When I Found You (16 page)

“Yes,” Nathan said. “Me.”

It was a veiled criticism of the kind of useless prattle Nathan despised. Any type of small talk was abhorrent to him. But the officer had no way of knowing that, so it had not been a rude comment, or at least could not have been perceived as such. In fact, Nathan assumed that to Frawley it sounded quite a normal thing to say.

“Any progress on the return of my shotgun?” Nathan asked. As he did each time he signed in.

“No, but it’ll happen eventually. The wheels of evidence grind real slow. What’s that in the wrapping paper? Not likely I can let you in with that. Unless you’re willing to unwrap it. I pretty much have to visually inspect anything you bring inside. Are you willing to unwrap it?”

“I guess I can if I absolutely have to. But it’s his birthday. I hate to ruin the surprise. I suppose I could wrap it again when you’re done looking. If you have some tape I can borrow.”

“Hmm. Sorry. No tape. We use staples on everything. Let me take a closer look at that, then.”

Nathan handed it over.

It was small, light and soft. It was not in a box of any sort. Nathan hoped it would be obvious, just by feel, that it had no real potential to be dangerous.

“This is OK. I can make an exception for this. Couldn’t possibly hurt anyone, whatever it is. So, the little miscreant has a birthday today.”

“His name is Nat.”

The officer looked up at Nathan. Gauging. Measuring. It was clear from Nathan’s voice that the man had over-stepped a line. His interest seemed to be in learning how far.

“Right,” he said. “My mistake.”

“Anyone can make a mistake,” Nathan said. Aware that much of his fate rested in the hands of prison employees for several years at least.

“No one else visits every day,” the officer said. “Why is that?”

“I couldn’t speak for anyone else.”

“Actually, I guess I meant, why are you so different?”

“I’m not sure I can speak to that, either,” Nathan said. “I am the way I am. We all are the way we are and I’m not sure any of us really knows why.”

“I guess you got a point there,” Frawley said.

•  •  •

Nathan set the cupcake, the roast duck, the photograph and the gift on the wood table between Nat and himself.

Nat picked up the photo.

“What’s this?”

“Your new dog.”

“You got me a dog for my birthday?”

“No. I got you a dog the day you got arrested. I just hadn’t gotten around to taking his picture until now.”

“Well, that makes more sense. Since you didn’t know I wouldn’t be around to meet him. Too bad about that. Are you going to take him back?”

“No.”

“You’re keeping him for me?”

“If you want him.”

“Of course I want him. What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have one. He’s your dog, so you name him.”

Then the boy’s eyes landed on the wrapped gift. The mystery of it clearly knocked all other thoughts out of his head. Even thoughts of dogs could not withstand the curiosity evoked by a wrapped gift.

“Open it now?” the boy asked.

The guard looked over Nat’s shoulder to assure himself it was no more than Nathan had claimed.

“You may open it whenever you choose.”

The boy tore off the paper and stared at the gift. “It looks like a tiny little cap,” he said, turning it over in his fingers.

“It is.”

The guard backed off to the corner of the room again.

“Who could wear a cap this small?”

“You, when you were only one day old.”

“You mean, I was wearing this?”

“That’s right.”

“When you found me? I was wearing this? And what else?”

“You were wrapped in a sweater. A full-size adult sweater.”

Nathan tried to gauge the boy’s reaction from his face. His eyes. To see if the gift pleased or displeased him. It had been clear to Nathan all along that the pendulum could swing either way.

And yet it was a risk he’d felt compelled to take.

But there was nothing in the young man’s face by which Nathan could judge. It was something like trying to peer into a room while the shades are pulled down.

Nathan wondered briefly if life was hard for Nat in here. If the other young men were bigger. Tougher. But it was an unanswerable question, and one he could do nothing about, anyway. He considered it none of his business, and was certainly not about to ask.

“Now where did she get a cap this small, do you think?”

“My theory is that she knitted it. I know she was a knitter.”

Nat snorted. “Right. Like my grandmother. Must run in the family. I never once had a hat or a scarf from the store. Or socks or mittens, for that matter. So, how did you get this? Wasn’t it, like, evidence or something?”

“They took it off you in the emergency room and just threw it on the floor.”

“And you’ve kept it all this time? Why give it to me now?”

“I wanted you to know that she at least had some ambivalence. She left you to die but part of her wanted you to live. She was trying to keep you warm.”

Nat sat back in his chair. Suddenly. Hitting the chair back with a thump. He twirled the tiny cap around his index finger a few times, then tossed it up in the air, caught it, and crushed it tightly in his palm.

“That’s not a lot of consolation,” he said.

“No, but it’s some. We don’t always get much. I’m sorry if it’s not a good gift. I still don’t really know you. I don’t know what kind of things you like.”

Nat’s palm opened and he dropped the cap on to the table between them. Then he picked it up and smoothed it out. Reshaped it carefully. Set it back down, more gently this time. In fact, with an almost exaggerated gentleness.

“No, it’s good,” the boy said. “It’s a good present.” He sat quietly for a minute, then added, “The baseball mitt was good, too. I really liked that.”

“Good,” Nathan said. “That’s something.”

“And the ant farm, but my grandmother wouldn’t let me keep it,” Nat said. “And also …” But he never finished the thought. He picked up the photo of the mongrel pup. “This is the best one ever. It sucks that I don’t get to meet him.”

“You will.”

“And thanks for the roast duck. I’ve been hungry for it ever since that day we went hunting. Well.
You
went hunting.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it as much as I do.”

“I have a question for you. But I know you probably don’t know the answer. But I’m going to ask it anyway. Just to hear what you think.”

“All right.”

“Do you think it was something like suicide?”

“You mean your mother?”

“Yeah. My mother. So she’s dying of this infection but she never tells anybody. She just lets it kill her.”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

“Maybe she felt guilty.”

“I’m sure she did. I have no doubt of that. There’s not one person I know of on the planet — not one person with a normal mind, that is — who could do a thing like that and not feel guilty. In fact, I think
that
…” Nathan pointed to the tiny cap, sitting between them on the plain, scarred wood table. “I think that is reasonable evidence of her guilt. Right there. Which is why I brought it.”

They sat in silence for an unsettling length of time. Nathan resisted the temptation to interject any more of his thoughts. It seemed more respectful to leave the boy alone to think his own thoughts.

Which he seemed to be quite busy doing.

“Well. Good,” Nat said at last. “She deserved to feel guilty.”

Whether or not she deserved to die from that guilt was a subject left unaddressed.

After a long, awkward silence, Nat spoke up suddenly, startling Nathan. “I’m naming him Feathers.”

“Feathers?”

“That’s right.”

“He doesn’t exactly have feathers. He’s more half wire-haired all over.”

“Well, of course he doesn’t have feathers. He’s not a bird, is he?”

“I meant feathers like the kind dogs have,” Nathan said. Nat’s face remained puzzled. “The long, flowing hair some dogs have on the backs of their legs. And on their chests. And tails. They’re called feathers.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“So, you’re naming your dog Feathers because …”

Nat only shrugged. “He just looks like a Feathers to me. So here’s another question for you. Can a bird with no feathers fly?”

“No.”

“Not ever?”

“Not under any circumstance I know of.” Then, after a moment to sort his thoughts, “No. That would be impossible. If you want a bird not to fly away, you clip its wing feathers. Without wing feathers it would be impossible for a bird to fly.”

“Right,” Nat said. “That’s pretty much what I thought.”

2 October 1976   

Fortunately in some ways, and unfortunately in others, Nat had been sentenced to a juvenile detention facility more than two and a half hours from Nathan’s home. The long drive was the discouraging factor. That and the fact that visitation was only allowed three times a week.

The good news to Nathan was that the place held no memories. And it held no one who harbored memories of him.

And several of the employees in the new facility were actually quite civil and kind. Like Roger, for example, the guard who supervised Nathan’s visits. On some occasions, Roger actually spoke to Nathan. As if Nathan were a friend.

And since Roger was often the
only
one to speak to Nathan on such visits, his kindness felt extremely welcome.

•  •  •

As had so often been the case over the previous year, the boy said nearly nothing during that day’s visit.

So, as had become Nathan’s habit, he took out a book and began reading to Nat. It seemed the logical way to solve a dilemma. To miss a visiting day was not a viable option. Nor was talking in monologue form, as if to himself or to a wall. And he certainly could not control the responses of another. Especially not this other.

And they couldn’t just stare at each other for an hour and a half.

Nathan guessed that perhaps Nat was having a hard time holding his own in this difficult environment. That perhaps he was learning he was not as tough as he’d previously thought. And that the situation was making him sullen. But Nat didn’t seem to care to discuss the matter. And Nathan remained unwilling to pry.

On this day, he read to Nat from the ideas and opinions of Albert Einstein.

He read the section about our inherent social structure as humans. How our actions and desires are inextricably bound up with the existence of other human beings.

When he paused to turn a page, Nat made his only comment for the day.

He said, “Thought this guy was supposed to be smart.”

“I think it’s a matter of provable record that Einstein was smart,” Nathan said.

Nat only snorted.

Then, undeterred, Nathan continued to read from Einstein’s writings until Roger signaled “Time’s Up” for the day.

•  •  •

Roger looked up and smiled as he buzzed Nathan through the security door.

“Think it helps to read to him like that?”

“Well,” Nathan said. “I read somewhere that it helps to read to a patient in a coma. So, in comparison, I suppose my patient is more responsive than that.”

Roger laughed. A bit longer and harder than necessary.

Then he said, “I’d say you’re the patient one. Driving all this way. Three times a week. Just like clockwork. I could set my watch by you.”

“Does that seem remarkable?” Nathan asked.

“Oh, boy. You have no idea. Most of these kids, their parents probably live no more than twenty minutes from here, and they’re lucky to get a few minutes a month. Or unlucky, as the case may be.”

“Somebody had to break the unfortunate parental stereotype,” Nathan said. “I still don’t think it seems all that remarkable.”

“It does when you consider he barely knew you three days before he got himself in custody.”

“No,” Nathan said. “I’ve known him all his life.”

Roger lifted his eyebrows slightly. “He’s lying, then?”

“Not lying. He sees it differently than I do. But I’m not his father or grandfather.”

“I know. I heard about it. I know we’re not supposed to know stuff like that, but word gets around. I’m not trying to invade your privacy, believe me. But I just wondered.”

Nathan could feel a sort of leaning-in on the part of this man, and realized quite suddenly that Roger had been burning to ask questions and make comments for some time. But he had been careful not to overstep his bounds, which Nathan respected. And which made Nathan kindly disposed toward answering.

Roger continued. “It’s just such an unusual situation. It’s pretty rare when something like that even happens around here. So I’m just kind of curious about it, you know? But with no disrespect intended. It just makes you wonder about the ripples that go out from that one act. Is it because you saved his life? Because I heard once of some Eastern religion whose devotees believed if you save someone’s life, you’re forever responsible for his soul. Or was that the American Indians?”

“No matter,” Nathan said. “Since I don’t believe a word of it, anyway.”