PART TWO
The forest had been beautiful that fateful day so many years ago; the air warm and rich with the spicy scent of pines at the end of summer. Christian remembered... Kurt had waited nearly an hour for him to show up. It had never crossed his mind that Christian might not come...
Kurt had always been a cheerful, trusting boy, endlessly hopeful with boundless energy. Perhaps that was why Christian had liked him so much, despite their age difference. Kurt was wild and free, as warm as the sunlight and untamable as the wind. No cloud of fear hung over him. He had no understanding of hate.
The time the boys had spent together had been magical, as though the forest was an enchanted place and Kurt was the faerie spirit who kept it green and pure, like in the stories Christian's mother had told him when he was very young...when she had still been alive to protect him from his father's drunken rages. Only in Kurt's presence could Christian could forget about his father, forget his pain and terror, and just play like any other kid. His friendship with the six-year-old Gypsy boy had been his special secret, a treasure that gave him strength and kept him sane when he was forced to return to his own harsh reality.
Until the day his fairy tale had come to a crashing end.
He never learned just how his father had found out about Kurt, but his reaction had been swift and brutal. He'd burst into the house with his belt already in his hand, grabbed Christian by the shirt, and proceeded to pummel him into unconsciousness—all without uttering a single word.
Many hours later, when Christian had opened his eyes, he'd seen his father looming over him with red, bloodshot eyes, a stained, dog-eared Bible clutched in his hands...
"You've been consorting with the Devil, boy," he growled, "out in those cursed woods of yours. Them Gypsy witches went and conjured him, and I'll kill you myself before I let them come for our souls with their Gypsy evil. Put your hand on this Bible, boy."
Christian's thoughts were muzzy, his vision blurred. His right eye had already swollen shut, and his left was barely more than a discolored slit in his battered face. He'd reached for the Bible, unable to suppress a wince at the sharp stab of pain in his side. His father had probably fractured another one of his ribs...
His father didn't have the patience to wait for him to find the Bible on his own, so he slapped the book against the boy's hand, pressing his palm to the cover so hard Christian worried his fingers might snap.
"I want you to swear to me, boy," he grunted, his unshaven face only inches from Christian, his sour breath making him gag. "Swear to me on the Bible that you will never go near that Gypsy freak again."
"He's...he's not..." Christian tried, but his father only pressed his hand harder, jolting his arm and jarring his ribs again.
Christian gasped, and sobbed with pain.
"Swear it, boy," his father snarled, clamping his heavy hand around Christian's thin neck. "Swear it, or by God I'll snap you dead right here and now. No son of mine is going to be messing around with vagrant scum like that. Them Gypsies are nothing but bad news, them and their black magic. Swear to me now that you will never go near them and their blue devil again!"
...And Christian had sworn...
Satisfied, his father had tossed the Bible onto the dresser and left the house as abruptly as he had come in.
All Christian could do was sob...
Christian had taken a sacred oath on the Bible that he would never go back to his enchanted forest or speak with his best friend again. He knew there would be horrible consequences if he broke such an oath, and it wasn't just the risk of another beating.
In his twelve-year-old heart, he had truly believed he might lose his soul...
Christian had spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon of the following day trying to think what to do. He had planned to meet with Kurt after school, but his father had made him stay home to hide his injuries.
As the appointed time crawled nearer, all Christian could see was Kurt waiting for him with that eager smile of his...his confusion and hurt when his friend didn't show...
Christian had just about decided a clean break was best, when a terrible thought occurred to him.
What if Kurt got worried and came looking for him? What if his friend got lost searching for his isolated house, or worse—ran into his father on his way home from work!
That horrific image decided him. No matter the risk, Christian had to meet with Kurt one last time. He had to explain. Kurt wouldn't understand, he knew. But he had to at least try. To make sure Kurt kept away...
And so, he had returned to the forest by the Gypsy encampment, sneaking past their colorful circus tents and trailers and fascinating practice equipment until he found the huge tree growing at the point where the dirt path forked. Kurt had been there waiting for him, just as he had pictured. He'd been hanging upside-down from the branches, his happy grin a crescent moon brightening his fuzzy, blue face...
"Christian!" the little boy shouted in open delight, waving to his friend with a three-fingered hand. "I thought you'd never get here! What took you so long?!"
Christian ducked his head, overwhelmed by shame and fear. He didn't want Kurt to see his battered face, and his sacred oath kept pounding in his ears, over and over.
...I swear it, Dad... I swear it...
"I was thinking..." he rasped, his gut clenching as he brazenly broke his oath. His voice was barely audible, but Kurt's pointed, elf-like ears picked up every word.
"Ach, waddaya wanna do that for?" he teased, and laughed a boyish laugh. "C'mon, I found the best tree about a mile from here - even better than this one for climbing! But we have to hurry. I have to be back at the circus by sunset or—"
He paused, his golden eyes narrowing as, for the first time, he seemed to sense that something wasn't quite right with his friend.
"Hey," he said, "why are you hiding in the shadows?"
Christian swallowed, his throat painfully tight.
"Kurt..." he said, "listen—"
"Hah! I get it!"
Kurt flipped down to the ground and charged toward him on all fours, his unkempt curls bouncing and his stubby, spaded tail swaying playfully behind him.
"You don't have to hide from me kemosabe!" he said, affecting a phony American accent. "Your secret is safe with Tonto!"
Christian felt himself trembling, and he turned away.
"Kurt—stop. Listen to me, will you? I—"
He blinked back a stinging tear with some difficulty, struggling to control his ragged breathing.
"I'm sorry, but...I can't be friends with you anymore."
Kurt stared blankly, then shook his head.
"Don't be dumb," he said, waving the confession away. "I'm not mad that you got here late—we still have time to reach that tree!"
The little, blue boy grabbed his arm, tugging Christian insistently toward the path.
"Now, let's make trails, kemosabe," he said in that same American accent. "Tonto will scout ahead for you."
He paused, waiting for Christian's expected response. When it didn't come, he gave an exasperated sigh and pulled his arm even harder.
"You're supposed to say 'Hiyo Sil—'"
"I'm not playing around, Kurt!" Christian exploded, frustrated and angered by his friend's inability to understand what he was trying to tell him. He balled his fist and tore his arm violently from Kurt's grasp, hating the shocked look on his blue face almost as much as he hated himself for causing it.
"In fact," he went on, drumming his point home, "we won't be able to play around together ever again."
Kurt shook his head, clearly confused and even a little frightened.
"But Christian..." he said, "I don't understand..." He stared up at him, his large, golden eyes burning right into Christian's heart. "You're my best friend!"
Christian winced and lowered his gaze. Kurt still thought this was a game. He really had no idea... No idea at all...
Christian's expression darkened, and he cursed his father for forcing him to do this to Kurt. But the boy had to understand. He had to know it was really over, so he would never come looking for him...and find his father instead. That meant Christian had to step into the light. He'd have to force the boy to look into the face of the reality he had always known, to show him what hate and fear truly meant...
"Now come out of the shadows and stop this silly—oh! What happened..."
And there it was. The shock; the sweet, innocent concern...
But, there was no turning back. Kurt had to know, and Christian had to be the one to tell him.
"My Dad..." he said, his adolescent voice cracking. "He says you're a devil...a freak. He says you wear your Gypsy evil on your face. He beat me for ever coming near you, Kurt. If he catches me talking to you again—"
He lowered his head.
"He'll kill me before he'll let you take my soul."
Kurt was shaking now, his eyes wide with fear and denial, his tail wrapped tightly around his leg.
"M-me?" he stammered, his young voice nearly a squeak. "The Devil? But—"
"I'm sorry, Kurt!" Christian cried, unable to bear that look on his friend's round face. "But what'm I supposed to do?"
He sniffled loudly, causing every bruise and cut on his face to ache sharply as his hot tears began to flow.
It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that Kurt—a blue monster with pointed ears and a devil's tail—could be so happy and carefree while Christian was beaten and abused. It wasn't fair that Kurt could learn the trapeze and climb trees all day while Christian had to go to school to get picked on and ridiculed for having a drunk for a father. This whole situation was Kurt's fault anyway, just for being whatever it is he was!
"You're the one who's in the circus!" he cried out. "You're the one who's a Gypsy! You're the one who's blue! Blast it," he sobbed, "this is all your fault! You freak!"
Kurt stepped back as though he'd been slapped, tears trickling silent trails through the soft, fine fuzz on his cheeks.
Christian turned his back on him, running away from the scene of his crime as fast as his aching ribs would let him. He didn't think he had ever sounded more like his father in his life.
"Christian!" Kurt's little voice called out to him, desperate and pleading. "Wait! Come back..."
But Christian didn't turn back. He barely even heard Kurt's last, heart-broken plea before vanishing into the shadows under the trees.
Yet, that one, plaintive word had seared itself into his heart.
"...Please?"
Amil was watching television when Christian found him, his half-finished homework shoved to one side of the polished coffee table.
"I'm going to finish it!" Amil exclaimed defensively when he saw his father enter the room. "But this is my favorite show and—"
Christian smiled, affection warming his heart as he crouched down to his son's eye level.
"I didn't come about homework, Liebling," he said. "I know you'll finish it in your own time. You're a very good boy, Amil, and I'm very proud of you."
Amil looked wary for a moment, then he brightened.
"Dad, does that mean..."
"You bet."
Christian grinned, pulling his little son into a hug.
"This Saturday, you and I are going to the circus."
Amil bellowed his joy right in his father's ear, squeezing him so tightly around the neck that he nearly choked. Christian laughingly swept the boy up into his arms and settled him on his hip.
"And who knows," he said, kissing his son's head. "Maybe I'll even take you backstage so you can meet the Nightcrawler in person. If he is who I think he is, we used to be very close friends."
"Really?" Amil gasped, awed by the thought that his father knew a real, live acrobat.
"And truly," Christian confirmed. "But that was many, many, many years ago. Twice as many years as you've been alive, in fact. He probably doesn't even remember me now. But, I would still like you to meet him."
"Wow," Amil exclaimed. "This is so awesome! I hope he gives autographs. Do you think he gives autographs, Daddy?"
Christian chuckled, although his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"He probably does. But he might be too busy to see us."
...And if he is indeed Kurt Wagner, he might not want to see me, Christian thought to himself, but didn't add. ...I don't know what I would say to him if I did see him, or if he'd want my apology. But, even if he still hates me after all this time...
"It'd be worth a shot, wouldn't it?" Amil asked anxiously.
Christian looked down at him, his small, startled smile growing into a broad grin—which Amil eagerly returned.
"You bet, kemosabe!"
Tune in next time, when Christian and Amil pay a visit to Nightcrawler's circus!