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1
A
dark night never looked so calming. An old blue pickup truck drove slowly
around the winding roads through the forest at a speed reserved for a mid-day
venture to nowhere in particular. There was a slight breeze, but only enough to
lend a cooling tone to the humid summer night. The stars above looked
especially luminous at night, one of the benefits of living in the
middle-of-nowhere, Montana. If Van Gogh had seen stars like these, then he
would have had to repaint Starry Night.
The
pickup truck finally reached the most picturesque height of the mountain
overlooking the small town, where only a few lights still shone. The engine was
turned off, and a single, youthful man named Nathan sat admiring what little
man-made machinations there were in his view. Only a few streetlights pointed
out his town’s location from afar; otherwise, everything was as quiet and dark
as a world without man. Imagine that, a
world without people, thought the man from inside his truck. He ran his
hands on the doorframe, feeling the soft, worn fabric under his overworked
hands. No buildings, no artificial
lights, no trimmed grass. Can we ever truly comprehend a world without us? It’s
such a nihilistic thought, not one that many can bear. He looked up at the
stars. No artificial light to block out
the most beautiful sight in the universe. Neither eyes nor mind to ponder the
wonder that is.
“Heh,” he chortled
aloud.
Nathan
exited his car and removed the telescope from the truck’s carriage. He set it
up on the edge of the ridge, clear of the tree line, and pointed it towards the
center of the Milky Way. Thousands of stars greeted him like old, familiar
friends. He smiled, panning around the various constellations, zooming in and
out of stars and star clusters, imagining himself being so close to these alien
worlds that he might set foot on them. A
future too good for humans. He sighed and his look of awe faded. He planted
himself next to his telescope and faced the one or two lights emanating from
the few shops still open. Rather than stare at the stars as he normally did,
his mind meandered and he stared into the abyss beyond his small town.
“Nathan
Berringer. Born 1990, will die sometime around 2080 or 2090, preferably 2300.
Occupation, farmer by familial indentured servitude, dreamer by all other means
of measurement. Life goal… don’t die a farmer.” His mantra hung in the air for
a second; he imagined it making small circles around his head, until it wafted
into the air, up into the sky, beyond the Earth, and spread into the vast
nothingness. Nathan looked around, expecting someone to have heard him, but
only the trees and the sky reacted with what seemed like a hushed approval. He
sighed once more as he packed up his telescope and drove down the mountain,
back home. This had become Nathan’s almost-nightly routine for several weeks on
end, as his father had become more and more overbearing about maintaining the
family farm.
The
Berringer family had established roots in Montana dating back to the early
1800s. They had staked claim on their land, which was, at that point, reserved
for nothing. The family worked to cultivate any crops they could throughout
years of depression, famine, and losing members of the family due to war and
disease, so the farm was a point of pride. There had been a few who left,
daring to explore the world and find professions outside of produce, but they
were then excommunicated from the farm family in an acrimonious and petty
display of jingoism. The disowned would beg the family to see past the ways of
old, to see what there was beyond the farm, but bloodlines built in the soil
always predominated. Any greeting card in the mailbox found itself a resident
of the fireplace.
So,
the entirety of the land came down to Nathan. His older sister had died as a
baby, so he was continually conditioned to keep the family farm functioning. It
took great efforts for Nathan to persuade his parents to first buy him a
telescope, and then to fund his college studies, but he was able to do it
(though he had to promise to learn about agricultural engineering, and he did,
which did not stop him from pursuing studies in astronomy and physics). When
his mother died in his senior year of college, he felt it incumbent upon
himself to maintain the farm, even if that meant he would never leave the farm
to study things that he found fascinating and incredible. Nathan always held
out a modicum of hope that he might have an opportunity to pursue his heart’s
desire, but he rarely vocalized it. While Nathan’s father never drank himself
into a stupor as others might in his position, he did become antagonistic
towards anything except for farming, the women around town, and the occasional
TV show. This meant a stricter leash tethering Nathan to the farm, leading to
repeated, abrupt arguments about Nathan’s freedom during his leisure time.
Nathan’s midnight stargazing was all that kept him sane.
The
day after Nathan’s latest nocturnal journey, he awoke to the roosters cackling
their usual early alarm, jolting Nathan out of bed.
“Ugh, god damn
birds.” He lifted his legs out from under the covers, let out a sonorous yawn,
and headed to the shower. At his bathroom mirror, staring at his groggy
reflection, he saw a face that looked as if it might prefer drowning to waking
up so early. He attempted to wipe the exhausted look off his face, but to no
avail.
After
his shower, he dressed himself in his usual tattered work jeans, a faded blue
work t-shirt, and boots, and headed downstairs to find his father eating some
toast while reading the local newspaper. Henry Berringer looked like a man
built solely to lift boulders; his broad shoulders were matched only by the
size of his forearms, which looked capable of knocking down trees with a single
blow. While Nathan was quite imposing and large in his own right, he did not
compare to his father. Henry only shaved once every few days, so his large
square jaw was covered in scruff, which oddly suited his sharp nose and large
brow. He, like Nathan, had varying degrees of blond in his hair, except for
some patches of gray. Unlike Nathan, he had green eyes, while Nathan’s were
blue. Henry’s face was also unusually creased and folded for a man of only
forty-five; Nathan was sure that this was the gift of stress.
“What
took you so long?” Henry trained his eyes sternly on Nathan, who looked at the
half-century-old grandfather clock on the wall.
“It’s
only five-thirty, the farmhands don’t arrive until six-thirty.” Nathan walked,
rubbing his face, to the refrigerator and pulled out some milk. Henry eyed him
contemptuously, but turned back to his paper. Nathan poured himself a bowl of
cereal and sat across the table from his father, who did not look away from his
paper.
“I
expect you to wake up earlier tomorrow. We can’t afford to fall behind, not
now, not ever.” Henry continued chewing his toast. Nathan, spoon in hand,
looked at his father with a purely dumbfounded expression, his mouth slightly
open, his eyebrows raised. Summer, especially early August, meant that picking
season was right around the corner, and not much work was necessary on Nathan’s
part until then, aside from making sure the animals weren’t engaging in
unnecessary copulation. It seemed that Henry’s only interest was keeping Nathan
busy for the foreseeable future.
“I’ll
go to the general store today, pick up some feed, maybe look for a few good
spark plugs for the truck,” Nathan said to his cereal. Still, Henry’s eyes
didn’t leave his paper.
“No,
you’re needed here. No more unnecessary driving.” Henry’s eyes then darted to
Nathan, who had stopped his spoon in midair and now stared at his father in
slight disbelief. His father had never shown any inkling about Nathan’s
midnight drives, and even if he did know, why would it be an issue? A few drops
of milk fell off of the spoon and back into the bowl.
“What
do you mean, unnecessary driving?” Nathan asked. Henry placed his newspaper on
the table calmly and folded his hands. He sat rigidly, looking Nathan directly
in the eye. Nathan felt as if an intimidating policeman were interrogating him.
“Your
evening drive to god-knows-where last night. You do that quite often, you know;
go out whenever you please at some ridiculous hour of the night. This farm
requires constant supervision, not someone whose stupid sense of childish
exploration makes them wander off at any random goddamn time. If you’re going
to continue our family’s heritage and continually run this farm, I’m going to
need someone who doesn’t feel like taking a casual hike around town at 9 in the
evening.” Henry trained his eyes on Nathan. Nathan dropped his spoon back into
the bowl with a loud clatter.
“Well
then. You certainly bring up some very valid points, but I’m going to have go
say something along the lines of ‘no,’ and before you begin to make some
ridiculous argument about how I should make my mother and my grandparents and
my great-grandparents and their parents before them proud, just accept, with a
modicum of grace and understanding, that my answer is a solemn ‘no.’ I, quite
honestly, don’t care about what you think would have made them proud, and now
that I’m saying it, I realize that I don’t care about your false sense of
heritage either.” Henry opened his mouth to talk, but Nathan cut him off.
“You
know, I’ve been curious about the Berringers who left to make something of
their lives aside from husking corn, so I bothered to search for them using the
library’s Internet which, by the way, is a great resource to have around. Do
you know what I found?” Nathan spent much of his free time at the library.
Henry opened his mouth yet again, but Nathan pre-empted him.
“Kathryn
Hayfield, formerly Kathryn Berringer, formerly your sister, moved to New York,
where she studied law and currently works as the head of a large legal firm.
Kirk Berringer, formerly your uncle, flew around the world painting what he saw
and taking pictures, and currently resides in London as a very successful
photographer and painter.” Henry glared at Nathan- this wasn’t the first time
Nathan had vocally objected to Henry’s rules, but this was certainly the first
time Nathan had become more confrontational. Most other times, Nathan would
simply back down and do what he was told; Henry could only wonder to himself
what had prompted this change.
“And
so what!” Henry interrupted. “So what if those ingrates threw away their family
history, everything this family had worked tooth and nail for? This family is
built on a legacy, and legacies are meant to be continued by the children
birthed to them. And god damn it, centuries of work by this family will not be
thrown away by some idiotic ideas about the outside world being better than any
of this!” Henry swung his arm around, gesturing to the land on the other side
of the house walls. “All that is out in that world that those bastards deserted
this farm for is some false sense of worth. Those people have no idea what it
is to create a great legacy, what it takes to maintain a family name. Those
people are only concerned with what they wear, making money, and screwing each
other!”
“Oh,
are they?” Nathan’s voice began to rise. “And how would you know? The last time
you left this town was when Jimmy Carter was president, and that was only
because gas in the next town was slightly cheaper. You have no idea what’s out
there, and you’re afraid of it!” Henry stood up out of his chair, towering over
Nathan.
“I
AM AFRAID OF NOTHING!” Henry’s fist slammed down on the table as he glared at
Nathan, his true anger apparent for the first time. Henry’s face was redder
than the tomatoes growing outside. A thick silence filled the air with an
invisible wall between the two men, and Nathan stared in shock at his father.
“There
is no good out there except a fickle world filled with a fickle people who
think that their lives mean something. Countries like this one are built by
people from families like ours because they kept going even when others wanted
to move away from what makes countries great. If you want to be one of those
idiots who thinks that something aside from the great foundation our family has
built holds anything worth seeing, then go be an idiot; you just won’t have any
family to return to.”
Henry’s words hung
in the air like a pungent odor. Nathan searched the space in front of him for
some comprehension of what his father had just said; what happened next
surprised even Nathan. He stood up slowly, his courage rising as he did. He
raised his eyes to face his father’s and stood up straight. Even standing that
tall, Nathan was a few inches shorter than his father’s imposing six-foot-three
frame.
“Benjamin
Berringer, your grandfather’s brother, was the first to leave the farm to
pursue an education away from agriculture. He attended Princeton during the
depression, eventually attaining a PhD in Physics with a concentration in
nuclear physics. He ended up becoming one of the consultants on the Manhattan
Project, which created the atomic bomb, which led to one of the most pivotal
events in all of human history. I’m not going to say that he was the
ace-in-the-hole for the entire thing, but if the military chose him as a
consultant, then he had proved his worth as a scientist, and what’s more, a
reputable, trustworthy person. You’re saying that those people out there, the
vast majority of the world, they’re all idiots; that’s patently false, and I’m
sure you know that.
“I
guess your misplaced sense of pride in some mediocre farm has led you astray
from reason. Don’t force that onto me. Don’t try to make me into some
complacent clone of yourself, echoing those stupid sentiments, because it won’t
work. I’ve grown too much to believe that crap anymore. If you’re going to be
so ridiculously stringent about me inheriting this farm that you won’t even let
me go out stargazing at night, then I’ll leave and you’ll have nothing else
here aside from your precious legacy. Knowing you, however, you’re not going to
change your mind, so I am going to go upstairs, pack myself a bag, walk to the
next town and take the first train to wherever.” Nathan lingered for a second,
looking at his father, whose incredulity was plain on his face. For a moment,
it seemed that Henry might reach out to strangle Nathan, but he only shook
slightly. Nathan, seeing no response from his father, walked calmly out of the
room. Henry only stared at Nathan’s wake, his eyes bulging; his face was now a
strained puce.
It
was an unusual feeling, this sudden burst of hostility toward his father. Since
his college career had ended, Nathan felt incredibly bored at home, as the only
tasks on the farm were menial ones. His friends, after graduating, either headed
off to their new jobs far away or to some kind of advanced degree, leaving
Nathan to his chores and his wandering imagination. For months on end, he was
left with a growing resentment toward the life into which he was forced, though
he tried to remember why he agreed to tend the farm in the first place. It
wasn’t the most energizing thought, taking care of something others believed he
needed to care for, but it kept Nathan tethered to his home. After Henry’s
indignant anger toward Nathan’s only means of happiness, the tether had
snapped.
Heading
upstairs, Nathan’s mind was whizzing at the prospect of leaving without
returning. Flashes of possible futures presented themselves to Nathan’s mind,
both exciting him and worrying him. He had never been so daring before, so he
knew he needed some kind of plan. He knew he would travel east towards the
larger cities, though he knew that was certainly not much of a plan. Another
thought comforted him- he knew that, whatever he chose to do, it would be more
invigorating than life on the farm. All the people he could possibly meet, all
the places he could possibly go, they all overwhelmed him. He paused for a
second, standing in the doorway of his room. A slight smile transformed his
previously stony face; the unknown excited him.
“Where can I
stay?” asked Nathan to the empty room, as if his bed would answer. His friends
were all gone, enjoying their new lives away from home. He pondered the answer,
his eyes blankly scanning his night table. Then, as if he already knew it, a
litany of names danced across his eyes: his relatives.
That might be a good idea, Nathan
thought to himself. Maybe they can give
me some shelter while I find a future. I’ll e-mail them from the library before
I leave.
Nathan
bounded into his room, a smile of unbridled joy spread across his face, and he
started rummaging around to find his travel bag. After throwing some old
clothes, uncared for picture frames, and old birthday cards out of his closet,
he found his bag and tossed it onto his bed. Without taking time to fold his
clothes, he flung several shirts, socks, and pairs of pants into his bag. He
then turned to his small library of books in his one isolated bookshelf in the
smallest space in the corner of his room; unfortunately, his bag could only
carry so much. Looking through his limited collection, he picked out War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells and I, Robot by Isaac Asimov- two books of
adventure and discovery, and appropriate, Nathan felt, for embarking into the
unknown.
As
soon as his case was full of clothes, his money, and other items he deemed
necessary, including a small notebook on which to record his journey and a
small, slightly chipped glass replica of prehistoric Earth, he zipped up his
bag and set the wheels on the floor. He was only missing one item, one crucial
item that he felt was more valuable than his arm: his telescope. Folding it up
and placing it in its protective bag, he slung it across his body so that it
rested securely on his back. He was ready to go, but something was amiss; he
looked at his room and listened to his house. It was quiet, and there were no
sounds except for the gentle breeze caressing the crops outside. Not even his
father was could be heard breathing. For a moment it felt as if he were looking
at a painting rather than his room. None of it seemed to fit him anymore, as if
he’d outgrown his childhood home like an old piece of clothing.
“Well then.”
Nathan grabbed his bag handle and began rolling it down the dusty hallway
toward the stairs. Picking up his bag so that it didn’t bang on every step, he
reached the bottom, standing at the front door. Henry had left the dining room,
his half-eaten piece of toast abandoned on the plate. Nathan found no one to
bid him farewell, no one to wish him luck or hug him or tell him to be careful
out there. All that greeted him was the tick-tock
of the ancient grandfather clock, sounding more like resentful scorn than it
should have. With a final, silent farewell, Nathan grabbed his bag handle,
opened his front door, and took his first step toward uncertainty.
The
walk to Main Street was uneventful, as a few miles of empty fields separated
his former residence from the hub of town. Calling this street a hub, however,
might be a misnomer; the entirety of the “hub” consisted of a single block of
stores and shops and the local church. A clothing store owned by the
Kingsmiths, a produce store owned by the Newmans, a coffee shop owned by the
Kellys, the small church run by Father Regan, a cinema owned by the
Winchesters, a small deli owned by the Whites, a book store owned by the
Majels, and a garage owned by the Smiths. The public schools, which were
conveniently right next to each other and shared many of the athletic fields,
were farther down, and finally the library, a half-mile away from the law and
government building, seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Nathan was never
sure if anyone actually planned the poor placement of buildings in the city or
if, as he commonly joked, the city planner was blind, but he never cared enough
to find out. He just rolled his way past the stores, people looking at him
curiously and whispering to others as he passed.
Finally,
after more than an hour-long walk, many awkward stares, and an unfortunate
encounter with Teddy Holtz, the most vapid, talkative person in town, Nathan
reached the library. It was never a busy place, and the two librarians, Mr. and
Mrs. Gene, were always glad to see Nathan. He was one of their few regular
patrons, and they always had new book recommendations for him. They even
forgave him when he neglected to return books on time, though Nathan always
slipped them a few dollars anyway.
The
library itself wasn’t impressive by any stretch of the imagination; in fact,
the entire structure looked a bit like a slightly larger, redbrick version of a
fast food restaurant. The inside, however, was meticulously organized to ensure
maximum use of the minimal space they had. Solid wooden bookcases lined every
available inch of wall except the space reserved for doors and windows and the
single computer, which stood out conspicuously. It was always a funny sight to
see the six-year old computer, oversized and clunky, among what might be called
a forest of books. The bookshelves rose from floor to ceiling, allowing only
room for a single person to walk between them, and the dust on the books nearer
the ceiling was noticeably thicker than those on the lower shelves. Nathan
always felt awed by what he jokingly referred to Mr. and Mrs. Gene as “the
towers of knowledge.” They also intimidated him slightly, as he knew he could
never hope to read every single book on the shelves.
Mr.
Gene, relaxing in a high chair behind the large, dark, rectangular marble desk
at the front of the library, sat with his half-moon spectacles resting comfortably
on the edge of his nose. As always, he spent his time while managing the
library doing what he did best: reading. His hair was a fine shade of
silvery-gray, combed through and parted nicely to preserve what he always
called his “1950s debonair.” His beard matched his hair’s color, but not its
organization; it reminded Nathan of dust bunnies. Nathan approached the desk
and opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Gene held up a single, aged finger.
Nathan held his mouth open.
After
a few seconds, Mr. Gene finally grabbed a small piece of paper as a
placeholder, closed his book, put down his finger, and smiled pleasantly at
Nathan.
“You’re early
today. No work on the farm?” His voice held a soothing quality, like jazz music
on a rainy day. Nathan carefully hedged his response.
“You could say
that. Where’s Mrs. Gene?” Nathan asked politely.
“She’s sorting
some new arrivals today. Some interesting books about fantasy and magic and
spells and whatnot. Some other stuff too. Might even be some reprints of
Lovecraft, if you’re interested,” Mr. Gene said kindly. He glanced quickly at
Nathan’s travel bag.
“Lovecraft was
never my thing. Too many monsters, not enough science. What are you reading
there?” Nathan said, motioning to Mr. Gene’s book.
“Bit of medieval
poetry. Too much religion and sexual modesty for my taste, give me Oscar Wilde
and his veiled allusions to sex any day. But, then again, having a little
knowledge about everything is better than knowing too much about one thing. So
what can I help you with, son?” Mr. Gene folded his hands and sat upright.
“Oh, I’m just
going to use the computer for a bit and then head out,” Nathan said. Mr. Gene
gave a reassuring nod, as if he knew more about Nathan’s situation than he let
on.
“Well, it’s free
for you to use, young man. Just don’t download any chitty-chatty things.” With
that, Mr. Gene went back to his book. Nathan walked to the computer, his bag in
tow, and, placing his telescope bag next to his travel bag, he sat down. He
turned on the computer and began searching for his disowned relatives,
specifically his aunt in New York.
Mrs.
Gene, done with stacking books, pushed her empty cart to where Nathan sat at
the computer. Once a ballet instructor, she had long since retired because of
the onset of arthritis. She still walked with a flowing grace, as if she glided
through the air rather than actually taking steps. Her silver hair would have
deceived anyone if they were only looking at her eyes, which were a vivid
hazel. She placed a friendly hand on Nathan's shoulder, greeting him with a
voice both soft and resonant. “Good morning dear, you’re never here this early.
I suppose you’re as excited about the new arrivals as I am.” Nathan looked over
his shoulder. She smiled down at him, her expression without judgment, or
belittlement, or expectations of Nathan; rather, she was simply glad to see
him.
“Oh, morning Mrs.
Gene. Actually, I’m here to use the computer. I have some errands to run, you
know how it is.” Nathan was all-too aware of the conspicuousness of his travel
bag next to him as he caught Mrs. Gene’s eyes glance quickly at it. She gave an
understanding smile and squeezed his shoulder.
“Of course dear.
I’ll be at the desk if you need anything.” She removed her hand and glided
away.
“Thanks,” Nathan
said to her back. He turned to the computer and continued his search.
Eventually, he found his aunt’s e-mail address. He was ready to send her a
greeting. But what would he say? Hi, I’m
another disowned Berringer, would you like to take me in for a while until I
can find some source of income? Nathan sighed, unsure. He stared at the
blank e-mail for a second, considering his options, and then he began to type.
Dear Mrs. Hayfield,
I
am sure that you must be surprised seeing the name
“Berringer”
in an e-mail addressed to you (unless you keep
in
touch with Kirk Berringer, whom I would very much like
to
meet if you do), but at this moment in my life, I have no
idea
what else to do. I, like you and several before us,
have
decided to leave the family life and explore what the
world
beyond has to offer me. My father, your (former)
brother,
disowned me without a second thought, and did not
even attempt to stop me
from leaving. I have decided to leave
on
the first train to New York, as that is the only possible
place
I can think to go at the moment. I hope you will not take
my
request of shelter as an undue burden, but if you cannot
afford
to take me in, I wholeheartedly understand. I highly
doubt
I will have phone service after today and I do not own
a
personal computer, so if you do accept my request, please
tell
me an address at which I can meet you. I will try to find a
public
computer in the city, hopefully, so I can contact you
when
I arrive.
Wish
me luck.
Nathan
Berringer
Nathan sent the e-mail and shut off the computer. He stood up,
slinging the telescope bag across his chest, and turned to walk out of the
library. Mr. and Mrs. Gene stood in front of the desk holding items normally
reserved for schoolchildren: a medium-sized black lunchbox with a picture of a
man in a suit standing next to a large blue box, and a thermos. Nathan stared
at them in disbelief for a
second, unsure of what to make of their presentation.
“You might need
another bag for these, hang on.” Mr. Gene shuffled behind the desk and pulled
out a canvas bag the size of a car tire. He and Mrs. Gene placed the thermos
and the lunchbox in the bag, and Mrs. Gene slipped the handles of the bag over
Nathan’s head so that it was slung across his chest, making sure not to damage
the telescope in any way. Nathan looked as surprised as if he had just seen Mr.
Gene do a backflip.
“Before you say
anything, you don’t have to tell us where you’re going and why, that is
completely your business. We only saw your bags and figured that you might get
hungry somewhere down the road,” Mr. Gene said calmly.
“There are two
turkey sandwiches in the lunchbox, along with some grapes, make sure to eat
them today so they don’t get hot and taste bad, and there is some tea in the
thermos,” Mrs. Gene said with a smile. “Oh, and one more thing!” She bounded
happily into one of the book aisles. Mr. Gene, seeing that his wife was away
for the moment, sidled up next to Nathan and whispered “I put some whiskey in
the tea. Not too much, but enough to keep you warm at night.” Nathan chuckled
as Mr. Gene gave a reassuring wink and shuffled back to where he was standing
before as his wife returned with a book. She handed it to Nathan, her smile
still there, as he looked at the title. Ian,
it read.
“Ian? I’ve never
heard of it,” said Nathan.
“It’s about a boy
who gets lost, but eventually finds himself amongst the clutter of life. The
ending might be a bit surprising, but definitely a good read. Don’t worry about
late fees, you may return it when you wish,” said Mrs. Gene with a warm smile.
“Oneeeeeee
second,” said Mr. Gene, as he grabbed the book, took the borrower card from the
back cover, and returned the book to Nathan. He scribbled down Nathan’s name
and the date and placed it in the small bin on the desk.
“There, now you
have to return it. Eventually, at your own leisure. Just don’t tell our other
patrons about this. We charge everyone else up the ass for late books,” Mr.
Gene joked. Mrs. Gene gave him a light hit on the shoulder. Nathan, beaming,
placed the book in the canvas bag. His sight began to blur as his eyes watered
a bit.
“Thank you for
being the parents I never had,” Nathan said, trying to stifle his tears. Mrs.
Gene put her hands over her mouth, visibly smiling while a tear or two fell
from her eyes. Mr. Gene smiled, placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder, and, with a
wink, said “You’d better have some grandkids then.” Nathan embraced Mr. Gene
and then Mrs. Gene, looking at them for one final time. He smiled and nodded,
walking out the door with his luggage secured. Behind him, Mr. Gene put his arm
around Mrs. Gene, smiling as he watched the most inquisitive boy go off to find
his way in the world.
