5. Communication
Fujitaka clung to the boy, frozen. He can speak, he thought numbly, staring at the clay wall of the bakery. The boy held onto him, pressing his face into Fujitaka's shoulder.
Another jolt went through him as he realized what the boy had said. He called me "Father." But how? I've never taught him that word. Unless he picked it up while he was missing. Fujitaka blinked, remembering his purpose here. I have to take him back to the police. They're still looking for him.
He picked the boy up, readjusting his arms to get a better hold. As he did so, he felt the split edges of the boy's pajamas, the rough texture of the stiffened cloth. He turned the boy around, examining the shredded cloth. Dry blood stuck to the torn fibers, making them stiff. "What happened to you?" he whispered.
The boy said nothing, just shied away from his touch as if the scabs still pained him. Fujitaka stared at the damage, wondering what could've caused such distinct marks.
"Let's get you back to the station," he murmured, not sure where else to go. He covered the boy with the cloak and hurried toward the police station. They'll have medical supplies there, won't they? And something for him to drink.
He carried the boy across the bazaar, pushing through crowds of people. When he finally made it to the station, all the officers in the building looked over.
"Where was he?" a female officer asked, plucking the boy from his hands.
"Near the bakery," Fujitaka said. "And he's hurt. He needs medical attention right away."
The woman pulled the cloak out of the way. A quiet gasp sailed through her teeth, and her hands moved to the scabs. At her touch, the boy squirmed out of her arms and jumped down to the floor. His hands shot out, fingers curling around the fabric of Fujitaka's pants. The archeologist glanced down in surprise.
The other officers crowded around them, watching the boy with wary eyes, as if he was liable to lash out at them.
"Looks like someone took a whip to his back," one of the men said, stepping back. To another officer, he said, "Run and get some bandages. We can treat him here."
Fujitaka sighed in relief, kneeling down beside the boy. The child crawled into his lap, leaning against his chest. "Can we get him something to drink?" he asked. A moment later, one of the officers appeared with a glass of water.
The next hours passed sluggishly. The police argued and tried to figure out how the boy had escaped. Fujitaka considered telling them about the boy's first words. It could be important, he thought. If I don't tell them, and they find out, I'll have nothing to say to defend myself.
Eventually, though, he decided it would be their little secret. Next time the boy spoke, he'd act surprised.
The most strenuous part of the afternoon occurred when they tried to treat the boy's wounds. Doing so required them to apply a stinging antiseptic solution to the scabs. The boy squirmed away, clawing at anyone who came too close. Eventually, Fujitaka had to hold the boy tight to his body while the officers took turns dabbing at his wounds with soaked cotton balls.
Not once during this did the boy make a sound. It was as if he didn't know how to cry.
Maybe he doesn't, Fujitaka thought. Or he doesn't know that he should.
After the boy's wounds had been wrapped, the police assaulted Fujitaka with a myriad of questions about where he'd found the boy, if he'd seen anyone suspicious, if he'd actually witnessed the boy being abused . . . After forty-five minutes of questioning, the police were forced to conclude that the boy had simply wandered off and gotten into some trouble along the way.
Just as the sunlight started fading from the sky, the chatter died down. Officers who'd been called in to comb the streets went home. Those still on the clock went about their business, some leaving to apprehend petty criminals, others staying in the building to do paperwork.
Fujitaka stayed, sitting down against the wall and holding the bandaged boy in his arms. Any other day, he would've occupied himself with teaching the boy the language. But he figured they'd passed enough milestones for a while.
After a time, he nodded off, exhausted from the compounded stress of his all-nighter and the search for the boy. The child had already been asleep for hours.
He woke to a gentle prodding on his shoulder. "Station's closing for the night. No more visitors."
He peered up at the speaker through his sand-caked glasses. He recognized her as the woman who'd searched his house this morning.
Slowly, he stood, being careful not to jostle the sleeping boy. "Can I put him to bed first?"
The woman frowned, her brown eyes drifting down to the boy's face. "Sure."
She led him to the back room, where an old mattress had been laid out on the floor. No wonder he wanted to leave, Fujitaka thought, eyes roving the grey walls. This place is dismal.
He set the boy on the mattress and pulled the cloak over him, so he wouldn't get cold. After that, he rested one hand on the boy's forehead, pushing his hair back.
"He's really gotten attached to you, hasn't he?"
Fujitaka shrugged. "I suppose."
It was quiet for a moment. He stood.
The woman spoke, keeping her voice low. "You know, if his parents don't come for him soon, he'll have to go into foster care."
Fujitaka said nothing.
"Look, I'm not saying you should take him in or anything, but maybe you could visit him at the foster home once in a while."
"I'm not a permanent resident of this country. I'm just here until we finish excavating the ruins."
The woman looked down at the boy, frowning. "Oh. Well, I guess there's no help for it."
Fujitaka looked once more at the sleeping child, a pang of guilt shooting through him. But it's different now. He can speak, a little bit. He'll be able to talk in sentences soon as long as someone's teaching him. And besides, it's not like I can just quit my job when the other archeologists decide to move on.
He allowed the dark-skinned woman to lead him to the door, then headed home. All the way there, the woman's words echoed in his ears.
"You're here early, Fujitaka."
He glanced up from the symbols he'd copied from the walls. "Ah. Good morning, Oruha."
"I got a team together to research the writing system. You're in charge of them."
"Oh?" He turned to look at the list in her hands. "Who have I got?"
"Kentaro and Takeshi, of course. Plus Rickart and Erii. You have them for the rest of the day, to get organized, plus three hours every afternoon this week to compare notes."
He bowed. "Thank you."
She shrugged. "You made the connection. Besides, I don't want this headache for myself."
"Of course." That's right, she prefers studying burial rites and ancient religions. "Do you know where my team is?"
"Kentaro's in the nursery room. The rest aren't here yet."
"Thanks." He hurried into the ruins, taking the stairs two at a time. The more time he got with his team today, the more smoothly things would run for the rest of the week, and the sooner he'd get done with work so he could visit the boy. Maybe I shouldn't, he thought suddenly, slowing. The police assumed the boy was with me when he went missing. Perhaps I've denied him the opportunity to socialize with others by spending so much time around him.
He frowned, ducking down to pass through the nursery door. Kentaro stood on the other side of the room, copying down the images etched into the wall. He looked up when Fujitaka entered. "Morning."
"Good morning. Did Oruha tell you you're on my research team for the next week?"
"Yeah." Kentaro dug through his bags, holding his sketches between his elbow and his ribs. After a moment, he pulled a fresh notebook from his bag. "I was wondering if you'd let me do the phonetic part of it, with Erii. Since she's our resident expert on dead languages, I mean. That's the only reason."
Fujitaka arched one eyebrow, fighting a smile. "Honestly, Kentaro, sometimes I wish I could be young like you."
"You are young. You're only five years older than I am."
Fujitaka shook his head. "Thank you, but that's not what I meant. You're young in spirit."
"Yeah, yeah, and you're more responsible." Kentaro made a dismissive gesture, plopping down in one of the folding chairs they'd brought for the excavation. He flipped through his notes. "It's strange, though. Even though you're more mature, you've got this weird, childlike curiosity, as if you think every new experience is going to be a good one."
"Most of the time, that's true."
"Maybe. But you . . . I don't know. You get it, more than anyone else."
"Get what?"
Kentaro made an exasperated noise, rolling his eyes. "Everything except that phrase, evidently."
Fujitaka smiled. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Kentaro stared at his notes for a second, his expression turning solemn. "Your whole worldview is different from everyone else's. You never question what's right and wrong. You never doubt your own assertions, yet you're happy when people come up with better ideas. You're blunt and honest, but somehow you manage to be nice. You're just . . . different."
He shrugged. "All part of this profession, I suppose. I haven't been everywhere, but I've seen enough to know that there can be no judgment when you enter a new culture—not if you want to learn something from them. Everything must be approached with an open mind."
The younger researcher smiled at him. "See? That was blunt, but not mean. I don't know how you do it."
He shrugged. Just then, he heard footsteps echoing around in the stairwell. "It sounds like the rest of our team is here. Shall we get started?"
Kentaro grinned. "Might as well get something done."
Fujitaka spent a few minutes organizing his notes as the others arrived. Once everyone was together, he split his team into two groups, with Erii and Kentaro working on the phonetic alphabet, and Rickart and Takeshi working with him on the more complex symbols. He set up a schedule for them to compare notes, dividing up tasks. Within minutes, everyone was working on their respective duties.
The day passed quickly, now that he had a goal to work toward. Running between both stations meant he was able to see the progress of his charges. Everyone is working hard to make sense of this language, he thought. And if I don't keep up, it's going to fall apart.
Eventually, though, they had to break for lunch. Fujitaka hurried to the upper level to indulge in one of the sandwiches Oruha had ordered for the excavation team, hoping to use at least part of his lunch hour to get ahead on his work. Kentaro sat down beside him, accustomed to following him around whenever Takeshi was busy. "Hey, Fujitaka," the archeologist said, his voice strangely subdued.
"Did you make any headway on the alphabet?"
"Some," the younger man said, his voice brightening for a moment. "But that's not what I was going to say."
"Oh. Well, go on."
Kentaro glanced around, as if scanning the area for eavesdroppers. Fujitaka bit into his sandwich, relishing the taste after an hour of enduring an empty stomach. After a moment, the young archeologist spoke. "I heard about what happened yesterday."
"Yesterday . . ."
"How that kid wandered off, and you had to go looking for him."
"Oh. What about it?"
"It's just . . . I know I said something before, about how impractical it would be for you to adopt him, but . . . He seems to matter a lot to you."
Fujitaka shrugged. "He does, but . . ." But I can't support him on my salary. I can barely feed myself. "I don't even know his name."
"Because he won't talk?"
"That's the thing," he said, lowering his sandwich to his lap. "I heard him speak for the first time when I found him yesterday. I didn't even know he could speak. And it was so . . . amazing. You wouldn't know, but . . . I think I might be the only person he's ever spoken to. He only spoke the one time, when I picked him up—no one else was around. And what he said . . ." He trailed off, stricken by the memory.
"What did he say?"
His sandwich lay forgotten in his lap. "He called me 'Father.' I never even taught him that word. He could've only picked it up while he was wandering around. But even so, what would compel him to—" He bit his lip, not sure how to classify the significance of the title.
"Maybe he doesn't have a father of his own."
"What?"
Kentaro shrugged. "Absent dad, parental abandonment. It happens all the time. Heck, maybe his parents were killed, and the trauma left him unable to speak for a while. I've heard bad experiences can do that to a little kid. Or amnesia. That happens, too."
Fujitaka stared at his colleague. Kentaro took a deep drink from his canteen, his expression distant. After a long moment, the younger man spoke. "If he doesn't have a name, you should give him one."
"But . . . Isn't that—"
"It doesn't have to be a permanent name. Just something more specific to him than 'the boy.' I don't know. See what he likes. Give him a name he'll answer to. At least assign him a color or something—the way you refer to him now is confusing."
Fujitaka sputtered out a laugh. "A color, Kentaro? Really?"
"No, not really. But he needs a name. It's something he can take with him wherever he goes."
Fujitaka looked down at his sandwich. A name? he thought, bringing the bread to his mouth. Before he bit into it, he said, "What right do I have to decide something so important for him, when I probably won't see him again after we leave this country?"
Kentaro rolled his eyes. "Jeez, Fujitaka, if I knew this was going to turn into a philosophical debate, I wouldn't have brought it up."
He forced a smile. "Sorry."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Oruha rounding up her personal team. He swallowed the last bites of his sandwich, despite the growing lump in his throat.
By the time they made it back to the ancient nursery, where they'd been working all day, everyone else from his team had arrived. Kentaro ran to Erii's side, hovering over her notes like a schoolteacher.
Fujitaka smiled, shaking his head.
The afternoon wore on, moving sluggishly as he tried to fend off thoughts about the boy. From the moment Kentaro had brought it up, he hadn't even considered his responsibility to the excavation team. I should have, he thought. I have a duty to fulfill here, and if I allow myself to get distracted, it will only strain my colleagues more. But even so . . . His eyes slid over to Kentaro as he chuckled at something Erii had said. There's more to life than one's career. As long as I don't dwell too much on it while I'm here, I can still teach the boy.
"Fujitaka, what do you suppose this symbol stands for?" Rickart asked, holding up a tile with one of the more complicated patterns on it. Fujitaka looked over, surprised to realize it was the same symbol he'd contemplated last week—the symbol with the wings.
Rickart was going on. "I think it might stand for enlightenment, given that we've found it somewhere in every room."
"Very possible," he said, examining the symbol in a new light. To build ruins shaped like wings . . . What sort of concept would drive the ancients to create such a thing? Is it supposed to be a path to enlightenment, or do the wings represent something more worldly? And if so, what? "It must've been important. The wing motif is repeated all over these ruins."
Rickart took the piece back, scrutinizing it with renewed intensity.
Enlightenment, huh? Wouldn't that be nice? He sighed, checking his watch. It was almost dusk. "All right, everybody. We've done enough for today. I'll meet up with all of you tomorrow afternoon."
There was a general mutter of relief as the room cleared. Fujitaka gathered his bags, closing his notebook and tucking it into the largest pocket. He was about to leave when the pile of blocks Erii and Kentaro had been working with caught his eye. The symbols were lined up in neat rows, with similarities evident between each of them. Fujitaka suspected they'd been working on a theory that the most similar characters had similar sounds.
Almost unconsciously, his thoughts went to the boy. Since he seems to understand at least some of the spoken language, maybe it's time to teach him the alphabet.
He blinked, then wiped the grit off his glasses. He was about to dismiss the idea—he'd hardly gotten the boy talking—when it occurred to him how useful it would be to teach the child a writing system. Something for the boy to study while he was busy at the ruins. That could accelerate his progress exponentially.
He headed up to the ground level, refilling his canteen before he left. He headed back to the police station, wondering if they were keeping a closer watch on the boy after the latest disaster.
The boy was waiting for him.
"Welcome back," he said softly, looking up at him as if for approval. Fujitaka felt his lips stretch into a wide smile. He knelt down in front of the boy and rested a hand on his head.
"Have you been waiting for me all day?"
A new voice cut in as the boy processed the question. "He's been talking about you ever since this morning. It's like he just woke up knowing how to speak."
Fujitaka raised his eyes to the female officer who'd allowed him to tuck the boy in last night. "Really?" he said, feigning ignorance.
"Well, sort of. He doesn't have a complete grasp of the language, but he knows words. For some reason, he kept asking for apples."
A faint smile crossed his face. He pulled the boy into his arms. "I'm surprised he knew my name to ask about me."
"Oh, your name's not the problem. I just wish he would tell us his."
Fujitaka blinked, stunned to realize that the police knew no more about the boy than he did, even though the child had apparently been talking all day.
"We were hoping you'd be able to coax it out of him. Whenever we ask, he looks at us like he doesn't understand."
"Well, he's new to the language. It might take some time."
The woman frowned, eyebrows pulling together. "Will you try, at least? So we can put out a more detailed poster?"
"Sure." He plucked the boy from his arms and sat him down on the floor in front of him. "Can you tell me your name, little one?"
The boy cocked his head to the side, lips parting slightly. After a moment, he shook his head.
"Guess he really doesn't understand," one of the officers murmured.
"Okay, let's try something else," Fujitaka said, both for their benefit and the boy's.
He lifted one hand to his chest. "Fujitaka," he said, enunciating every syllable.
The boy lifted his tiny hand, resting it over Fujitaka's fingertips. After a moment, his lips framed the syllables. "Fuji . . . taka."
Fujitaka nodded once in approval, hoping the concept would transfer over as he tapped the boy's sternum.
Something like confusion settled across the boy's features. He shook his head.
Fujitaka tried again, this time speaking in full sentences, in case the boy had picked up enough of the language to understand the other words. "My name is Fujitaka," he said, tapping his chest. He reached forward and tapped the center of the boy's shirt. "What's your name?"
The confusion vanished, replaced with a look of intense concentration. The boy's breathing came faster, as if he'd just dashed across the bazaar. His eyebrows knit together, forming a single line across his brow. But it wasn't until Fujitaka saw the nascent tears budding in the corners of his eyes that he recognized the distress in that face. "What's wrong?"
The boy looked up at him with a heartbroken expression. "I don't have a name."