Chapter Two
Geri began her courses at ten o'clock every day. At that time, the tutor would come in and give her her lessons, which usually ended at approximately six thirty. If our mother got off work early, she would always show up at around seven o'clock and spend the evening with us. Geri got an hour's break from her courses at exactly two o'clock, during which she and the tutor would have a snack, or lunch if they were hungry enough, and she would come see me afterward.
If I calculated all that correctly, that gave me four hours (from ten to two), and another three and a half hours (from three to six-thirty) after Geri's break, during which I had absolutely no supervision. Usually, as aforementioned, I would simply read books to quell my loneliness and speed up the time I had before I could be with my sister again. However, there are only so many books in a library, and by mid-June, I had read everything that could possibly be of interest to me. I had a wide array of knowledge by now, of course, with all that reading, yet I quickly found myself lonely again. Deep inside I knew I had been born a social person, that I desperately longed for company and, I'll admit, for attention as well. But I was swift to accept that true human company wasn't currently a possibility for me, and so I left the library, ventured upstairs, and began to search for other means of solitary entertainment.
I spent a couple of days searching every corner of the manor for more books to read. However, as I'd suspected, the library had been their only holding place. The next day, I began to pace around, mind frantic in trying to come up with a solution to my dilemma, which was boredom. Incurable boredom. I pictured myself stuck in this place for days, weeks, months to come, doing exactly what I was doing now, absolutely nothing, and it made me sick to my stomach. All of a sudden, it felt like I was suffocating, both literally and figuratively, and at that moment, I knew that I needed to get out. I needed to get away from the life I was currently leading. I needed to go outside and find a place where I could breathe.
I ran outside without even stopping to grab my coat. It was three thirty, and Geri had just recently gone back to her work. I closed the door gently so they wouldn't hear.
I sat down on the front step and started to cry.
As a six-year-old boy, there were certain things I just couldn't acceptably do, regardless of my abnormal intelligence. Walking alone outside in midday was one of them. My parents taught me from a very young age that until I was twelve years old, if I had to go somewhere, one of them needed to come with me. It just wasn't acceptable, in this day and age, for a child with no magical education to wander around in the crime-ridden streets of our side of Berlin. Especially children of our status, added my parents.
But I didn't care anymore. By this point, I figured I'd rather go outside and be beaten to death by some mobster than spend one more second in that house.
There was a solution to the status problem, which I thought out while sitting on the front step. Silently, I walked back inside the house and ran upstairs. There, I undressed from my fancy everyday clothes, choosing instead to wear the most modest items of clothing I owned: a slightly worn, plain white sweater and a pair of brown pants I was usually asked to wear to help paint something. I looked at myself in the looking glass, strategically placed on the inside wall of my closet. The light seeping in from the window allowed me a perfectly clear view.
I looked exactly like a middle-class citizen. Except…
I ruffled my hair until it was messy and imperfect, until every strand seemed to be grossly out of place. I studied myself once again: now I really looked like a middle-classer. Smiling to myself, I walked out as silently as I'd walked in. Once outside, I felt a new confidence that I hadn't known while cooped up inside the house. I felt independant. Here, no one would tell me what I could or could not do.
Taking a deep breath, the cold air stinging my nostrils, I set off merrily down the long drive, humming a bizarre medley of several songs from my mother's favorite Classical Compositions album. Reaching the dirt road, I set off to the right. That was where the market was, along with several other small businesses. Another ten minutes or so of walking, and I'd reach them.
I made my way humming, taking in every sight I'd never had time to really see. I passed Celina's house – and noticed there were quite a few peacocks on her lawn. Celina's older brother was outside, trying to feed them, yet seeming a bit put off by their aggressiveness. I couldn't help but smile a little. Geri always complained about almost being attacked every time she visited Celina. I never asked any questions, but now I thought I might realize what she meant.
Gertrude's house was a little ways further, but no one was outside. It actually appeared to me that no one was home at all, but perhaps they'd just lit no candles. I kept walking. Two minutes or so later, I finally turned the corner of the long dirt road, heading right. I could see the outdoor market from where I stood.
This street spelled out "middle-class" to my well-trained eyes. There were no glamorous manors like on our street, only modest houses. For some reason though, they seemed rather comfortable.
Four boys about eight years old were out playing catch with a worn ball midway between where I was and where the market began. Vaguely, I wondered if they were Muggles. The boys watched me curiously as I passed them.
"Hey, you," one of them said. "Are you new?"
"No," I replied curtly, and kept walking.
"Where do you live?" asked another. "I've never seen you before."
"Liech Street," I replied.
The boys didn't reply. I heard one of them, who from the corner of my eye I recognized as the largest one, whisper to his friend: "Oh. He's one of those rich types."
"Are you lost?" asked the first boy.
"No," I said, and this time I stopped and looked straight back at him. "Just going to the market."
"Aren't you a little young to be going all the way to the market on your own?" the boy inquired. I noted he was speaking to me kindly, as if he really was worried I had run away from home and that my parents would freak when they found out. As if I still had parents. But he didn't know that, evidently. I'd never even seen him before.
"No," I replied curtly. "Thanks, but I know what I'm doing."
"How old are you, kid?" asked the larger boy. "Because you sound like a real smart-aleck to me."
"I'm six," I shrugged. "And if you'll excuse me, I have to be off."
Like a real jerk, I turned around and began to walk away from them without saying another word, and with every intention of completely ignoring any further comments on their part.
"Sure you wouldn't rather stay and play with us?" the first, nice boy asked genuinely. "We've got plenty of room."
I kept walking.
Throughout six short years, I'd only personally gone to the town market… maybe a dozen times or so. Usually my parents would go alone, leaving Geri and me the house for a precious hour or two. For a long time, this was my parents' only idea of "quality time", since Geri and I were both "such handfuls". I always laughed when Geri told me this, for I could understand my parents considering me a handful (sometimes), but I'd never really imagined Geri as that type of person. She always seemed so calm and admirable to me.
More than half of those dozen trips to the market all occured within the last three months, when Geri and I found ourselves so often alone that we felt the need to take care of groceries ourselves. Most of the time, I accompanied her. Sometimes, she wanted to go alone, and I left her her space.
Today, I was the one going alone. As I walked, I realized I had finally reached the point of crisis (or at least I thought I had at the time) with my parents being so consistently away from home. Children, like Geri and I, were not supposed to take on adult responsabilities. What about our childhood? What about fun? Oh, the fun we could have if our parents actually gave a damn about our well-being. Didn't they understand? Didn't they realize we still needed them and that we couldn't bear to live so often without them anymore? Didn't they understand how bored and unhappy I was when forced to spend countless hours with absolutely no company?
There had been a bitter anger boiling inside me for quite some time now, and I feared someday soon I would let it out. If only they knew how angry they made me. Sometimes, already, even at such a young age, I felt so angry I just wanted to break something. These feelings never lasted long, thankfully – I would soon become preoccupied with something else and temporarily forget about them.
Today I wasn't angry at all, too busy feeling entirely drained by the way my life was going at the moment. I thought about Geri, still at home, unsuspecting of my absence – hopefully she wouldn't somehow notice I was gone. I didn't want her to come looking for me. Subconsciously, I pictured my reaction were I to walk into an empty house later today. Without a doubt, I would think, in the moment, that my sister had left like my parents had… I knew it wasn't true, I knew she would never, but to erase all doubt from my mind was beyond my capacity. I was too afraid of being completely alone not to imagine the worst case scenario.
I must not have looked very happy as I walked past the local bar, located just beyond the outdoor market. Lost in thought, I'd walked farther than I'd planned. And I guess that's a good thing. Because if I'd snapped out of it earlier, I would never have met Mr Eberly.
The middle-aged, redheaded man was just outside the bar, sweeping the ancient wood of the front step. He looked up at me as he heard me pass, and I looked back at him. Our eyes met, and I noticed his eyes were the same color as mine. Hazel.
"And what is a nice young boy like you doing all the way out here?" he asked kindly, smiling at me. I didn't smile back.
"Had to clear my thoughts," I replied, and immediately wondered why I was confiding in a total stranger. I never did that.
The man looked vaguely surprised, but unlike many others, did not question me. He did not seem to wonder, or care, why I was speaking with maturity. Or why I had thoughts I needed to clear at my age.
He simply said, "Well, if you want to clear your thoughts, a nice walk outside is just about the best thing you can do. You're a smart young man, son. How old are you?"
"Six," I replied. "Thankfully, I'll be seven in a matter of months."
"You sound like you're about thirty," the man laughed, and then looked at me and smiled in recognition. "Wait, you must be the Grindelwalds' little boy, am I right? That's the only way I could see you'd be talking like that. Gellert, am I right? Or is it Gilbert?"
"It's Gellert," I said, and I smiled back this time.
"Vincent Eberly," he introduced himself, and leaned down to shake my hand, broom still in his grasp.
"It's weird to be recognized," I said as he continued to sweep distractedly. "People usually don't recognize me. Then again, I practically never go outside."
Mr Eberly frowned slightly at this. "Why not? Don't you children always play outside?"
"Geri and I aren't children," I said defiantly.
"How do you mean?"
I sighed. "It's kind of a long story."
"I see," said Mr Eberly. "Sure you don't want to talk about it?"
I laughed. "Why would I talk about it with you? I just met you."
I wondered vaguely if I'd offended the man, but he simply kept the same enigmatic smile on his face. If I had offended him, I would never know. His lack of response intrigued me. How people could learn not to show their feelings was a concept that had always intrigued me.
"To be honest," said Mr Eberly, "you look like a very lost young man. I understand it would be awkward to share a problem with a complete stranger, but I figured I'd offer just the same."
I snorted. "That's a first. An adult acknowledges the possibility of my having 'real' problems."
"Why, because children's lives are all rose petals and fairy tales?" asked Mr Eberly, chuckling. "Believe me, son, I know how it can be sometimes."
I didn't reply. I simply smiled, for even though he wasn't aware of my situation, I had the feeling deep down that he could understand. There were not many people in this world that I found a true connection with, but, as unlikely as it was, I decided at that moment that I liked Mr Eberly.
"Are you the bartender here?" I asked, shooting a glance into the small bar.
"Sure am. My best friend runs the place, and I bartend," said Mr Eberly. "It's not the greatest job, but it's comfortable."
"Do you ever get days off? Geri – my sister – says bartenders are almost always on the job," I said matter-of-factly.
"I'll get a day off once in a while, but I have to say I like working in the bar more than I like being off," he laughed. "Bizarre, isn't it? You'd think I'd appreciate a day off once in a while, but when I am off I find… it gets boring very quickly. And very soon, I miss the atmosphere that we get inside the bar. So I come back."
I shrugged. "If I worked here, I think I'd get tired of it awfully quickly. Especially if you get cranky customers."
"We get drunk customers," laughed Mr Eberly. "Even worse!"
I echoed his laughter. Unexpectedly, I could feel my spirits brighten. It was almost as if, with his simple chatter, Mr Eberly had swept away all of my anger and hurt, along with the dust on the step. I would soon learn, from visiting him again, that Mr Eberly just had that way about him. He just had this innate ability to make you feel better about yourself, no matter what the situation.
We continued our small talk for another good half-hour. Near the end, I told him how funny it was that such a simple thing could make me feel so much better. He smiled.
"Everyone has days like the one you've been having," he sighed. "It's just a little sad that you have to experience this stuff so early in life. Regardless of age, though, you just have to remember that it always works out in the end, no matter how bleak it seems."
I carried his words back home with me. On the way, I planned on telling Geri about him and his wise anecdotes, but as soon as I got home, I remembered I wasn't supposed to go out in the first place. Thus, my meeting with Mr Eberly would need to remain a secret, at least for now.
"Geri, Gellert!" she exclaimed as she stood in the doorway, arms open wide to greet us. "Oh, I've missed you so much. Come here!"
Geri stepped forward, all smiles, to give my mother a hug. Reluctantly, I made to do the same. I had no desire to hug her, no desire to even speak to her. As much as we were both glad to see her, I wondered if maybe it would be best not to get attached again. For she would only leave once more, and at the moment all her presence did was accentuate the emptiness I so often felt. I looked at her, at my mother, and I knew she didn't love me as much as a mother should. All the same, I pretended to love her enough for the both of us. I knew that doing otherwise would only hurt Geri, and I wasn't prepared to do that to a sister who was trying so hard to make everything work.
"Would you care for a drink, Mama?" asked Geri, leading my mother to the kitchen. She reached out to take my hand, and I grasped it indifferently, following her into the candlelit room. We both took a seat at the table as Geri poured refreshments. My mother stood up.
"Go sit down, Geri, I'll get it," she said, and headed to the counter. Geri attempted to refuse her assistance, arguing that she was perfectly capable of pouring drinks, but my mother wouldn't hear of it. Thus, Geri came to sit with me. I smiled at her, and her eyes told me she felt as awkward as I did. My mother was acting as if everything was perfectly normal, when it so clearly wasn't.
It was hard to sleep that night knowing my mother would leave again. I tossed and turned for hours, clinging to the memories I had of our latest evening spent together. I wondered if I was being overdramatic. Did Geri feel as deeply as I did about our parents deserting us?
At around three o'clock, I sat up in bed and lit a candle, having awoken from a terrible dream. In the dream, I was wearing worn clothes, standing by our house. It had been taken away from us, because our parents were never there, and we were "too young" to handle it by ourselves. Somehow, we ended up on the streets, and our house was sold to another family.
My parents now lived in the house next door. They had new children, now. They hadn't left because of their jobs after all – only because they no longer wanted us. I wondered if anyone would ever care for me again. If I wasn't worthy of lowlifes like my parents, who would I be worthy of? I looked around for Geri, but she wasn't there. She'd finally come to her senses and left me alone, just like they had.
I woke up with tears streaming down my face. I was so nervous I could barely light the candle, but after numerous vain attempts, I finally succeeded.
Opening my nightstand, I extracted a quill and a scrap of parchment. Shakily I wrote:
Dear Mama,
We miss you. Please don't leave us.
Love, Gellert.
I folded it with the intention of bringing it into her room and leaving it on her dresser. I had hopes that maybe she'd realize what she and our father were doing to us, but those hopes died on the way to her room. Judging by the way she'd acted tonight, she was too blind to ever realize. I shredded the paper with bitter fingers and made my way to the bathroom. I sat on the floor under the sink and stayed there until the sun rose, until my eyes were too tired to keep me awake any longer, and I had no other choice but to go back to bed.