Gabe excused himself politely as he passed them. “Is Jonas inside?” he asked. A woman nodded.
“She asked for him, first thing. Strange,” she murmured.
“Is it all right if I go in?” Gabe asked.
No one seemed to be in charge. They all looked at him blankly, and he took it as permission. The door stood partially open, and he entered after a quiet knock on the wood, which drew no reply. The interior was very dim. It was bright outside on this clear day after the night’s rain, but the windows of the cottage were small, and woven curtains were drawn across. He smelled stale food, old age, dried herbs, and dust.
Herbalist, who ordinarily tended the sick, sat quietly in a rocking chair.
Gabe looked around. “Jonas?”
“Over here.” He followed the voice and found Jonas sitting in the shadows beside the bed. Again he wondered: Why? Why had the old woman asked for Jonas?
And how soon could Jonas excuse himself and come away? Gabe needed to talk to him. Their conversation last night had seemed urgent. More than urgent; it had been alarming. Jonas, the most peaceful of souls, seemed to be commanding Gabe to commit a murder. He had not explained, not really. He had said they would discuss it more fully in the morning.
Now morning had passed, and Gabe wanted to know more. The old woman was dying, as old people always do. It was the natural way of things. Her friends were nearby, and Herbalist was sitting in the corner. She didn’t need Jonas. Not as much as Gabe did.
“Can’t you leave?” Gabe whispered, moving closer. “We need to talk. You promised to explain—”
“Shhh.” Jonas held up a hand.
Now, through the dim light, he could see Jonas more clearly, and the woman in the bed as well. Her eyes were open, and it was clear that she had seen Gabe approaching. Her thin fingers moved, plucking at the blanket. Jonas was watching her very closely; now he leaned forward, as if to listen. Her thin, dry lips were moving. Gabe could not hear, at first, what she said. But Jonas did. Jonas was nodding.
Gabe stood there uncertainly. The woman’s mouth began to move again, and he found himself leaning forward to listen. This time, nearer, he could hear her words.
“Tell him,” she was saying to Jonas.
Ten
I’m sorry. I just don’t believe you.”
Gabe’s voice was both skeptical and firm.
Jonas leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He cupped his own face with his hands. They were sitting together on the bench behind the library, the same bench where he had so recently sat with Claire.
He looked up and sighed. “I felt the same way yesterday when she told it to me. I sat here thinking: This woman is crazy. Is that what you’re thinking now of me, Gabe?”
Gabe shook his head and looked away. He wanted to be someplace else. Off with his lodge-mates. Building another boat. Sinking another boat. He didn’t care. Anywhere but here, listening to this unbelievable story being told to him by a man he loved. And last night this same man had talked of the need to destroy someone. It was scary. It was sad.
He turned to Jonas and tried to speak in a soothing voice. “You know what? You’ve been working awfully hard. Probably reading too much. You should take a long walk along the river. Have a nice relaxing, restful . . .”
“Gabe. Listen to me! We don’t have much time. This is not a wild made-up thing. This is real. She remembers you. She remembers me. She—” Jonas paused and took a deep breath. “I know you were very young when we left the community, so you won’t recall these things. But I do, Gabe. I remember seeing her there. She used to work at the fish hatchery. But in her spare time she came to the nurturing center and helped out. She did that because you were there, Gabe.
“She had given birth to you. It’s the way things were done there. Young girls produced babies—they weren’t called babies; they were called newchildren. The birthmothers turned them out like factory products. Then the babies were moved to the nurturing center, and eventually assigned to couples who applied for children.”
“That’s how your parents got you?” Gabe asked.
Jonas nodded.
“So some girl had given birth to you?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t know who?”
Jonas shook his head.
“And some other girl—or maybe it was the same one?—gave birth to me years later—”
“Claire gave birth to you. You were the only child she ever had.”
“But you’re saying she ended up working in the fish place.”
Jonas nodded. “Yes, they determined that she couldn’t handle any more births. She had difficulty when you were born. So they gave her another job. But she spent all her time watching over you. She loved you, Gabe. But love wasn’t permitted.”
Gabe leaned down, slipped off one of the sandals he was wearing, and dislodged a pebble that had been rubbing against his toe. He watched a bird flutter in a nearby tree, and noticed that it had a twig in its beak. He examined a scratch on his arm. He yawned, and stretched. He unbuttoned and rebuttoned the neck of his shirt. He investigated his fingernails.
Jonas watched him.
“You know what?” Gabe said at last. “I guess I can believe all of that. You’ve told me before about what the community was like. So: there was a girl; she gave birth to me. I believe that. And, Jonas? I know it’s true that she loved me. But—”
Jonas nodded. “I know. It’s the rest of it.”
“Yes, the rest of it is just crazy. That old woman? I’m supposed to believe that some man in strange-looking clothes—”
He noticed that Jonas was no longer looking at him. He was looking across the grassy area, to the path beyond. Gabe followed Jonas’s gaze and saw Mentor, the elderly schoolmaster, walking slowly along the path. Nothing unusual. It was school vacation now. Mentor was a part of the village. One often saw him walking around.
To his surprise, Jonas rose from the bench and called to Mentor. “Come with me, Gabe,” he said.
He followed Jonas’s quick strides toward the path where Mentor had stopped and was waiting. The bearded schoolmaster was stooped, and his face was lined. But his eyes were keen and intelligent. Gabe had always liked Mentor, even when he had not liked school. “Good morning,” he said. “What can I do for you gentlemen this morning?”
“Mentor,” Jonas began, “I’m trying to explain to Gabe here about Trademaster. About his powers.”