Read Online Visions by James C. Glass - Free Book Online Page B

I’ll ever see it again.”
    “Music come from far?” asked the boy.
    “Yes, very far. This is a big world, with many, many people. I guess around here is the only place you know.”
    The boy looked at him sadly. “We—few.”
    “We?”
    The boy didn’t answer, and turned away. Savas didn’t press, figuring eventually the boy would tell him who his people were, and where he came from.
    He was still waiting for an answer the day he died.
    At first they made bread, ate it and listened to the gramophone. Conversations lengthened, in both English and Greek, and when Savas finally coaxed the boy onto his horse for a ride, that also became a part of their routine. They bounced along rough trails, never going on the town road, the boy sitting rigidly erect, a faint smile the only sign of youthful excitement. So controlled, a near dignified bearing for someone far from being a man, thought Savas, a contrast to his own volatile nature now safely hidden in the hills where it couldn’t hurt anyone. When he was around the boy, the violent part of him seemed to shrivel, leaving him peaceful and content with a life that hadn’t turned out the way he’d planned. It didn’t seem important the gold was beneath a cabin floor, still waiting to be spent in some distant, exotic place free of rattlesnakes and biting flies, or on a woman who could relieve the ache he still felt when the moon was out and he was lying on his hard mattress alone, sweating. Nothing was important except the boy, and what he might become. As the days, and then the years, went by, the boy was like a son, replacing the one he had left far behind, perhaps dead now, the son he could not go back to ever, because others would be waiting for him and then he, Savas Parkos, would be a dead man.
    The boy’s name remained impossible for him to pronounce. It was something like egg, only drawn out with a complex, guttural thing at the end, and the best way to get a smile from the boy was to try and pronounce it. After one abortive attempt that came close to producing an actual laugh from the boy, Savas had had enough. “I’m going to give you a name I can say,” he said. “It will just be between us, if you don’t mind.”
    “Is good,” said the boy, in English.
    “Something simple, and Greek, because you look Greek. We will pretend you are, and this is your christening. Stand still, now.” He put a hand softly on the boy’s black hair, and closed his eyes, thinking. The name of a cousin came to mind, a cousin who had been a drinking companion when they were young, and not yet scarred by money or politics, a man who had loved to sing and dance and drink and screw, before the world had destroyed him. Savas pressed firmly on the boy’s head.
    “I will call you Peter,” he said.

CHAPTER SIX
    MAKI’S CONFRONTATION
    Maki slept restlessly that night, mind a jumble of things he would say to the council. His opinions on The Plan were well known, but now he could tell them of the invasion underway, as seen with his own eyes. There would soon be nothing left for the Tenanken, and thus a chance the group will could be turned. His father had been most solicitous, encouraging his request for a hearing, and now the hour was nearly at hand as he tossed and turned and fondled the weapon he kept hidden beneath his sleeping furs.
    He arose early and squatted on the floor of the meeting place, chewing a piece of dried meat and calming himself to a state of dignity befitting his status. After the morning meal, the main cavern had emptied out, Tenanken retiring to more remote quarters during the hearing, since it was a private affair for the elders. The old ones had delayed the event by two days to check on the invasion report, and now they were in conference. When the six of them filed into the cavern, Anka and Tel in the lead, Maki’s patience was worn thin, but they all smiled pleasantly at him and arranged themselves close together on the first slate tier above the