Leech

Chapter 4

His attempts to find Marx a place to stay were woefully unsuccessful. Villagers would ask who Marx was, but as soon as Kirby explained he lived on the border and didn't come into town often, they'd shake their heads and close the door. There was little interest in someone who kept himself so isolated and foreign. Then there were those like the widow, who knew of Marx and wanted nothing to do with him. Their hostile reactions were staggering to Kirby, who had expected at least one person to be kind enough to either let him stay at their houses, or to volunteer to build him a house.

After all, Kirby recalled that the entire town had decided to build him a house when he'd been in need of one. He'd never expected them to so immediately refuse the same idea just because it was someone they didn't know or didn't like.

It wasn't long before Kirby had exhausted every possibility in the town. As the last opportunity, he turned to the castle. King Dedede would never permit someone to freeload at his castle - unless Marx could temporarily stay with another person until he saved enough to get his own room.

Meta Knight would never agree to it. The servants were friendly, but Kirby doubted their crowded quarters would have room for even one other. Fumu... she was stubborn, but compassionate. Kirby was sure she would be understanding.

That was why - after eating an early lunch and hanging out with the servants - Kirby found himself outside Fumu's door, explaining Marx's situation.

"Please, Fumu?" he begged. "It's only until he gets a job and can pay for his own board."

"I thought you said he had a house already," Fumu said skeptically.

"Well, yes - but it's hardly a house! Nobody should have to there; it's all falling apart. And to be honest... I don't think he knows how to run things himself. I told him it was just temporary boarding, but I thought you might be able to teach him some of those basic things he doesn't know, like... like everything. Err, washing clothes, making beds - maybe how to cook, I don't think he knows that... He probably lives on ramen or something; he's so skinny."

"I don't know..." Fumu put her hand on her hip and looked at Kirby sternly. "Why can't the villagers build him a house like yours? Then he'd have permanent residence."

"I tried, but no one wanted to do it. They don't seem to trust him..."

"Maybe they're right - I've never met this Marx, and I'm not getting a good impression."

"Aw, come on," Kirby pleaded, clasping his hands together and rounding his ocean blue eyes. "You don't know him. He just... doesn't have much experience with people, so he comes off as a little odd. But I think he's just lonely, and I know he doesn't mean any harm."

"I'll have to ask my parents," she said. She still looked doubtful, but Kirby could see she was relenting. He shuffled into the living room while Fumu went to get her mom. A few moments later, she returned looking very disgruntled and trailing behind her was a clearly ecstatic Memu.

She smiled pleasantly and greeted Kirby. "Fumu told me about your poor friend Mark, living by himself so far from society..."

"Hi," Kirby said back, "his name is Marx."

"Oh. You said Marx? Yes, Marx, that was it. I couldn't believe there was a boy living in that house - if I'd known, I'd have gotten him out long ago; that's no place for someone to live."

"So, you'll let him stay?"

"Of course! He needs structure, stability. God knows what happened to his parents..."

She went off on a tangent, muttering something about poor orphans.

Kirby stopped listening at 'parents' for the thought at first hadn't occurred to him. Obviously he knew it was normal for people to have parents. Being completely lacking in that department himself, though, he had hardly noticed that Marx had no parents and made no mention of them.

"...needs to regulate these kinds of things, but what can we do?" Memu sighed. "Yes, we'll let that boy stay here as long as he needs."

"Thank you!" Kirby said gratefully.

"It's nothing. Tell him to come as soon as he's ready: I'll go prepare the guest bedroom."


At first, Kirby had an awkward time trying to figure out how he'd tell Marx that he could stay at the castle, seeing that he wasn't supposed to talk to him again. Eventually he decided it simply couldn't be prevented, and that his avoidance of Marx would have to begin after he'd settled into Fumu and her family's apartment. And next time he spoke to Meta Knight, he would explain the dilemma and that it had been necessary to talk to Marx one last time.

After a small conversation about formalities (since Marx didn't seem to know much about them), Kirby lead him through the castle and they now both stood outside the apartment, greeted by her whole family.

"Marx, meet Fumu, and her parents, the Prime Minister Parm, and Memu. This is her little brother Bun," Kirby introduced. "Everybody, this is Marx."

"It's so good to meet you, Mark. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"You can call me Parm." He held out his hand jovially.

Marx shrank away from the potential touch. Kirby eyed him strictly, mouthing the words "you promised."

Suppressing a growl, he shook his hand. "Yes," he muttered, "happy to be here, welcome, grateful to have a presence in your humble home."

Kirby looked almost satisfied, which was good enough for Marx. They showed him around the main area of the house; the kitchen, living room. Parm and Memu were overly enthusiastic and repeatedly told him that he shouldn't be afraid to ask for anything if he needed it, and that he seemed like a 'poor young boy.'

Bun begged his parents to show Marx his collection of rocks, but they said he needed some space, as if he were a caged animal pet by too many hands. Fumu took him to his room.

"This is where you can stay," she explained. "It's our guest room." To her surprise, Marx shot right past her in the doorway and immediately went to the bookcase at the far wall. The way he walked was strange, as if he were tied close to the wall and couldn't quite pull away from it.

He appraised the shelf thoughtfully. "You have books," Marx said with some degree of curiosity.

"They're mine," Fumu said with a smile. "They didn't all fit in my room. You're free to read them if you like, though. Do you like to read?"

"No." He moved on. His fingers, like long spider's legs, investigated the inside of each drawer, explored the odds and ends of the room; trinkets on the nightstand, the alarm clock, an picture frame containing a family photo. He ended up by the bed, stroking the soft bedspread. Around the entire space he had tread, as if creating a private map in his memory. There was something almost ritualistic in it, that Fumu didn't want to interrupt him until he was done.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Perfect. I'm always perfect."

After Marx had settled in, Bun just couldn't contain himself any longer and urged Marx constantly to play ball with him. At first the misplaced jester refused, but finally he relented and went outside to play soccer with him - though Fumu got the impression it was more to escape her worried mother's attention than out of a desire to play soccer. Fumu followed them out, but settled her back against a nearby tree to read. On the occasion, she'd peer over the edge of her book to check on Bun and Marx. So far, it didn't seem as though they'd gotten much soccer done. Bun was teaching Marx the rules, and getting slightly frustrated with his non-attentive pupil.

Fumu chuckled softly and went back to reading. She was just getting to the climax of the book when Bun's shout snapped her out of the story.

Bun came rushing over, clutching the soccer ball, followed by an apathetic Marx.

"Look!" Bun exclaimed, " Look what Marx can do!"

Once Bun was sure she was looking, he set the soccer ball down in front of Marx and waved him on encouragingly. With a bored expression, he placed one foot on the ball and lifted up the other leg so he was balancing with only one foot on the ball.

"Very nice," Fumu said politely.

"No," Bun whined. "That's not what he did earlier. Go on, show her!"

"Meh."

"C'mon Marx, you gotta show them! It was so cool-"

"Really, it's not that great," Marx interrupted. "If you had a bigger ball, I could do more, but this is pretty limiting."

"Pleeeeasseee?"

Marx sighed. Reluctantly he bent over as if to touch his toes, and placed his hands on the ball. He paused a moment, collecting himself, then lifted both his feet so only his hands were holding his weight and his feet were above him in a handstand. He held this position by rolling on the palms of his hands lightly back and forth.

Bun crowed in delight, and Fumu gaped.

"How do you do that?" she asked.

"Just practice. Like I said, I can do better stuff than this." He flipped right side up and kicked the ball back at Bun.

"That is impressive though," Fumu said. "I know I couldn't do something like that."

"It's awesome," Bun tugged on Marx's sleeve. "Hey, do you know how to do other tricks like that? Teach me!"

Fumu smiled quietly to herself. At least it seemed Marx was getting along with Bun well enough.

At that moment Memu trotted up and called them all to lunch. She had prepared a heaping plateful of delicious sandwiches, with salami, capicola, provolone, lettuce, and shredded tomatoes, for a 'family' lunch to greet their guest. Parm had work to attend to, but everyone else crowded around the table and helped themselves to a sandwich.

"Marx can do a handstand on a soccer ball," Bun was boasting as he took his seat. "And he said he can eat fire!"

"Eat fire?" Memu looked worried.

"Yeah, isn't that cool? I wanted him to show me, but he didn't have a lighter or anything - hey mom, do we have a lighter?"

Memu shook her head vehemently. "No, Bun! You should never play with fire, understand? Mark, that is not something we do here."

"Mhm, wouldn't think of it," Marx hardly was listening; instead, he was absorbed in picking the shredded tomato bits out of his sandwich and dropping them under his chair.

Memu continued telling Bun of the dangers of fire, appearing not to notice Marx's mutilation of his lunch.

Frowning, Fumu nudged him hard in the ribs, eliciting a hiss from him. "Just eat it," she muttered under her breath. "It's impolite to play with your food."

"This isn't playing," Marx whispered back. "This is playing-" He flicked one of the tomatoes at her face.

"Ack! - don't do that!"

He went back to picking out the tomatoes.

"So," Memu suddenly said, directing her attention to Fumu, "I saw you borrowed another book from the library."

"Oh, yes," Fumu smiled. "It's another book about marine biology. It talks about all different kinds of aquatic organisms. I was thinking I'd go down to the lake after lunch and see what I can find."

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Memu said.

"I wanna go too!" Bun interjected. "Mom, can I go swimming?"

"Just remember to wear your sunscreen, and don't swim in the deep part..."

Marx flicked another piece of tomato at Fumu.

"Stop it!" she hissed, kicking his shin under the table.

"Stop it," he mimicked.

"You're such a child," Fumu snapped.

"Fumu, why don't you bring Marx too?" Memu suddenly suggested. "I bet he'd like to go swimming too."

Fumu's eye twitched. "Sure..."

Marx flicked a third piece of food at her.