Skellig

Chapter 15

“THE BABY MIGHT NOT DIE,” I said.

“That’s good,” said Mina.

I sat on the wall a few feet away from her.

“You weren’t at school today,” she said.

“I wasn’t well.”

She nodded.

“Not surprising, considering what you’ve been through.”

“You weren’t at school either,” I said.

“I don’t go to school.”

I stared at her.

“My mother educates me,” she said. “We believe that schools inhibit the natural curiosity, creativity, and intelligence of children. The mind needs to be opened out into the world, not shuttered down inside a gloomy classroom.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Don’t you agree, Michael?”

I thought of dashing across the yard with Leakey and Coot. I thought of Monkey Mitford’s temper. I thought of Miss Clarts’ stories.

“Don’t know,” I said.

“Our motto is on the wall by my bed,” she said. “ ‘How can a bird that is born for joy/Sit in a cage and sing?’ William Blake.” She pointed up into the tree. “The chicks in the nest won’t need a classroom to make them fly. Will they?”

I shook my head.

“Well, then,” she said. “My father believed this too.”

“Your father?”

“Yes. He was a wonderful man. He died before I was born. We often think of him, watching us from Heaven.”

She watched me, with those eyes that seemed to get right inside.

“You’re a quiet person,” she said.

I didn’t know what to say. She began reading again.

“Do you believe we’re descended from apes?” I said.

“Not a matter of belief,” she said. “It’s a proven fact. It’s called evolution. You must know that. Yes, we are.”

She looked up from her book.

“I would hope, though,” she went on, “that we also have some rather more beautiful ancestors. Don’t you?”

She watched me again.

“Yes,” I said.

She read again. I watched the blackbird flying into the tree with worms drooping from its beak.

“It was great to see the owls,” I said.

She smiled.

“Yes. They’re wild things, of course. Killers, savages. They’re wonderful.”

“I kept dreaming I heard them, all through the night.”

“I listen for them too. Sometimes in the dead of night when all the traffic’s gone I hear them calling to each other.”

I joined my hands together tight with a space between my palms and a gap between my thumbs.

“Listen,” I said.

I blew softly into the gap and made the noise an owl makes.

“That’s brilliant!” said Mina. “Show me.”

I showed her how to put her hands together, how to blow. At first she couldn’t do it, then she could. She hooted and grinned.

“Brilliant,” she said. “So brilliant.”

“Leakey showed me,” I said. “My pal at school.”

“I wonder if you did it at night if the owls would come.”

“Maybe. Maybe you should try it.”

“I will. Tonight I will.”

Hoot, she went. Hoot hoot hoot.

“Brilliant!” she said, and she clapped her hands.

“There’s something I could show you as well,” I said. “Like you showed me the owls.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if it’s true or if it’s a dream.”

“That’s all right. Truth and dreams are always getting muddled.”

“I’d have to take you there and show you.”

She opened her eyes wide and grinned, like she was ready to go right now.

“Can’t go now,” I said.

Along the street, Dad opened the front door and waved.

“I’ve got to go,” I said. “I’ve got to go and get 27 and 53.”

She raised her eyes.

“Mystery man,” she said. “That’s you.”

The blackbird flew out of the tree again.

I stood up to go.

I said, “Do you know what shoulder blades are for?”

She giggled.

“Do you not even know that?” she said.

“Do you?”

“It’s a proven fact, common knowledge. They’re where your wings were, and where they’ll grow again.”

She laughed again.

“Go on, then, mystery man. Go and get your mysterious numbers.”