It was a sunny morning, autumn's last goodbye before its golden colours transformed into winter whiteness. About thirty of the children living in the big building surrounding a broad front yard were enjoying those last sunlit caresses. Some were playing ball while others had found it hard to resist that tempting pile of leaves under the big lonely oak.

A young supervisor, Mary Henderson, was overlooking the children. She had dismissed some of the morning classes in favour of games in fresh air. 'Those children have nothing', thought she, 'if we can bring such smiles on their faces even for a few hours, then we're doing our job well.' In that moment she was joined by the principal, Andrew Bine.

'You don't leave your desk very often, principal.'

'Even I enjoy a little time off every now and then, Mary.' His voice changed. 'Besides, I like to be here when we get new arrivals.'

Mary sighed. She felt guilt and helplessness every time they welcomed a new orphan.

'Do you know the story?'

'Partly; a teenager, remained complete orphan after the place he lived, a monastery or something, burned down few months ago.'

A teenager; Mary was always hoping that if they have to welcome new orphans at all they would be as young as possible. Older children had little or no chance for finding a family.

'A monastery? Wasn't there something about that on the news?'

'Yes, I think I remember, some Buddhist temple in California…'

'I see. … Oh, God, who would make a child travel thousands of miles in such a moment? Don't they have orphanages in California?'

'The social worker told me that the old monk who's been taking care of the boy after the fire had said that this is the city where he was meant to be.'

The principal explored his young employee's face. Mary Henderson was living in reality, in the ugliest, most brutal form of it. There was a hint of arrogance in her voice.

'Wow, a fortune teller. Excellent! Meddle with the feelings of an orphaned child to fulfil what destiny has in store…'

Completely unaware of the prophetic significance of her words, she gave the principal a bored look.

'Well, the man was the boy's legal guardian', added Mr Bine, 'even if he had wished for him to be sent to Canada, that's what they would have done.'

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a parking police car. The principal approached, attempting some vague form of good humour. He, as well as all the other teachers in the orphanage, knew the routine all too well. Each time they would try to shield the newcomers from angry orphans' dormant aggression, and each time they would fail. At least if the child was a girl chances for a peaceful settling were somewhat greater. With a boy they were non-existent.

A woman and a young officer came out of the car and shook hands with the principal.

'Officer Broderick, we don't get police very often around here', said the principal smiling at his acquaintance.

'Good morning to you, too, principal'. Broderick nodded. 'You see, your new inmate here has quite the temper. One more offence and I'm opening him a file.' These last words he said in a louder voice meaning for the boy, who was still in the car, to hear them.

'I think you're being too harsh, officer. This child's world had just been shattered. He must have built a lot of anger. It's normal if he's a little… edgy.'

'As you say, Bine; he's your responsibility now. But mark my words, if he goes like this that kid will be spending a lot of time in police precincts.'

The principal nodded with a forced smile. He knew Broderick from before the orphanage, when Bine was still a practicing lawyer, and right now he was pretty annoyed that the young officer had not even bothered to learn the poor boy's name.

The woman, who was a social worker, was tapping her fingers on the car roof. She opened the back door.

'Come on, Peter, we're home.'

A tall boy with shaved head came out of the car and put a black baseball cap on. He looked straight at the woman's face as he was almost as tall as she was.

'I don't have a home.'

Oh, yes, thought the principal, we've got trouble brewing. He approached the boy and took his bag.

'Hi, my name is Andrew.'

'Hi.'

Mr Bine smiled as if he expected exactly this reply.

'If you don't feel like talking, it's OK. I have your name in this file here anyway. But you have to come with me now. I'd love to let you stay out here but it tends to get rather cold at night.'

The boy gave him a half-smile. That guy had a way with words. He did not seem pushy and impatient like the other nerdish social workers he had met.

The principal came back to the young officer.

'So, I'm guessing we'll be seeing you around, Broderick?'

'Nah, next year they're moving me to a new precinct at the other end of the city. China Town, can you imagine?'

The principal smiled pitifully.

The officer added: 'But I'll be sticking around for a bit more.' He winked and nodded towards the boy. The three adults took their leave and Mr Bine made sign to the orphan to follow him. They took a few steps when the kid spoke.

'It's Peter.' The man stopped and turned. 'My name is Peter.'

'Nice to meet you, Peter!' He stretched his hand and the teenager responded; a good sign.

In the meantime the yard had become slightly more still than it was few minutes ago. The other children were watching. Some of them have been in this place for years, others for months. And no matter how well adjusted they were, any time a new orphan arrived they were cruelly reminded of their own personal tragedies.

Peter was brought to one of the boys' dormitories. It was small and a less crowded one. The supervisors were keeping it for newcomers. It had a cosy feeling, well, as cosy as a dormitory in an orphanage could be, and was close to the rooms of the sleep-in tutors. In that way the new children were better supervised. First nights were usually the hardest, and for heavier cases they had single rooms where the orphans would stay until they adjusted to the new environment. The chief psychiatrist, Dr Anne Wolly, was waiting for the new inmate.

'You must be Peter. Hi, I'm Anne.'

'Hi.' Peter looked at her briefly and asked with a flat voice: 'Which is my bed?'

'Here, by the door.' They had decided to keep him there for the first 48 hours but the principal had a single room on the same floor prepared, too, just in case.

'Do you wish to remain alone?' asked Dr Wolly.

Peter looked into the emptiness ahead of him. 'I wish God had asked me the same question.'

The psychologist was stunned. She shared a look with the principal who was equally astonished. One does not usually expect an adult's reply from a twelve-year old.

The principal felt he had to say something.

'Peter is 12…'

'Almost 13!' snapped the boy.

'...almost 13… and he has lived in the Northern part of California all his life. And I'm sure he'll be joining us for lunch in an hour?..'

Peter nodded. He sat on his new bed and looked around. The room had seven beds, many windows, all of them with bars, and green walls. He got up and stood by one of the windows. It was overlooking the back yard which resembled a wide park. It had many trees, a wide meadow, and a bit further away Peter could swear he was seeing water glimmering under the sun, right behind the naked branches. The thought calmed him. If they had a pond or a lake he would be able to make it his new secret place.

'Do you like it?' asked Dr Wolly.

'Yes, it looks nice.' Peter turned and their eyes met. Their sad empty expression touched her. The woman felt she could become friend with the new kid.

XXX