Giver30

My nose and cheeks continued to hurt for weeks after I'd been kicked in the face, but emotionally I felt much worse. I wanted to be someone else, someone stronger. There were few consolations available, and while my uncle slept longer each day, I survived feeling as though I were utterly alone.

If not for the responsibility of two animals, I would have driven myself mad with my thoughts. Instead, I spent hours hunting—or rather sitting with my back to a rotting tree and watching wildlife emerge at dusk. Each time a creature approached, I sat with my arm around Girl. Three quail, a stag, and several rabbits lived a day longer with us on guard. Only Girl seemed disappointed.

Vibrant colors spread across the horizon. Bats flitted through the trees, eating unseen insects. The world was mysterious yet beautiful, and I longed to see what lay beyond the hills.

While the sun set, I listened to the sound of my own breathing and became aware of my living self. A heartbeat never before noticed, a pulse of blood through my clenched, then relaxed hands. I realized I didn't know myself; the world was not the only vast landscape foreign to my mind.

During the day, after I'd slept for six hours, I brushed Moon's mane and tail and kept her coat clean. She was, for several weeks, undoubtedly the most beautiful and well-groomed donkey ever. Yet still, despite my best efforts, she never failed to swish her tail and hit me in the face. She apparently wasn't impressed with my doting.

"Responsibility is good for a boy your age," The Shadow said one evening as he lay and watched the sun disappear. "And for a man my age as well."

I nodded and gingerly touched my upper lip, which he immediately noticed. His eyes filled with concern and he frowned.

"How are your teeth?"

I shrugged and he sat up, motioning for me to open my mouth. With my eyes averted, I felt like a horse showing my teeth before a potential sale.

"Your nose is still swollen," he concluded. He laid one hand on my shoulder while the other gently examined my cheek, nose, and upper lip. "Remove the mask. Allow it to heal."

I jerked my head back and swallowed hard, frightened of the concept. His hand, which had remained on my shoulder, gave an assuring squeeze. He smiled, his gaze locked on mine.

"Come now, my child. You know I will not shun you."

I looked around our camp as though expecting to find a crowd of people hiding in the bushes. His hand squeezed tighter, refusing to let me look away. Rather than comforted and assured, I felt like an animal forced into a corner. Shoulders hunched, I moved away until he released me.

"Please," I said under my breath. "Don't make me do this."

"It's for your comfort." He paused and looked me over. From the corner of my eye I saw him frown. "But I have made you more uncomfortable. My apologies, my son."

My stomach was in knots, and as my vision blurred, I feared I would pass out. Bruised…ghastly…I didn't want anyone to see me. Ever.

"Shall we continue to walk?"

I nodded and we collected our belongings with only casual conversation between us. My face perspired and the mask stuck to my forehead and cheek, which made me uncomfortable. As much as I wanted to remove the mask, I knew I'd lost my opportunity to do so. In silence I suffered through my self-damnation.

Within the hour we were on the road to France. My hair and face were soaked with perspiration. I was miserable, angry with myself, and in no mood for conversation.

Every few minutes The Shadow would look at me, his expression showing he was keenly aware of my discomfort. He said nothing, though I knew he wished to tell me I was being stubborn and foolish.

"I intend to write my son again tomorrow. What, if anything, would you like Joshua to know about you?"

"I don't know."

"Whatever you wish me to say, I will say. Unless you wish to say it yourself." His eyes narrowed and he stroked his stubbly chin. "Perhaps you should say it yourself. Penmanship is very important. In correspondence it's the only physical presentation of yourself."

"I want him to know I'm a musician," I blurted out.

"Oh, he knows that already. I told him you were very talented, quite possibly before I told him your name or your relationship."

"How much longer until we reach his home?"

"Not long."

"How long is not long?"

"To me? Not long. To an impatient youth? Forever." He smiled, which made me realize he was being playful.

"You are far too sullen for a boy of your age," he commented. "Before the end, I will see you laugh so hard you cannot catch your breath."

"The end of what?"

He hesitated a moment before he forced a smile. "The end of our journey. When we reach Paris."

I knew better than to believe his words. Heads bowed, we walked in silence until the sky became clouded and we were forced to light a lantern in order to see the way ahead. Dogs barked in the distance and sounded a warning of intruders. Girl responded with a growl, to which I gave her leash a tug. She quieted, though she walked with her head down and shoulders up, an angry stance if ever there was one.

"She doesn't approve of our path," The Shadow said. "Perhaps she has traveled this way before."

I held my breath and listened for an intruder in the night, but we were only accompanied by crickets and the occasional bird chatter. The road ahead and behind held pure darkness. I had only my tribe for comfort.

"You've turned quiet on me." When I turned, my uncle was looking at me. He tugged Moon to a stop and had me help him mount our pack mule. "Have I offended you?"

I shook my head but didn't feel like speaking. In the back of my mind I feared my father was at our heels. I'd thought of him a lot lately, especially after I'd been kicked. Foolishly, I had expected to leave the past behind me, but one instance had proven to me that violence was never far behind.

"Don't burden yourself with guilt. You've done nothing wrong, have you?"

By my appearance, I would always be wrong. Still, I shook my head and stared at the ground.

"Look at me, Erik."

I did as he requested, my throat tight. Nothing he said would make me feel differently. I knew what I was. From the very first time I had looked at my reflection I knew what I was…and I hated it.

"He was only one person. Do not allow one person to steal all sense of your dignity."

"No one will ever treat me differently." My voice trembled when I spoke. "No one will ever look at me…and not see…this."

"You don't know that for certain." His words were spoken without emotion, without conviction. "You must give others a chance."

"They will not give me a chance."

"Yes, they will." He waited for me to challenge him, but I didn't. "But only if you refuse to back down."

"I didn't back down," I argued.

"You're backing down now."

"From what?"

"From yourself. I will not tell you again, Erik. You are more than these scars. When you choose to believe that for yourself, you will live differently."

I forced a nod, though I hadn't absorbed a word he said. He didn't know what it was like, to be ridiculed the moment someone saw my mask—to instantly be reduced to an animal.

As if he knew my thoughts, he placed his claw-like hand on my shoulder. "You must look people in the eye and never let them see discomfort. They will respect you if you respect yourself."

I wanted to ask him how I could respect myself. My entire childhood had been spent within a cellar, my body and mind victims of my father's rage. Fear returned, as did hatred. I didn't want to take another step forward, to end this journey, to face the uncertainty of yet another life, another rebirth—one that I knew my uncle would not live to see.

We came to a sudden stop and he looked me in the eye for a long and uncomfortable moment. I wanted to look away, but couldn't. Emotion crept up, threatened me again—this dreaded feeling that tightened my throat and pricked the back of my eyes.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked. "Acceptance?"

Unable to speak, I shook my head. I couldn't fear something I would never have. And I feared something immensely tangible…the loneliness I knew would greet me. My cynical thoughts would not allow me to believe my cousin would receive me in the same manner my uncle had. His affection for me was a fluke. It would not happen twice, not to me.

He stared at my nose and lips, his expression grave. "Your father is gone, Erik, and you will never see him again. Does that please you or frighten you?"

"I don't know," I answered softly, honestly. I felt as though his footsteps were directly behind me, threatening to trample over my soul.

"Truly, you are your own worst enemy."

Inside and outside I hurt, my heart filled with fear, my gut twisting in agony. Time was my enemy, distance was my enemy…life was my enemy. But he was correct: I was my own worst enemy.

"Your cousin has many friends in Paris," he said casually. "Perhaps he will be able to speak with a composer and offer you an apprenticeship in music. You will need to hone your skills, refine yourself as a musician."

My heart skipped a beat. Music was the key to my soul, the bridge separating melancholy and mirth. "Why would a composer wish to offer me an apprenticeship?" I questioned.

He looked at me as though he had expected me to ask.

"I don't know if one will."

Dread threatened to overtake hope. The aching returned.

"But if you want to be a musician and a composer, I have no doubt you will give them ample reason to fight for your education."

Embarrassed, I bowed my head and smiled at his compliment. He laughed and tightly gripped my shoulder, giving me a hearty shake.

"Come. We have much ground to cover before the dawn breaks," he said with a smile.

I had no choice but to follow.