Part 5 (1/2)
Julien did the dishes after supper because Mama asked him to; when he finally pulled the plug in the sink, he felt so drained he could hardly stand up. He headed for the stairs. ”Julien?” said Mama. ”Would you tell Benjamin I'd like to ask him something before he goes to bed?”
”Sure, Mama.”
He knocked twice on Benjamin's door before he heard a m.u.f.fled, ”Come in.” Benjamin was on his knees on the wood floor with his back to Julien, stacking books in the crate.
”Uh-y'know Grandpa's making you a bookshelf for those,” Julien offered.
”Maybe you can use it.” Benjamin's voice was flat. He put another book in the crate and didn't turn around.
”What do you mean?”
”I'm leaving.”
Julien stared at him.
”I'm not staying here. Not if it's going to be like this.” His voice cracked wildly on this.
”Um,” said Julien.
Benjamin swallowed. After a moment, he got out: ”D'you need something?”
”Mama wanted to ask you something. Downstairs.” He hesitated. ”Should I tell her you're-busy?”
Benjamin glanced at the open door, and Julien saw on his face what he had been afraid of: the bright tracks of tears down his cheeks. ”Tell her I'll be down in a minute,” he said tightly.
”Sure.” He turned to go. ”Uh-Benjamin?” he said, searching for the right words.
”Mm.”
”They want me to leave too. I don't think we should give them that satisfaction.”
Benjamin shrugged one shoulder. He picked up another book and put it carefully in the crate. ”Good night.”
”Good night.”
Rooks roosted in the trees by the soccer field, a black army of rooks. Every branch laden with them. Julien was running with Benjamin, pa.s.sing the soccer ball. Benjamin pa.s.sed it to the rook-tree. ”No!” cried Julien. The cloud of rooks rose, the flap of a thousand wings making a huge, alien whisper. They rose, and fell together toward one place on the ground.
A rookery is a society, said a voice. It sounded like Papa. They punish their criminals. The whole flock pecks the offender. Sometimes to death.
The birds boiled upward and fell, again and again, a cloud turning in on itself in violence, a seething of black wings.
Julien began to run.
He ran toward them, shouting, waving his arms. They flew up, their beaks stone gray, their little black eyes glittering. In the middle lay something flat and brown.
It was the soccer ball, its leather hide pierced by a thousand holes, lying limp on the withered gra.s.s. It was bleeding.
Julien screamed. ”Benjamin!” Behind him the soccer field was empty to the horizon; the lines and goalposts gone, the school gone. Benjamin was not there. The river ran on in front of the hill. But there was no bridge.
The rooks set up a great cawing behind him. He whirled and went for them, arms flailing, and they flew up away from him in a hiss of wings.
Benjamin lay in the gra.s.s, white-faced, bleeding from a thousand small wounds.
Julien shrieked.
”They've killed Benjamin. Help! Help!”
A shadow of great wings flying low. ”You killed Benjamin?” And Grandpa landed and folded his wings about him; they hung to his feet, black and s.h.i.+mmering.
”No! It wasn't me! I wasn't there! I didn't even see-”
Grandpa looked down at him from his great height, the eyes of a dark eagle. ”They were pecking you too.”
Julien looked at his hands. There were feathers on them. ”Grandpa, no. Don't make me a rook. Bring the bridge back. Please. I have to carry him across-”
The world jerked and tilted. Darkness. A hand was shaking him by the shoulder.
”Julien? Julien? Are you all right?”
He sat bolt upright. It was dark. In the faint moonlight from the window, he could just barely see Magali by his bed.
”Fine. I'm fine.”
”You sounded awful! I could hear you from my room.”
”Did I say anything? Did you hear me say anything, Magali?”
”You just yelled a couple times. Was it a nightmare?”
”Yeah.” He sank back into his bed. ”Yeah. Um. Thanks for waking me.”
”You sure you're okay?”
”Yeah. Good night.”
She left. He lay facedown on his pillow, shaking his head and swallowing. What was wrong with him? He hadn't had a nightmare since he was ten.
He got up and opened the shutters. The clouds were over Tanieux again, and everything was misty down below; he breathed the cold, moist air deep into his lungs, and his head cleared. He looked up, but there were no stars.
”G.o.d,” he whispered. ”What was that?”
There was silence, and a cold wind.
He shut the window and turned away. He felt dizzy. He crawled back into bed and slept.