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In the first months of the year 2470 there occurred several important events which
affected the life of Shopkeeper Relyt's family. Some of these were expected and some
were not. Carl's birthday on the fourteenth of March was expected. In the society of Dentonsville the age of fifteen was generally reckoned to be that at which a boy became a man and so the event was a cause for special celebration. However, because of the upcoming wedding the celebration was kept to just a small gathering at the Relyt's house. In anticipation of Ruth moving out after the wedding the Relyts had recently taken in old Martha Wilson who was now so old that she could really hardly see. Still, with help from Becky she baked a birthday cake for Carl. The Willards brought Iram who, naturally, was inseparable from Ruth, and their daughters Lisa, who was Carl's age, Mary who was eleven and their youngest Ruth. Jacob Harding, the Miller, was there also accompanied by his sons Jacob and Joseph and his young daughter Theresa. Jacob senior was Carl's godfather and, though Theresa was only ten he had an eye for matching up Carl and she later on. He had grown to think a lot of the boy in the last few months. 'He works hard, as I've said many times.' He expressed to the Relyts after the party was over.' And he's smarter than anyone else in town. Probably even than the Pastor.' 'So you say, Jacob Harding' said the Shopkeeper. 'Never listens, does he?' The Miller observed jokingly to Becky. 'Once he makes up his mind about something, that's it.' The Shopkeeper was aware that Carl would be considered a good catch for any girl in town. However, he considered that Carl would have to show much more of a sense of responsibility than he had up till now before he would be allowed to marry - both he and the Pastor had veto power over any marriage in the town. 'Five or six years at least,' he told Becky later. 'And then I hope he's got the sense to take whoever can bring him the most. And that may not be those Hardings. That mill is really getting run down, I'm telling you.' 'Nonsense!' said Becky irritably. 'You just don't agree with anything you didn't think of first. And you're just against Carl. I don't know why! Anyone can see he works hard. Anything you've ever asked him to do he's done. You're just going to have to let him do more on his own now.' The Shopkeeper grunted. He knew that he could not put off the inevitable any longer. The boy would have to be let out on his own, though It was against his better judgment. There was still that something about his son. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it made him very uneasy. Maybe it was just that the boy thought too much. Too much thought! Too many questions! Always wanting to know the reason why! It just didn't fit with the way the Shopkeeper did things! Carl's opinion of Theresa Harding was that she was a nice girl as girls of that age went. However he was considerably more interested in girls of a somewhat older age like Lisa Willard. Lisa was a moderately attractive well developed girl and he had been thinking about her for some time. He had dreamed she might bring him a special present but she didn't. She didn't seem to be too interested in him at all. His birthday party had been a disappointment. All anyone had talked about was the upcoming wedding, when the dress was going to be finished, what it would look like and so on. He had received only meager gifts because the families resources had been strained so much by the cost of the wedding dress. However, he didn't begrudge Ruth the dress and he had been fascinated by all the work that had to go into the making of it, of which he had done his more than share even if his father didn't recognize it. The day after his birthday his father came to him with a T-shaped metal object. 'I was given this a year ago. A seeker found it. It must be identified. Take it to Thomas, the Keeper of the Catalogues. Be careful to make him look in the book. He must show you the picture of the object.' As he followed the main path across the narrow tract of woodland that separated the enclave of the 'Men Apart' from the main part of the town Carl's head was full of many thoughts: Lisa Willard; the excitement of being allowed, finally, to go off on his own; the possible uses of the object he had been given, the prospect of accidentally encountering Sam Savage again. Since his father had given him explicit directions he didn't have to ask the way. People waved at him from their porches as he passed by. They all knew who he was by now and he had been in the enclave several times with his father. He disagreed with his father's opinion of the enclave, however. True it was a dirty place, the shacks were all run down, more like hovels really; the people never seemed to be doing anything at all and there was an underlying unpleasant odor. Still, there was something about it. An aura of knowledge not possessed by the people of the town. Dangerous knowledge. Of things wild and not so wild. Of the forest and what lay beyond the forest. This knowledge was certainly not something the people had come by happily even though they could be, as everyone knew, an extremely boisterous lot. The Festival of Renewal was coming up and they were all looking forward to that. The other thing that interested Carl about the enclave were the girls. Some of them were far more attractive than Lisa Willard or any of her friends could ever hope to be. Of course, he knew that they were strictly off limits to him and that consorting with them could bring a terrible punishment to all concerned but somehow he had got it into his head that he could get away with anything. He found old Thomas' shack on the very edge of the enclave, half buried in a tangled thicket of budding vines. The shack had a corrugated roof which gleamed in the sunlight and which came down to the level of Carl's eyes as he stood in the doorway, shading his eyes from the sun to see in. There was a smell of excrement and he could discern a small shape which seemed to shake. He banged on the roof. 'Excuse me, sir. I'm the Shopkeeper's son Carl. Are you the Keeper of the Catalogues? I've something here for you to identify.' The object was a dull silver color and fit neatly into his hand. It was like a knife except that it was twisted and had only a point. He held it out, his arm extending from the bright sunlight into the dimness. As it had before the old man's voice seemed eerie and non-specific, appearing to have no source. 'Carl? Your father has the same name?' 'Yes, sir!' 'I know you. I have not forgotten you. You were the child they whipped when they should'a hung. Bring me the object.' As Carl stepped inside the shack and before his eyes could adjust to the light the object was taken from him. Gradually he perceived a table with a plate of food, a pitcher of water covered by a cup and a huge book. Beside the table was a bookcase full of other books, all of identical appearance and without markings. They were colored red, with heavy bindings and were made of indestructible plastic. Thomas sat on a straight backed wooden chair with one arm resting on the table. The food and water were placed close by him in such a manner that the book could be opened without disturbing them. He poured himself some water from the pitcher and his hand shook so that as he drank a small quantity of the liquid spilt about the corners of his mouth and onto his belly. 'Water?' Thomas offered Carl a sip but Carl declined. 'Sit then?' he said, indicating a chair in a far corner of the shack. The great book remained closed. In Thomas' hand the silver object looked enormous. 'I know what this is boy. It's called a corkscrew. It's valuable. It shouldn't be here. It should have been surrendered as tax long ago.' Carl remembered what his father told him. 'Show me in the book, old man.' Thomas laughed and Carl shivered at the sound. 'Don't you trust me, boy?' With much effort he turned the pages which crinkled as they moved. Finally he said 'There!' and seemed exhausted by the effort. Carl got up and went to look. Conscious of the trembling hand he leant across the table. The stick-like finger pointing at the page was shaking so much it hardly marked the place at all. He looked at the picture and saw the resemblance. There were two sets of words on the page; one set he understood, the other he did not. He read: 'Corkscrew. Any date before 2280. Heavy metal. If in good condition has both utilitarian and antique value. To be surrendered as tax.' 'Do you know what it's for, boy?' 'No, sir.' Thomas then laughed so much that it was impossible to tell whether his body was shaking because of the laughter or whether it was just shaking. 'Shut the book, boy.' Thomas wiped his eyes and shut the book abruptly. 'I remember you from the trial. That was four years ago. You should've been hanged. If you hadn't been your father's son the deputy would've cut your throat. Justice!' Thomas smacked his lips as if justice were something he could taste. Then he fell silent, motioning Carl to sit again while he poured himself another drink which spilled once more down his front. After a while he said, 'they hate me. You know that, boy. The old brown man who has almost forgotten his own name. I sit here all day and fester, my elbow on the table propping up my head. My legs are like sticks. Look at my hands. See? See how they shake?' Carl said nothing and Thomas, apparently exhausted from the effort of speaking lapsed into silence for a long time. Then he said loudly 'I've got no teeth either. No voice left much. Just one thing left: I can still read boy. And not what they teach you, either!' He began to speak in a tongue which was unintelligible to Carl yet which he thought he could almost understand. Finally he began to laugh and shake again. 'You didn't understand me. You think I'm crazy don't you, boy?' 'No, sir.' said Carl weakly. 'Good! But you're wrong! All who can speak that language are mad. You may find that out for yourself one day. If they give you the time!' Another long silence ensued while Thomas rested his head on his hand and his thin breath passed. Finally he said, 'time to go, boy. You've tired me.' 'Will you tell me more about yourself another time?' asked Carl politely. 'If you want me to. But don't come back too soon. You'll wear me out. On the evening of your sister's wedding.' Thomas laughed again. 'You see, nothing is secret in this town, boy. Your father should give the corkscrew to the Pastor. He will value the gift. The new Pastor, mind you, not the old. That would be a waste of a good gift.' Carl thanked the old man and went out into the sunlight. |
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