Read Online Strangers in the Night by Raymond S Flex - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Raymond S Flex
Tags: Fiction
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parents thought they hid so carefully, at the back of their wardrobe. That album of yellowing, faded photographs in which his parents were decked out in all sorts of hippywear:
Tie-dye t-shirts.
Flares.
Wide-collared shirts.
Long hair.
Purple-tinted sunglasses.
. . . All those mysteries they had thought they kept secret.
Fluva—or ‘Floo’, as she became known throughout the Compound—took an extreme liking to Heinmein.
Mitts recalled the first few days after Floo had learned how to walk. Heinmein would come skulking into the kitchen, at meal times, when all the family were gathered about the table.
Floo—black-haired like Mitts’s mother—would toddle up to Heinmein and tug at the tail of his lab coat.
The first few times this happened, Mitts found himself almost hypnotised by the sight.
He was brought into mind of a nature documentary: a young, naïve member of a pride of lions going up to the aged, half-crazed male lion and batting him with a paw.
There was no telling if Heinmein might snap.
If he might kick out.
Knock Floo onto her back.
Shuffle off out of the kitchen, scowling, his dinner clenched in his fists.
Back to his darkened cove.
But that wasn’t what happened at all.
Mitts would never forget the first time Floo reached up and grabbed a fistful of Heinmein’s lab coat.
He could still recall how every muscle in his body had seemed to seize tight.
And then Heinmein had glanced down and . . . smiled .
Oh, it wasn’t any great wonder.
He showed no teeth.
And he certainly didn’t make any more fuss.
But, still, it was the first time Mitts had ever seen Heinmein break free of that sincere— severe —expression.
When this event continued to happen—when it transformed into a routine—Mitts’s mother made a habit of rising up from her seat. Walking alongside Floo. Doing her best to keep Floo away from Heinmein.
To Mitts’s mind, if Heinmein had been truly troubled by these little interactions with Floo, then why didn’t he wait an hour?
Wait until the kitchen was deserted?
He could’ve claimed his dinner in peace, then.
The only conclusion Mitts could draw was that Heinmein enjoyed it.
A couple of weeks later, Mitts’s suspicions were confirmed.
As with every mealtime, Floo clambered down from her high stool, toddled across the kitchen floor, and tugged at the back of Heinmein’s lab coat.
This time, however, it appeared that nobody, except Mitts, actually noticed this little scene playing out.
For some reason, that particular night, Mitts’s parents were so occupied by their dinner that they didn’t so much as look up to check on Floo.
But Mitts was checking on her.
At first, when Floo tugged on Heinmein’s lab coat, he didn’t react.
He kept his back to her.
He continued to serve himself dinner.
Just those gentle, almost soothing, clunk-clunk sounds as he spooned steaming rice onto his metal tray.
Finally, though, when he had apparently got through with serving himself dinner, he set his tray down on the kitchen surface, turned around to look at Floo, and then—and Mitts would never ever forget the sight—he crouched down and shovelled his hands beneath her armpits, lifting her up.
Clutching her to his chest.
When Mitts’s parents noticed the sight, they were just as dumbstruck as Mitts.
He thought that, like him, they simply couldn’t believe the sight.
Heinmein had shown them that he did indeed possess tenderness.
Human feeling.
Empathy .
From that moment forward, whenever Floo would see Heinmein skulking about the Compound, she would stop and point at him, pronouncing, “ Dok-uh !” in a loud and proud voice.
Heinmein would pause in his sweeping, dragging gait. And he would wave to her, a wide smile pinning back his lips.
Despite all this, though, Mitts didn’t trust Heinmein.
Not as far as he could throw him.
* * *
Mitts got himself showered quickly.
He brushed his teeth.
Toothpaste, soap, shaving cream, was all in seemingly
Tie-dye t-shirts.
Flares.
Wide-collared shirts.
Long hair.
Purple-tinted sunglasses.
. . . All those mysteries they had thought they kept secret.
Fluva—or ‘Floo’, as she became known throughout the Compound—took an extreme liking to Heinmein.
Mitts recalled the first few days after Floo had learned how to walk. Heinmein would come skulking into the kitchen, at meal times, when all the family were gathered about the table.
Floo—black-haired like Mitts’s mother—would toddle up to Heinmein and tug at the tail of his lab coat.
The first few times this happened, Mitts found himself almost hypnotised by the sight.
He was brought into mind of a nature documentary: a young, naïve member of a pride of lions going up to the aged, half-crazed male lion and batting him with a paw.
There was no telling if Heinmein might snap.
If he might kick out.
Knock Floo onto her back.
Shuffle off out of the kitchen, scowling, his dinner clenched in his fists.
Back to his darkened cove.
But that wasn’t what happened at all.
Mitts would never forget the first time Floo reached up and grabbed a fistful of Heinmein’s lab coat.
He could still recall how every muscle in his body had seemed to seize tight.
And then Heinmein had glanced down and . . . smiled .
Oh, it wasn’t any great wonder.
He showed no teeth.
And he certainly didn’t make any more fuss.
But, still, it was the first time Mitts had ever seen Heinmein break free of that sincere— severe —expression.
When this event continued to happen—when it transformed into a routine—Mitts’s mother made a habit of rising up from her seat. Walking alongside Floo. Doing her best to keep Floo away from Heinmein.
To Mitts’s mind, if Heinmein had been truly troubled by these little interactions with Floo, then why didn’t he wait an hour?
Wait until the kitchen was deserted?
He could’ve claimed his dinner in peace, then.
The only conclusion Mitts could draw was that Heinmein enjoyed it.
A couple of weeks later, Mitts’s suspicions were confirmed.
As with every mealtime, Floo clambered down from her high stool, toddled across the kitchen floor, and tugged at the back of Heinmein’s lab coat.
This time, however, it appeared that nobody, except Mitts, actually noticed this little scene playing out.
For some reason, that particular night, Mitts’s parents were so occupied by their dinner that they didn’t so much as look up to check on Floo.
But Mitts was checking on her.
At first, when Floo tugged on Heinmein’s lab coat, he didn’t react.
He kept his back to her.
He continued to serve himself dinner.
Just those gentle, almost soothing, clunk-clunk sounds as he spooned steaming rice onto his metal tray.
Finally, though, when he had apparently got through with serving himself dinner, he set his tray down on the kitchen surface, turned around to look at Floo, and then—and Mitts would never ever forget the sight—he crouched down and shovelled his hands beneath her armpits, lifting her up.
Clutching her to his chest.
When Mitts’s parents noticed the sight, they were just as dumbstruck as Mitts.
He thought that, like him, they simply couldn’t believe the sight.
Heinmein had shown them that he did indeed possess tenderness.
Human feeling.
Empathy .
From that moment forward, whenever Floo would see Heinmein skulking about the Compound, she would stop and point at him, pronouncing, “ Dok-uh !” in a loud and proud voice.
Heinmein would pause in his sweeping, dragging gait. And he would wave to her, a wide smile pinning back his lips.
Despite all this, though, Mitts didn’t trust Heinmein.
Not as far as he could throw him.
* * *
Mitts got himself showered quickly.
He brushed his teeth.
Toothpaste, soap, shaving cream, was all in seemingly
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