What the Outcast Learns

Kathleen had prolonged bringing Erik his breakfast. Since it was Saturday, the children and staff slept later, giving Kathleen a break from the week's routine also.

After his refusal to eat the night before, she was determined to see that he ate this morning. She brought his breakfast into the room with a cheerful "Good morning, Erik!"

He didn't answer or acknowledge in any way that she was in the room. He sat in the chair by the window, looking out at the fresh spring day, but Kathleen wondered if he saw anything of it at all. His face was expressionless—remote.

He finally came out of is trance long enough to say gruffly, "In the drawer by the bed, Kathleen—the parcel you brought me. Please put it back in the safe."

Kathleen sensed that he was grieving in some way, for he acted like someone who had lost a dearly loved one. Whatever was in that pouch must have something to do with the woman Christine.

She came to his side and laid a warm hand on his tense shoulder. "Erik, please eat something. You must regain your strength."

He barely refrained from screaming at her, "Regain my strength for what? For whom?"

Erik had dozed off in the chair again, but something jarred him from his slumber. He blinked in confusion and looked around the sunny room.

"Mith Katie…" A small voice said.

Erik turned with surprise toward the door. A pixie of a child of about five or six stood frozen with surprise.

Suddenly shy, she said haltingly, "Thorry, Mithter. I forgotted-Mith Katie don't thay in here no more-" And she backed out of the door and began to close it.

"Wait!" Erik called in a rusty, but gentle, voice.

She stopped and peeked around the door at him, blue eyes wide in her round face.

"Please come in," Erik said, holding a hand out to her. As she shuffled closer, he thought she looked like a cupid. Blonde corkscrew curls rioted all over her head. A red bow mouth and turned up nose completed the angelic face. She stopped cautiously just out of his reach, her hand clasped behind her blue pinafore.

Erik was careful to keep the pleasant side of his face turned toward her. It wouldn't do to send his first visitor screaming from the room.

"So, this is Miss Kathleen's room, is it?" He asked.

"Not no more," the tiny girl said. "Thhe stayth with the big girlth now."

The big girls, he thought, trying to put a puzzle together that he didn't have all of the pieces for. He had some questions for Kathleen.

"Just since I've come?" He asked.

"Yeth, thince Mithter Zeke brung you."

Erik noticed the gap in the child's small white teeth, causing the charming lisp when she spoke.

"Mr. Zeke—is he Miss Kathleen's husband?"

Her blue eyes widened. "Mithter Zeketh old, and I donth think Katie got no husbandth, but Tommy liketh her."

Erik had to smile at these childish observations, but he wondered why it should matter whether Kathleen was married or not.

"What's your name, Cherie?" He asked, again careful to keep his face arranged so she only saw the unmarked side.

She walked to the window and looked out. "Nameth Prithilla. Hey! You can thee far from up here. Thereth Mith Katie!" She exclaimed and ran for the door. "Bye!" She called and slammed it soundly.

Erik smiled, having enjoyed this new experience of talking to a child face to face. He leaned toward the window to see what had caught the girl's attention.

Children of different ages ran across the new grass, pursuing each other with funny looking feathers in their hair. Other boys wearing hats of some sort chased them back, each shooting wooden guns and bows and arrows. Smaller boys chased a large hoop with a stick. Erik opened the window, fascinated by the busy activity. Squeals of excited laughter drifted up to him.

So this is what it is like to be a normal child, he thought. Over the years he had often watched the ballet students at the opera, but this was different. This was pure joyous child's play.

Kathleen came into his line of vision as she strode purposefully across the grass to break up a disagreement between two teen boys. Her dark curls were pulled back at the nape of her neck with a light blue ribbon. A few stray curling strands played around her ears. She was dressed in a crisp white shirtwaist and navy skirt. At her sharp command, the boys broke up the fight, exchanged words, shook hands, and went their separate ways.

After overseeing the peacemaking process, Kathleen turned her attention to two older girls who called to her to join them at skipping rope.

Erik watched, entranced, as Kathleen picked up her skirts and jumped the swinging rope. She laughed along with the girls, her curls bouncing playfully, her cheeks bright with the exertion.

After several minutes, she jumped away from the twirling rope. Breathless and rosy, she picked up a small boy who begged to jump too. She then jumped back in with him for another round. The boy giggled with abandon.

As he watched, Erik felt as though steel fingers gripped his windpipe. This was what mothers and children were supposed to do. He did not even notice the tears that dripped onto his shirt front.

"Erik!" Kathleen called breathlessly, coming into his room. "Pricilla tells me that she visited with a man in my room!" She chuckled before continuing. "I'll wager she was surprised to find you in here instead of me."

He did not respond, but continued to stare out the window. "Erik?" She touched his shoulder, startling him. He turned surprised eyes to her. Eyes that were suspiciously red.

It was Kathleen's turn to be surprised by the obvious signs of his distress. She hadn't seen him cry since his first days here when he had been plagued by nightmares.

She knelt in front of his chair. "Erik? What is it? Can I help?"

Another tear skimmed down his cheek and he closed his eyes, as if unable to bring himself to look at her. "This pain!" He gasped.

"Where?" She gasped with alarm.

He laid a broad hand on his damp chest. "In here."

Kathleen sighed. At last the ice was breaking.

"There is so much I missed." His deep voice cracked. "I watch you with them and see how a mother should be with her children." His voice became brittle. "But you see Kathleen, I wasn't a normal child. To my mother I was nothing but a beast."

"No! Erik, how cruel!" She cried out, her heart aching for him. She clasped his hands between her own, tears welling in her eyes.

This time he let her touch him, comfort him. He laid his head on her shoulder and cried once more as she caressed his back and his face, all of his face, feeling only his pain, not his deformity.

Something stirred in her heart, but she pushed it away, unwilling to examine what it might be. It's just the emotion of the moment, she told herself. He's a stranger, Kathleen and he cares for someone else, she rationalized.

"I assumed from your ravings during your illness that this-" She touched the scars on his cheek. "happened to you in a fire."

Erik's heart hammered and he pulled back from her. Just what had he said in his dementia? Had he told all of his sordid, violent tale? If he had told all, wouldn't Kathleen have contacted the police? He was a murderer after all.

He shook his head in answer to her question. "My parents hated the sight of me," He croaked. "When I was just five they gave me to a band of gypsies in a traveling fair. They called me The Devil's Child, and my monstrous face made them money."

His voice turned bitter and the tears disappeared as anger flamed to life in his eyes. In that instant, the door that had opened between them slammed shut once again.