CHAPTER 8

© 2010 GREG DUNAJ 

8.

             

              A rivulet of sweat trickled from the boy's matted blond hair and snaked its way down along his dirty cheek. He was bare-chested on this hot, humid day. Continents of anvil clouds drifted on the vast, unending horizon. Tall grass swayed, betraying the movements of the gusting wind. The boy was lying in the grass on his belly near the river. His hands hovered over a grasshopper, preventing the insect from escaping. He watched the creature closely, curiously, as its mandibles worked and its antennae twirled. The large expressionless eyes of the grasshopper gazed out at the sweaty, dirty boy that peered down upon it like an omnipotent deity, bent on cruel musings. Each time the insect tried hopping away the boy lowered his fingers forming a cage. 

              The boy leaned his face close to the cage and blew onto the grasshopper. The mandibles stopped and the insect executed a half turn away from the boy's breath. It climbed onto a finger, its clawed feet pinching slightly. The boy grabbed the grasshopper by its thorax and turned it upside down. The insect did not like this position and its legs worked furiously as the boy stroked its white underbelly.

              "Robert."

              Robert lay there, ignoring the man's voice that called him. He placed the insect on the ground and immediately had to clamp his hands down to prevent its escape. A rain drop slapped the ground.

              "Robert," came the man's voice again, "I'm going back. Rain's coming."

              The boy grabbed the grasshopper again and rolled onto his back. He scratched at his belly. Grasping the insect between his thumb and forefinger, he now looked up at the creature as it walked in mid-air. A bearded man lumbered into view. He had two fishing poles on his shoulder.

              "What're got there, some bait?"

              Robert gave the man a look and then rolled onto his belly again, still grasping the insect with his fingers. Another rain drop fell, hitting the boy on the leg.

              "Well, I'm going back, Robert. No sense getting wet."

              Robert said nothing. The man stood, looking at the boy, lying in the grass, for a long time before a rain drop hit him on the head. He said nothing else, but turned and left, leaving Robert and his grasshopper.

              After a few minutes, the boy looked out at the clouds. The wind had picked up, causing ripples on the river. A soft rain began to fall. Robert stood and still grasping the grasshopper in his fingers, walked down the small slope that led to the river. His hair was wet. For a while he stood there, his bare feet in the mud of the bank, the water gently lapping his toes, watching the rain pelt the surface of the water.  Fish were coming to the surface to feed. He could see their dorsal fins breaching the water. In the distance lightning crackled, its thunder echoing off the hills beyond the river. 

              Robert squatted down and held the grasshopper over the surface of the river, low, so that its feet touched the water as it tried to escape. There was another barrage of lightning and thunder. It was much closer this time, and the rain picked up in intensity, soaking the boy. It dripped off his nose and his hair stuck to his face. With his free hand he pulled tendrils of hair from his eyes. Stepping into the river up to his shins, Robert held out his hand, palm up, and placed the grasshopper on it. He eyed the creature. It stared back, but now it made no move to escape. Robert blew again onto the grasshopper. The insect endured this, but still it remained on Robert's hand, poised over the water and the hungry fish.

              "You're free," said Robert, after a time. "Why don't you go?"

              Robert shook his hand, up and down, in an attempt to dislodge the grasshopper, but its clawed feet gripped his fingers tighter. Even upside down the grasshopper remained in place and would not leap off Robert's hand to fall into the water.

              A woman's voice, back in the trees beyond the embankment, called his name.

              "You see, I have to leave now."

              But the grasshopper seemingly ignored the boy and stared back at him. Its mandibles moved, but the insect said nothing in its defense.

              "Robert!" The voice was nearer now. "Get out of that water! There's lightning. You'll get killed."

              The woman, wearing jeans and a t-shirt already soaked, splashed into the water and grabbed Robert by his one hand. The boy resisted and shook his other hand, trying to free it of the grasshopper.

              "What're you doing, Robert? Don't fight me, we have to get back."

              Robert said nothing, but continued to resist her pulling. The woman fell into the mud. When she got up, she was livid. She grabbed the grasshopper from Robert's other hand and flung it into the river. The insect drifted on the surface for a few seconds before a fish took it. Robert tried watching this as the woman pulled him out of the water and up the embankment and away from the storm and into the relative safety of the trees, but she was half-dragging the boy along and he struggled to stay on his feet.

              All the way back, as they ducked and cowered with each explosive show of lightning, the woman yelled at Robert and asked him questions to which there were no simple answers. "Why don't you listen? How come you couldn't stay with Thomas? Why can't you try to be friendlier with him? Don't you know he's trying his best?"

              The boy allowed himself to be dragged along in the pouring rain and did not utter a word of explanation or defense. It was not until she got him back to the ranch did he say a thing and then it was only to the twins that hovered near his bed, ogling him curiously. She had deposited him at his boy’s quarters and left to change into dry clothes. Robert did not change into dry clothes and instead sullenly sat on his bed for a long as the red-haired twins watched a puddle form at his feet. After a time Robert tired of the looming freckled faces.

              "Go away, willya."

              "Make us," said one of the twins.

              "Make us," echoed the other, and he pushed Robert on his shoulder.

              Robert grunted and he turned away to stare at the roughly hewn timbers of the wall.

              "You heard me, make us," said the first.

              "Yeah, make us," said the second.

              "Go away you dumb idiots," said Robert to the wall.

              "You're the idiot. Don't know enough to get in out of the rain," goaded the second twin, pushing him on the shoulder again.

              "Yeah, I must be pretty stupid," said Robert to the wall.

              "Stupid, stupid, stupid," said the first twin, this time also pushing.

              "But if I'm that stupid, then you two must be as smart as a pile of shit."

              Both twins jumped him and the three fell off the bed and to the floor. They tumbled on the ground, clawing and punching each other. Robert clocked one of the twins on the nose, and that took the fight out of him. He rolled away from the fray and cried and wiped blood away with his hand and shirt sleeve. The other red-haired twin squealed and hissed as his white cheeks reddened from Robert's blows, but he managed to grab the boy's long, blond hair and yanked it as hard as he could.

              "Ow!" Robert cried. "Ya fight like a girl. Ow!"

              The second twin had gathered himself and now jumped up and down, fists clenched and shouted encouragement.

              Hearing adults approaching, teenagers finally pulled the boys apart. They had been watching with stoic, bemused interest. When adults came in the twins were sent downstairs into the eating hall. Robert was told to sit on the floor in order to calm down. He lightly touched the tender spot on his head where the one twin had yanked his hair and he wiped his puffy face in a towel someone gave him. Though tears welled in his eyes, Robert would not let them fall. Beneath the glowering gaze of an otherwise silent adult, Robert gritted his teeth and remade his bed, and changed out of his wet clothes.

              When his mother finally heard of the commotion she ran into the boys' sleeping area. Her hair was still wet and her shirt was not tucked in. She cradled her son's face to peer at a welt that had formed on his cheek and she kissed the tender spot on his head.

              "I love you," she said, softly.

              Robert squeezed his eyes tightly and the tears there brimmed and one trailed down his cheek.

              "I want to go back," he said.

              His mother shook her head and gripped him tighter, but said nothing. A hand was placed on her shoulder and she stiffened. Robert grabbed his mother by the waist, but she had to leave. She stood and pulled her boy’s arms away. Robert’s mother was led out of the room. He squeezed his eyes and fought back the tears as he sat on his bed in the boys' sleeping area of the house. The adult that watched him said nothing, made no move towards the boy, but after a few minutes motioned to him to leave. It was time for the evening meditation before dinner. Robert stood with difficulty; he had banged his knee on the side of the bed during the melee. The man stood to one side and followed after the long-haired boy down the darkened staircase to the dinner hall.