Chapter 26

Paul's jaw dropped. He turned white. He breathed heavily for some minutes, and then addressed Alon again.

"You can talk!" said Paul.

"A little bit. I'd been rehearsing that one in my head for a little while." Alon spoke slowly, almost drunkenly. He sounded very different from before his accident, and Paul had to try hard to interpret the word 'rehearsing.'

"How long have you been able to talk?" asked Paul. He was almost angry.

"Not sure. A few days." His speech was very slurred now.

"Can you walk?"
"No. I can move my head a little."
He stopped talking for a moment; it took a lot of effort. He composed himself. "Can I ask a question?"

"Of course," said Paul. "Go ahead."
"What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"I remember camp, and a ride in a helicopter. Everything after the helicopter."

Paul cried a little. He had to ask Alon to repeat himself a few times, because of his speech.

Alon sat expressionless as Paul explained everything to him. His parents, his accident, his adoption, that he was now in Canada, and that he was now in Paul's home. Paul was surprised that he did not show emotion on hearing that his parents were dead.
"I already knew about that," said Alon solemnly, though it was hard to discern the emotion from his voice. He sounded like a drunken old man. "But I wasn't sure about a lot of things. Thank you. I have one more question."

"What?"

"Am I going to be all right?"

"Yes, Alon, of course you are."

Paul hugged the little boy, and they cried together.

Alon slept most of the rest of the day, and all night. Paul got one with sorting out his affairs. He was so relieved to talk to Alon, but wasn't sure why he had not spoken before. Alon was exhausted from talking, so Paul did not want to press him. But tomorrow, he would.

When the morning nurse came, Alon again said nothing. Paul was puzzled, but he did not tell the nurse. He could not explain why; but he was sure Alon must have a reason. So after the nurse left, Paul spoke to him.

"Alon, if you have been able to speak for this long, why didn't you?"

"You know who my father is?" asked Alon, and sighed at his mistake. "Was."

"Yes."
"A man came to the hospital. He said he knew I knew my fathers work, that it had all been lost and they wanted the research. He called somebody on a cell phone and said I couldn't talk. Then you came, and he ran away." It took Alon a long time to get all the words out, but it seemed his speech was improving with practise. "I thought if they knew I could talk, they'd hurt me or something."

Paul meshed his fingers. This was not the kind of thing he had been expecting, although he wasn't sure what he had been expecting. He was quiet for a moment.

"So why now?" he asked. Paul found it easier than most people did that Alon was no ordinary child- for the most part he could speak to him as if he were an adult.

"You'll protect me, won't you?" asked Alon, in the most childlike way Paul had ever seen him speak.

"Of course I will, Alon." Paul hugged him tearfully.

"I need to sleep. I'm very tired," said Alon. Paul let him go and kissed him on the head. Alon slept most of the time.

Paul spent the next few hours on the internet, looking at articles about Michael Markowitz and his work. It seemed that this work was very valuable, and the Markowitz family had reportedly been under surveillance for their own safety. Their address had been kept secret until the hurricane. The internet also reported that their only son had also died in the hurricane, though one more 'colourful' website said that the boy had survived and was living in Vancouver.

"Five thousand kilometres, and still too close for comfort," said Paul to himself. The same website also reported that there was a price on the child's head, because he was reportedly very clever, and may have helped his father with the designs.

Paul now had to consider what to do. He could not tell the wrong kind of people who and where Alon was. He did not want to start doing drastic things like changing his name or moving to Siberia, but he did need to protect Alon from a very real threat. In addition, by not reporting the change in Alon's condition, he would not be getting the proper care that he needed, for although he was now lucid, he was still far from well. There were also question about how long this situation could go on. Alon would need to be in school if he was compos mentis, or his education might suffer. Eventually Paul would have to return to work, and he would have to be left in the care of someone else. Paul rubbed his temples.

That evening, during one of Alon's infrequent 'awake' moments, he spoke to Paul.

"Where is my siddur?" asked Alon.

Paul took a while to understand what he was saying. He knew what a siddur was but it was an unfamiliar word and Alon was not speaking very well.

"Oh, right here," said Paul, and dug around in the piles of things he had brought back from the hospital until he found the right one. He held it out for Alon to take. But Alon could not move his arms. Alon looked upset.

"I have an idea!" said Paul. He fetched a music stand from upstairs, and fastened the book to it with a piece of shock cord.

"You'll have to tell me which page!" giggled Paul. Alon smiled. He gave Paul a vexed look.

"What's the matter?"

"I can't read it; my eyes aren't focussing properly."

Paul moved the stand closer.

"Thank you," said Alon. He looked at Paul.

"Do you want to be alone?" asked Paul.
"You don't mind?"
"Of course not," said Paul, cheerily. He left Alon and went to do some housework.

The night nurse came and Paul rubbed his chin. He decided not to tell him. He did not know this person after all. He needed advice, and he did not know from whom tog et it. Of course there were people that he trusted, Sandrine and Pierre were good friends he had known for a long time, there was Gavin, and of course Matt Bissett had become a trusted friend. But he could think of nobody whom he could trust not to go and cash in on the situation and would be able to advise him. This was international terrorism type stuff, and Paul was in over his head. And then it hit him whom to call.