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Authors: R. A. MacAvoy
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earth closet Powl had me digging, I went into a panic that all my work would be invalidated.
By New Year I had to be chided for talking to myself. In Allec. I was breaking down.
Remember how alone I was, sir, with no company but that of Powl, and he there only from morning till midafternoon. I had thrown my future away without reflection and now lost the language of my mind as well. In return, what did I have? Only beginnings. I could grind lenses and only half needed to be thrown out. I could dance about seven exotic dances, but only alone, of course. I had a little bit of chattering Allec.
I could listen and remember. Much better. Those, at least, much better.
Now that I no longer writhed like a cat in a bag when I sat in a chair, Powl no longer had to take his half-hour walks in the wintry woods. Mostly I practiced my attention after he had gone. I was very used to it, and in this one manner, at least, felt in command of my own mind. After a few weeks of this routine I felt a cramp in my leg calf and massaged it away, and was bucked up to find I felt as in command of myself in movement as I was on my buttocks. I got up and walked around the telescope platform, feeling very light and free and on top of things. I adjusted the telescope down to the horizon and experimented with observation in this state of mind.
The next day I did not sit down at all, but set the clock to impose the state of attention upon myself and went directly to my Allec studies. After a few days of this I forgot the clock completely, and when Powl walked in on me, late one afternoon right after New Year, he found me on my knees with the marbles again, talking to myself and making noises with every strike.
I felt him beside me just before he spoke. I looked up, feeling alarm and not knowing why; I had so completely forgotten what I was supposed to be doing.
“I was afraid it was a mistake from the beginning,” he said. He walked to the storeroom, where he had stored my gentle clothes in a wax-lined box, like perishable fruit. “Take these. Go.
“Out.”
I was too shocked to remonstrate. I felt the blood drain from my face and hands so completely I could scarcely stand. Some small part of me wondered where it went. Only when dressed as a town buck again, standing in two inches of snow outside the steel-wrapped door, did it occur to me that I was ill used. That the punishment in no way fit the crime.
I had nowhere to go; I was destitute. I had traded my future away, and if it was a very mediocre future, it was all I had, and had placed myself in that man’s power as completely as a dog. After five minutes I was shivering and I hadn’t moved.
Enormous disaster. And why? I had trouble remembering. Because I had played marbles when I was supposed to sit still. Had there ever been a dog that did not nose into the trash bin sometime in its life? Did a man throw out his dog just for that?
No, he beat him. Powl beat me daily, about the head with clubs sometimes, and though it was not meant as a punishment, surely I deserved something out of all that beating.
Numbness resolved into self-pity, but then a look at that invincible door shook me into horror again. I sank down against a tree and wrapped myself in my arms. I could not think at all. Images of the city and the school (alternatives to squatting here and freezing in the snow) were forced up but faded instantly, like the colors on a prism when clouds cover the sun. Everything was white and black. My hands were the color of dirty snow.
It got later. Darker.
From behind the door Powl said to get away or he would throw the dishwater on me. He was very calm, and his voice was so cold I could scarcely breathe. I heard the bolt draw back.
I rose, fell, and scrambled up again. I withdrew fifty feet, not along the path but into the woods, and as soon as the shadows hid me I squatted down again. I had nowhere to go and no notion of going anywhere.
I heard Powl leave. His feet went down the path,
By New Year I had to be chided for talking to myself. In Allec. I was breaking down.
Remember how alone I was, sir, with no company but that of Powl, and he there only from morning till midafternoon. I had thrown my future away without reflection and now lost the language of my mind as well. In return, what did I have? Only beginnings. I could grind lenses and only half needed to be thrown out. I could dance about seven exotic dances, but only alone, of course. I had a little bit of chattering Allec.
I could listen and remember. Much better. Those, at least, much better.
Now that I no longer writhed like a cat in a bag when I sat in a chair, Powl no longer had to take his half-hour walks in the wintry woods. Mostly I practiced my attention after he had gone. I was very used to it, and in this one manner, at least, felt in command of my own mind. After a few weeks of this routine I felt a cramp in my leg calf and massaged it away, and was bucked up to find I felt as in command of myself in movement as I was on my buttocks. I got up and walked around the telescope platform, feeling very light and free and on top of things. I adjusted the telescope down to the horizon and experimented with observation in this state of mind.
The next day I did not sit down at all, but set the clock to impose the state of attention upon myself and went directly to my Allec studies. After a few days of this I forgot the clock completely, and when Powl walked in on me, late one afternoon right after New Year, he found me on my knees with the marbles again, talking to myself and making noises with every strike.
I felt him beside me just before he spoke. I looked up, feeling alarm and not knowing why; I had so completely forgotten what I was supposed to be doing.
“I was afraid it was a mistake from the beginning,” he said. He walked to the storeroom, where he had stored my gentle clothes in a wax-lined box, like perishable fruit. “Take these. Go.
“Out.”
I was too shocked to remonstrate. I felt the blood drain from my face and hands so completely I could scarcely stand. Some small part of me wondered where it went. Only when dressed as a town buck again, standing in two inches of snow outside the steel-wrapped door, did it occur to me that I was ill used. That the punishment in no way fit the crime.
I had nowhere to go; I was destitute. I had traded my future away, and if it was a very mediocre future, it was all I had, and had placed myself in that man’s power as completely as a dog. After five minutes I was shivering and I hadn’t moved.
Enormous disaster. And why? I had trouble remembering. Because I had played marbles when I was supposed to sit still. Had there ever been a dog that did not nose into the trash bin sometime in its life? Did a man throw out his dog just for that?
No, he beat him. Powl beat me daily, about the head with clubs sometimes, and though it was not meant as a punishment, surely I deserved something out of all that beating.
Numbness resolved into self-pity, but then a look at that invincible door shook me into horror again. I sank down against a tree and wrapped myself in my arms. I could not think at all. Images of the city and the school (alternatives to squatting here and freezing in the snow) were forced up but faded instantly, like the colors on a prism when clouds cover the sun. Everything was white and black. My hands were the color of dirty snow.
It got later. Darker.
From behind the door Powl said to get away or he would throw the dishwater on me. He was very calm, and his voice was so cold I could scarcely breathe. I heard the bolt draw back.
I rose, fell, and scrambled up again. I withdrew fifty feet, not along the path but into the woods, and as soon as the shadows hid me I squatted down again. I had nowhere to go and no notion of going anywhere.
I heard Powl leave. His feet went down the path,
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