be a helluva lot warmer."
Simon drops by the fire, spreadeagling himself.
Joseph stands in the doorway, his black eyebrows quirking.
"Well, I like it," she says defensively.
"O?" he asks. His big hands spread. "O, the room? It's magnificent... that window--"
He stands still a moment, then shakes himself. "No, I was watching my son. Sorry," again the odd shaking. "I can't get over the way he's made himself at home."
"O. O yeah," she shrugs and pours a cup of coffee. "You drink coffee, Mr Gillayley? I know your son does."
He turns from contemplating the boy's relaxed sprawl, biting his lower lip.
"Yes, I do, thank you." He looks down at the grass matting. "Urn, would you mind calling me Joe? This,"
pointing at his son, "refers to you as Kerewin." He glances up, checking for approval, disapproval.
"Good. It'd please me if you called me that too." She pours coffee into another mug. "I don't like getting mizzed or mistered either."
Joe smiles. His lips are full, and beautifully outlined.
"Joe," he says, pointing to himself. "Kerewin," he bows gracefully, "and Simon pake."
He straightens swiftly. "Did it surprise you, the contrast?"
His smile has deepened, not with derision or hurt or contempt, but as though it is a good joke.
"You bet!" She leans back against the bench. "You know what? I was expecting something big and blond, and for some unaccountable reason, dumb and boisterous to boot. And aside from the blond part, I couldn't
reasonably justify... o God! I didn't mean dumb that way, I meant stupid--"
Joe says quickly,
"It doesn't worry either of us. Truly."
He looks back to his child.
"Simon, get up from there, and come and give," he hesitates, "give Kerewin a hand. And can I help you too?"
he asks. "Yeah, grab your cup. Do you have sugar? Because the only stuff I've got is brown. I've got a few
kinds of honey though."
"Brown sugar'll do nicely." He spoons two measures into his cup and Simon's.
"Listen you," he calls. "Come over here. At once."
The child rolls to his back and shakes his hands in the air. He gets to his feet in a hurry though.
"That bit of byplay meant Okay," says Joe, staring at the boy. He switches his gaze back to Kerewin, mellows it with a smile, "or shall we say, I'm coming or doing, so you needn't yell."
"I know this bit," and she snaps her fingers for Yes and No.
"Most of it is shortcuts." He blows on his coffee. "One time we tried proper sign language. It got him good at spelling, but it was too slow. He likes to say things as fast as possible, preferably without having to write
them down. All you need to know about his hand-language is that it's mainly derivation. You know, from an
object, or a way of doing things that is ordinary, or from ordinary things, or things... O b, bother," and the
bother sounds so forced after the fluent stream of obscenity a few nights back that Kerewin laughs out loud.
"A right mess-up," says Joe, his face darker by a flush. "Was it the bother?" She nods.
"Well, I'll admit that it's not what I'd ordinarily say, but I was getting mixed up. I was lecturing, or trying to."
He is looking down at the floor again. "Umm, Kerewin?"
"Yeah?"
"I'd like to talk to you a bit if you've got the time to spare. Otherwise, I'll just say thank you properly, and we'll go?"
"By all means, talk."
They went to the fire and sat down round it.
"Well, it was this chessman, the queen. Borrowed," he says with a grin, handing it back. He lets his hand drift down to settle on his son's shoulder then. "I was going to give him a hiding, because that seems to be the only way to get across the message that he's not to go roaming off to other people's houses and burgle them or
whatever... and he produces the chessman. Sort of like a truce-flag?" Joe's hands go up, imitating Simon's
gesture. Simon is still, holding his cup.
"Up till then, all I knew was that he had gone to your place and broken in, and that you'd looked after him
until Piri picked him up. Piri said
Simon drops by the fire, spreadeagling himself.
Joseph stands in the doorway, his black eyebrows quirking.
"Well, I like it," she says defensively.
"O?" he asks. His big hands spread. "O, the room? It's magnificent... that window--"
He stands still a moment, then shakes himself. "No, I was watching my son. Sorry," again the odd shaking. "I can't get over the way he's made himself at home."
"O. O yeah," she shrugs and pours a cup of coffee. "You drink coffee, Mr Gillayley? I know your son does."
He turns from contemplating the boy's relaxed sprawl, biting his lower lip.
"Yes, I do, thank you." He looks down at the grass matting. "Urn, would you mind calling me Joe? This,"
pointing at his son, "refers to you as Kerewin." He glances up, checking for approval, disapproval.
"Good. It'd please me if you called me that too." She pours coffee into another mug. "I don't like getting mizzed or mistered either."
Joe smiles. His lips are full, and beautifully outlined.
"Joe," he says, pointing to himself. "Kerewin," he bows gracefully, "and Simon pake."
He straightens swiftly. "Did it surprise you, the contrast?"
His smile has deepened, not with derision or hurt or contempt, but as though it is a good joke.
"You bet!" She leans back against the bench. "You know what? I was expecting something big and blond, and for some unaccountable reason, dumb and boisterous to boot. And aside from the blond part, I couldn't
reasonably justify... o God! I didn't mean dumb that way, I meant stupid--"
Joe says quickly,
"It doesn't worry either of us. Truly."
He looks back to his child.
"Simon, get up from there, and come and give," he hesitates, "give Kerewin a hand. And can I help you too?"
he asks. "Yeah, grab your cup. Do you have sugar? Because the only stuff I've got is brown. I've got a few
kinds of honey though."
"Brown sugar'll do nicely." He spoons two measures into his cup and Simon's.
"Listen you," he calls. "Come over here. At once."
The child rolls to his back and shakes his hands in the air. He gets to his feet in a hurry though.
"That bit of byplay meant Okay," says Joe, staring at the boy. He switches his gaze back to Kerewin, mellows it with a smile, "or shall we say, I'm coming or doing, so you needn't yell."
"I know this bit," and she snaps her fingers for Yes and No.
"Most of it is shortcuts." He blows on his coffee. "One time we tried proper sign language. It got him good at spelling, but it was too slow. He likes to say things as fast as possible, preferably without having to write
them down. All you need to know about his hand-language is that it's mainly derivation. You know, from an
object, or a way of doing things that is ordinary, or from ordinary things, or things... O b, bother," and the
bother sounds so forced after the fluent stream of obscenity a few nights back that Kerewin laughs out loud.
"A right mess-up," says Joe, his face darker by a flush. "Was it the bother?" She nods.
"Well, I'll admit that it's not what I'd ordinarily say, but I was getting mixed up. I was lecturing, or trying to."
He is looking down at the floor again. "Umm, Kerewin?"
"Yeah?"
"I'd like to talk to you a bit if you've got the time to spare. Otherwise, I'll just say thank you properly, and we'll go?"
"By all means, talk."
They went to the fire and sat down round it.
"Well, it was this chessman, the queen. Borrowed," he says with a grin, handing it back. He lets his hand drift down to settle on his son's shoulder then. "I was going to give him a hiding, because that seems to be the only way to get across the message that he's not to go roaming off to other people's houses and burgle them or
whatever... and he produces the chessman. Sort of like a truce-flag?" Joe's hands go up, imitating Simon's
gesture. Simon is still, holding his cup.
"Up till then, all I knew was that he had gone to your place and broken in, and that you'd looked after him
until Piri picked him up. Piri said
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