say.
The big, bearded face split into a friendly grin. “A clever lad like you can say more than that. I’ll give you a little something to help you speak-here,” the man said, producing an apple. “Try eating that up, and I’ll bet you’ll be able to say a whole lot more after it’s inside. It’s a magic apple, you know.”
The lad didn’t care if it was magical or otherwise. He was always, always hungry. He grabbed the little red sphere and bit into it without a word to the man. Eat it up first, then see what happens afterward. The fruit was soon gone, core and seeds included.
“Well?”
“Gotta nuther one?” the grubby boy asked seriously through the last mouthful.
The fellow took him gently by the shoulder, smiling and chuckling. “That and more, lad. My place is just there,” he informed the waif. “Let’s you and I go there for a bit. You can eat all you want, and I’ll just talk a bit-sort of fill in the gaps until you’re ready to take over. Sound all right?”
The man was big, much bigger than Leena, so undoubtedly he could hit very hard. His laugh was nice, though, not like the old hag’s. Besides, this was the same man who had saved him from a pair of bigger boys who had been pummeling him just a couple of days ago-and so far the two hadn’t come back to beat him up again. The boy was grateful to the man for that, too. He still didn’t trust him completely, but getting food was worth a risk. His large, gray eyes met the man’s merry blue ones, visible above the bushy beard.
“Yes,” the boy said after a moment’s hesitation.
The man walked off. The little boy had to hurry to keep up, and this fact was reassuring to him. He reasoned that if he had to work to get where they were going, the hairy-faced man wasn’t setting a trap for him. They went into a small, narrow building through a stout door the man opened with a key. Not many places in this part of the city were so guarded, but there were a few. Leena had told him to watch such places closely, because if he ever found one left unguarded, vast treasures would be found inside. But he had never before been inside such a place, and the little lad was instantly impressed.
“What’s your name?”
“Don’t know,” the lad said without thinking too hard about the question. His eyes were busy roaming over the place. It was a treasure trove. There was a real rug on the floor, dishes on a table, all sorts of wondrous things.
“Sure you do,” the fellow countered. “Everyone is called something. Now, I’m called Bru, see? That’s my name. What are you called?”
He thought for a moment, then said the first thing that came to mind. “Dirty little bastard.”
“Nope, that’s not a name. Think some more.”
It seemed evident that the man would keep at it until he had a name from him, and then perhaps he’d give him more to eat, so the little boy thought carefully. Almost everything that old Leena called him was like “dirty little bastard,” not really names but nasty things. That much the lad had understood down deep for a long time. Then something came to him. “Leena always says she’ll thump me… gourd!” It was an exclamation of near triumph.
“Gord… Well, then, that must be your name. Glad to make your acquaintance, Gord. Sit down on this stool here, and I’ll ladle up a bowl of soup for you.”
The lad’s big eyes grew bigger when he saw chunks of meat drop from the ladle into the big wooden bowl. “You got meat?”
“Sure, lad… I mean, Gord. A hunk of bread to soak in the soup, too. Now eat that up, and we can talk a bit. See, I been looking ’round for someone like you to talk to. There aren’t many folks in these parts who are worth talking to, of course.”
“Why me?” the newly named boy managed to ask through a food-stuffed mouth. Nobody ever wanted to do anything with him except pick on him or make him work. Maybe this hairy-faced man was a crazy-a dangerous man after all! He wanted to get out quickly-but not so quickly that he would leave any of this wonderful soup behind. Eyes darting from the bowl to the man and back again, he began shoveling the stuff into his mouth as fast as he could.
Bru noticed the sudden tension in the skinny little body, the suspicion plain in the child’s eyes. The big man let the child eat in silence for a couple of minutes, then got up slowly and went over to his cupboard. “That’s it for the soup, Gord, but I think you’re about filled to the top anyway. I’ll give you a piece of cheese to take with you when you leave,” he said slowly as he pulled a package off a shelf.
Gord was relaxing more with each passing moment. If the man meant to do him harm, he wouldn’t have let him fill his stomach first. As hard as it was to accept, Gord had to admit to himself that maybe this bearded stranger really did want to talk to him.
“I guess I like talking to you, lad, because I’ve got a sharp eye-’most as magical as that pippin I let you gobble up.”
Now that was just too much for Gord to pass up. “That old apple wasn’t magic!”
“Look at how blue my eyes are,” Bru countered. “Ever seen anything like that?”
“No,” the boy admitted slowly, “but I don’t see hardly anybody. Does a sharp eye hurt?”
That made the man laugh. “Hah! Good question, though, Gord m’lad. See how much you’re talking? That proves the apple was magic, I think. And see how good your question was? That’s what my sharp eyes spotted! Not everyone can tell a good lad who can talk so well and ask sharp questions. That’s sharp thinking, a sharp mind. Like my sharp eye, it means it gets to the point of things.”
Gord belched contentedly and gave a small smile. This was kind of fun. Not the eating-although that was enjoyable, it was done more as a matter of survival. The fun was in having someone like the hairy-faced man… Bru…to talk to.
“Do I really have a sharp thinker?” Gord asked, not quite convinced of what Bru was saying. “Leena tells me I’m a-”
“Never mind her-not for the time at least. Poor old woman is a little off her noodle,” Bru explained, tapping the side of his head to enable the boy to understand what he meant. “Maybe you’ll want to give her some of your cheese when you get home.”
“No! Anyway, maybe I could stay here with you, Bru. I’m pretty sharp at finding stuff.”
The big man shook his head ponderously. “Love to have you for company, Gord, but I’m not around most of the time. Tell you what, though-I’ll make a point of looking for you whenever I am about. Then we can have eats and a good talk. There are many things I can show you, and you’ll think It’s all fun, too.”
That seemed like a lot of empty promising to the boy, but he was too accustomed to disappointment to bother trying to argue. Things were as they were, and he had learned long ago that someone as small and weak as he was had to accept the pain and sadness that came along with lack of size and a shortage of strength. “Sure… I’ll go now.”
“Not just yet, Gord. I have to put my knife to the cheese for you. What were you looking for when I saw you, anyway? Something I can help with?”
That brought Leena’s warning back to mind. “Shit! I gotta find some wood in a big hurry!”
“Hold on, Gord, hold on. Here’s your cheese,” he said, handing over a hunk of the stuff as he finished wrapping it in a bit of cloth. The piece was bigger than the small boy’s fist. “Well, look at that, will you? You’ve no pocket to carry this back in, and I daresay you wouldn’t get far holding it out in the open. Say, would you maybe like a little sack to use? That way I could dump in a few bits of charcoal and some splinters of wood, too. That would sort of take care of things for you, I suppose.” He looked at Gord with his kindly, blue eyes, and the boy was happy.
“That would be…”
“Great! You got a deal, Gord. Now, just say ‘Thank you’ and that’ll make us even. Then we can be true friends.”
“Thank you,” Gord said quietly, humbly. He knew the word “friends,” but he had never heard it used to refer to himself before. Then it occurred to him that friends should help each other, and he became more animated. “Can I get the sack for you? I’m good at getting things.”
The big man considered the offer for a moment. “Well, you gather up some of the charcoal there in that box by the fire, and I’ll fetch the sack. Look around for the kindling wood-the broken stuff that’s in small pieces. You can take as much of that as you like.”
Bru produced a bag from the bottom of his cupboard. It was old and had several holes, but it was a prize
