Chapter 4

Come out

That was what he had done when I stole a glance into the hall after some minutes of pottering about in the kitchen. The odds and ends that had fallen from the chest of drawers had been gathered together an laid on top of it. The door to my guest room was closed, but I could not see movements through the hazy, frosted glass. So I knocked with caution, and after receiving no answer I peeked into the room and found it quite empty, except a huddle of clothes on the floor - and the paper-bag with rolls placed cautiously on the middle of the table.

While collecting the filthy clothes I loudly announced through the bath room door: "I am going to take your clothes away for a wash. Try on the clothes I put on the bed for you!"

Then I took out some of my mother's clothes - my parents kept a small stock of clothing at my house, in case they might have to change their dress when visiting me. I had always found that touchingly overcautious, but now I was grateful. I also added one of my father's underpants, but only pro forma. The boy could have wrapped himself into those pants twice.

In front of the washing machine I scanned through his "clothes" if you could still call them that. The pants and shirt were all right, the trousers as well, but the socks were not to be repaired, and I doubted that the sweater would survive the washing. The coat would need some serious maintenance, and I sighed, for sewing was not my strong point. A moment I stood, lost in thought, and watched the washer drum turning. What was I sliding into?

But before I could follow that thought, another one struck me like a whack on the head. All the special books and music in my living room! Of course had the boy immediately reminded me of the "Phantom" somehow, but now I realised that he might perhaps not react positively on all the books, the printouts of phan-fiction and various CD's with masked men on them.

Though I had been sad when I decided on my move in not to put up my phantom-puzzle-poster again, I was now very happy about that. Hastening up the stairs I prayed that he was still in the bath or guest room. Things seemed to go even worse when I heard the phone ring. My answering machine answered the call immediately, and my announcement was so short that I had no chance to reach the call in time. Entering the hall I heard Mrs. von Spaeth's voice:

"Julia, dear, strange to find you not at home at that time of day in the holidays. Well, I only wanted to say that I am to tell you from our abbess that the we all decided to go to a day trip to Hameln, there must be an exhibition or something . . . we will probably be coming home late. Well, I'll try to call again later in the evening, dear."

Nearly in tears of gratitude I hastily put all the suspect items into a bag and brought it to my bedroom. The boy still was in the bath room, and I heard the shower.

A day trip to Hameln! An exhibition! Hah! That had obviously been Mrs. von Spaeth's idea. We were not obligated by our constitution to spend most of our time together, in fact we only had three services and one congregation during the week as binding meetings. It normally was not easy to gather all the canonesses for a joint adventure.

It took quite a while until the boy finally came out of the bath room. The boy looked a little strange in my mother's jeans and T-shirt, they were still too wide for him, but only a little too large. He had obviously tried to wash his mask, but the success only was that the cloth got a grubby complexion.

As I preferred to eat at the table in the kitchen instead in the living room, I had set the table right there. It was enough room, even for more than two people. The door to the kitchen was open. Nevertheless, the boy stayed in the hall, uncomfortable and frightened stepping from one foot to another.

"Boy, come on in and take a seat! I am really hungry right now. It is ten o' clock, nearly midday now!" I called him in.

The child came like an animal that has been trapped and tortured before, throwing little glances at me, but never looking at me straight. "Thank you, Madam" he spoke under his breath when he slipped into a chair.

"Do not call me Madam" I laughed quietly and took the bread basket to offer it to him. He shrank back, and a moment I feared he would run away again, but he picked up enough courage to stay seated, looking at the basket in wonder. I choose to overlook his reaction.

"Please help yourself" I invited him and then went on on the former subject: "My name is Julia Lubov. Ms. Lubov or Julia will do just fine."

He hesitatingly took a slice of bread, whispered "Thank you" and after a moment added, with a quick look at me: "Ms Lubov."

I answered him with a smile and then took a piece of bread myself. He needed some more vivid invitations until he finally dared to take what he wanted and began to eat it. The boy was on his guard, not only cautiously watching my every movement, but also listening prick-eared to every sound from inside and outside.

There was no sense in trying to talk to him while he was eating, so I simply concentrated on having breakfast myself. Food had always been important to me - as everybody could simply tell by looking at my measures. Laughing I always stated that Freud would say eating was a way of sublimation of my suppressed drives. It surely was a way to express my feelings to people - for I loved to cook for and with others, and was aware that it was one of my ways of showing affection. I believed in the saying "love goes through the stomach" (Liebe geht durch den Magen).

Apparently the boy did not think of affection or anything else but the opportunity to fill his empty stomach. He ate hastily, but without gorging, and whatever food he took he took hastily, as if he was afraid I could either hinder him from taking something or as if he was afraid I might try to touch him again.

He was done with his breakfast long before me, and, by way of an exception, not because of the amount I ate, but because of his speed. While he uneasily watched me chewing (and pretended not to do so), I wondered about what I might say or do after I had finished - or if he might suddenly jump up and run, and about his age, his name, his origin and many other questions more.

Finally, I leaned back in my chair satiated. "Are you sure you are full?" was what I said at last. He stared at his hands but finally murmured: "Yes, thank you very much, Ms. Lubov. You are very kind."

It was obvious that he had thought about these sentences before. They sounded like recited, and I was somehow disappointed. Why didn't he open up a bit? We had had winos, dossers and former convicts in our houses, giving them the opportunity to find a new base from which they could start their lives anew. Of course they had not always been a joy! They had stolen, threatened us, they had drunk and taken drugs while they were in our homes. They had been bold, some aggressive, and some had clearly stated that we might lick them at the butt.

But nobody had ever been as uncommunicative as this boy. He had not even trusted me with his name yet!

With a light sigh and a half-hearted smile I got up and started to clear the table. The child shrank back in his chair, pressing his arms to his side, and watched me distrustfully.

"Well" I started to think loudly while working "Your clothes still are not ready - that is, those that I could wash at least. So I guess you will prefer to wait here for another while, won't you? And I think what is left of your clothes is not enough to go on the street with. So I submit a proposal: While you simply wait here and perhaps take a little nap or something, I will go into town and buy some clothes, and perhaps some new shoes for you. It is only half past eleven now, and the shops will be opened until four this Saturday. What do you think, boy?"

When I turned to look at him, I found that he had started to tremble again, and he clutched his hands to his knees so hard that the fingers started turning blue - and I was honestly afraid he might pull out or break his kneecap! He was now staring at me openly, the eyes behind the mask opened wide.

I had to bring up all my patience to wait, but was at length rewarded with the sight of the boy finally relaxing a tiny bit, and the astonished request: "You are not kidding, Ms., are you? You want to buy me clothes! You invite me to stay here at your house while you go to buy clothes for me?"

Smiling, I answered: "Well, young man, there is nothing special in it. Do you remember: I am a canoness, and it is our duty and our pleasure to help people in need. And I think we both agree that you are in need of clothes at the moment, don't we?"

The child swallowed hard and managed a nod.

"Ok, boy" - that word 'boy' started to annoy me terribly - "let me show you." and walking into the living room, I pointed to the walls that were completely lined by bookshelves which left only free the windows, doors and a place where a TV, a hi-fi-unit and quite a stock of CD's and vinyl were located.

"If you want to read, there should be enough books. You may of course listen to music . . ." I swallowed all that 'be careful and behave' ranting at the last moment - after all, I was a teacher, but needed not always sound like one, and went on: "Of course you can take the book - when you find one you want to read - to the guest room, if you like it there better than here. There are a radio and a CD-player there also. If you are thirsty or hungry, feel free to help yourself in the kitchen. I will hurry to be back."

In my mind, I was cursing myself wildly. Damn, I was a teacher! Had I forgotten everything I had studied? I even was a teacher for children with special needs! I had been working with quite a range of not only visually impaired children, but with children with behavioural problems as well. And now I was behaving like an idiot!

Worried and enervated about myself I simply stated "Feel at home!" grabbed my purse, latchkey and backpack and went out of the house. With an effort I withstood the urge to turn round immediately. I did not want to leave that child in my house alone. But there was no choice, I had to trust the boy.