzeczach.
Dobroć jest ważniejsza niż mądrość, a uznanie tej prawdy to pierwszy krok do mądrości. Theodore Isaac Rubin
Dobro to tylko to, co szlachetne, zło to tylko to, co haniebne.
Dla człowieka nie tylko świat otaczający jest zagadką; jest on nią sam dla siebie. I z obu tajemnic bardziej dręczącą wydaje się ta druga. Antoni Kępiński (1918-1972)
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