Schorians

By Leah J. Castle

They're in control.

This is the story of Chanoch Eibenschütz.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DOK
• Release date: Aug 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781393618034

Leah J. Castle

You can always rebel yourself a little more.

Book preview

01. Water Book

Song: Nightbook, by Ludovico Einaudi.

This is the story about a boy named Chanoch, and I really need to tell you about his parents first. Helena and Thomas Eibenschütz ran a business in Aufshürg, a country located in Asca, the continent where this story takes place. The couple had met after having lost their families during a war entitled as anonymous. Helena had moved to Aufshürg with barely fifteen years-old, and Thomas, with seventeen. For five years they lived in a simple village called Österauch.

Helena shared a house with an old lady, and this old lady told her: You must leave, my darling. Go and develop your potentials. A smart and erudite girl wasn’t made for this kind of life. But Helena enjoyed her so-called life. She had a small library in her room and she’d spend the days and nights feeling the warm touch of the pages and the friendliness of their words. Yet things somehow changed after the advice. The money was now short and something rather than a book caught Helena’s attention.

Thomas was the poorest man at Österauch village, and for a remarkable reason. He was known as a Robin Wood freelancer. Money wasn’t something he could keep inside his pocket. He’d share everything. And because he’d forget to save a part for himself, Thomas could barely pay for his rental. But thanks to his unwavering determination, he’d still get around.

It was a rainy day. Helena had dropped her book on a muddy pool. She was to turn around and leave the sad piece on the ground, when the Robin Wood freelancer stopped her.

Woah, young lady, is this book yours?

The lady stepped back, and Thomas understood. His hair was glued onto his forehead, and such a thing is not interesting when a young lady is standing in front of you, and especially when this young lady happens to be beautiful. So he pulled it back; it spilled water at her face, making her look away and lower her umbrella.

He chuckled. Sorry. I’m Thomas.

The soaked guy stretched out his hand in a friendly greeting, but the young lady seemed absorbed in something he couldn’t tell. He lowered his hand. Sorry I’m wet.

And she said nothing. Thinking of how to make the woman speak for God’s sake, Thomas stared at the book. Jeez, that’s bad, isn’t it?

She finally spoke. Indeed.

Some hours passed, and Thomas was still trying to break the ice, saying that he knew how to make a good deal with the book.

I can earn some money and buy you a new book, miss, he said.

His determination was impressive, as well as his lack of financial knowledge. So a few months later, Helena was teaching him how to save money and how to invest, under the discrete realization that she should’ve taken care of her own savings as well. Thomas was marveled, nodding at everything she said like a desperate pupil. He was also plotting a secret project: to start an editing business so she could have a giant library. Helena soon made him drop the idea as if she were aware of it in the first place.

We need a profitable business of something highly vital and that can be sold at large quantities.

And that would be...?

Asca’s infrastructure was affected by the war. It isn’t noticeable here in Aufshürg, but the industry needs support.

Can I marry you?

Excuse me??

The little boy rested his head over his mother’s lap. So...

Yes, son?

So you and Papa married because of a book?

Helena smiled. One way or another, yes... You were born thanks to that book. Interesting, isn’t it?

The little boy gaped at the huge pile of books over his mother’s desk, and at the dozens of shelves around the room.

That was a little scary.

His father laughed beside him. Aha! I bet you saw a lot of babies coming out of the shelves, right?

That was definitely scary.

02. From The Eyes Of A Mother

Song: Freed, by Danny Elfman.

(Helena)

Chanoch Raud Eibenschütz was born in October 25, Aufshürg. Helena and Thomas were heading home, a chilly breeze whistling out of the car. The clouds were still as if watching the baby who had just left maternity. His mother had him between her arms; so small and wrapped in a thick cloth. Thomas glanced back, hands on the drive-wheel.

Helen, he’ll be fine, he said, beaming at the new mother. In fact, I think he might be a little too hot inside this thing. It’s not that cold.

Helena nodded lightly and passed her forefinger across Chanoch’s delicate cheek; the baby looked up at her. Thomas knew exactly what was on her mind.

He’s not so fond of sleeping, huh? he said. Just like you!

Indeed. Chanoch hadn’t slept much while at the hospital.

Thomas didn’t think it was a problem. He was having fun. I think we share some kind of telepathy, he mused as he parked the car. I watched this little boy for hours, last night. And what a conversation we had!

Helena slightly lifted her eyebrows. What kind of conversation you have with a newborn?

Thomas answered it right away. He said, ‘Papa, I’m just like Mama... Look at my eyes... I’m going to hypnotize you with my blue power!’ Thomas grinned, grabbing the keys and leading Helena to the door.

The raindrops were light, dancing through the air. One of them lay right at the top of Chanoch’s nose; he looked up at her, a little puzzled. She rubbed his nose.

This is rain, Chanoch. Interesting, isn’t it?

Thomas was still describing the conversation. And I said, ‘Oh no, the great blue power! You cute little thing, I’m not gonna let it!’ But then he said, ‘Ha, but you fell in love with Mama, and I’m just like Mama... I’m the most beautiful baby ever, my eyes are wonderful like Mama’s, I’m smart like Mama, I have the power! I win!’ Thomas kissed Helena and continued: Then I said, ‘Oooh, how come you’re so little and so powerful! I’m doomed!’ And I’m sure he smiled. My days are over, Helen. This little boy stole my heart. And to think it could happen only once... What a great baby we made. I love you.

Helena watched the baby curling at her chest. Chanoch’s tiny fingers grasped the edge of the cloth and he hid his face inside it. It was like he’d understood the flattering speech.

Be prepared for an ocean of compliments, my dear. Your father is incredible.

Hurry, Helen! Let’s eat, I’m starving. You think he likes chicken? Chanoch, do you like chicken? How about a fresh strawberry juice?

Breastfeeding was not a problem. Chanoch was a thirsty baby. He would suck the milk so fast that she was afraid he’d choke. He did once but recovered quickly. She read that some babies drank half-asleep. Not Chanoch. Not after he had choked. He was probably watching not to cough milk all over Mama. Maybe I’m imagining things... Good boy, either way. His little hand would grip her nipple as if it was a bottle. She wondered if she’d have enough milk for him.

Winter was coming, and Helena wanted to make sure the house’s heating system was in perfect condition. It was important to keep Chanoch warm. She had suffered a lot last year; her asthma attacks increased considerably whenever she was in contact with any kind of smoke, so lighting the fireplace with Chanoch inside the house was out of question. Smoke and cold temperatures were perfect triggers. Thankfully, they found a charming house in a quiet neighborhood, away from the loud traffics and the pollution.

But Thomas struggled to keep the precautious in mind. One snowy day, when Helena had just taken a bath, she saw Thomas at the backyard carrying the baby as if celebrating summer. She rescued Chanoch from the father’s innocent behavior and checked its small body. Chanoch seemed fine.

Oh, baby, you’re smiling. Did you have fun out there?

Helen, he was telling me about his previous incarnation, Thomas commented, grinning at his son. Guess what? He was an emperor! Mighty boy.

Tom, two things, Helena said.

Thomas leaned closer. Yes, dear?

Don’t take him outside this week. It’s too cold for him.

Oh, right. Sorry. But he liked it.

And also: how come he was an emperor in his previous incarnation if we’re in the 21st century? Where has he been all the period between—

Oops... Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. Right. Oh, I love your sense of humor, Helen!

It’s not sense of humor...

Chanoch giggled and shook his little arms.

He thinks it’s funny! Thomas said triumphantly. Aha!

Boys...

Chanoch leaned his head on her chest, looking at her.

You really thought it was funny? You’re silly just like your Papa...

Helen, look at his face! Just like you! You always do this when you’re trying to hide a secret!

03. A Child’s List Of Duties

(C hanoch)

As months went by, it was visible his resemblance with his mother. He had not only the deep blue eyes and the dark hair, but also the placid countenance. And different from his father, Chanoch wasn’t much of a talker. Far from that. The five year-old boy would rather be a spectator than the main attraction. Thomas would sometimes insist on taking him to his office downtown where he’d receive clients, close deals, and exhibit the beautiful son he had, but what a nuisance. Chanoch would stay stock still, staring at the tall humans, eager to leave the center of the spot to sit on his favorite chair. He’d watch an old man carry huge piles of white papers. He liked that man. He was one of few adults who didn’t lean closer, rubbed his hair, and spoke with a weird voice. Why tall people had to talk to little people with a different voice? The old man wouldn’t do that. He’d sit on his proper chair, smile at Chanoch, and start writing. One day, though, the man spoke:

Chanoch.

Chanoch was so distracted with the silence that he jumped on his seat.

And his mother would only call him by his name if he was taking too long to go to bed. He didn’t like sleeping. And for pertinent reasons. The first one was the white ball hanging at the sky almost every night. Chanoch was intrigued. A white glowing ball stuck in the darkness. Then, it’d give up on being round and take the shape of a nail, those that fly away when the nail clipper is angry. That one in specific had flown and stayed there. Then, it’d grow large, like half a circle. Then, back to its ball shape. And this ball was pretty uncertain whether to live as a ball or as other shapes. No matter how long he stared at it, Chanoch couldn’t guess which shape would come out, and when. He had to find out what was happening. Maybe something was broken. Maybe its pieces were falling. Was the sky falling? If so, what should he do? Should he tell Mama and Papa? Yes, of course, but Mama would be upset if she found out he was staying awake practically all night. There was something going on and he had to find out himself. So yes, staring out the window was more important than closing his eyes and seeing a black nothingness. And what a strong reason not to sleep. Regardless of whatever the sky was fond of doing, Chanoch would still be awake.

Because sleeping was dangerous. What if he slept and never woke up? Would he turn into an emperor? His father had once showed him the picture of an emperor. It was definitely not him because the man in the picture was riding a horse, and Chanoch, as far as he was concerned, didn’t know how to ride a horse. So if the emperor wasn’t him, who would he turn into? Was there a way to rest and grow up  that didn’t require closing his eyes and blacking out?

The man opened a smile, and Chanoch stared at the papers.

Want to help me?

Whether a person wanted to help the other or not, it was necessary. Mama and Papa had taught him that and he was proud of remembering why.

Son, you must help your Mama. Now, hurry up and don’t leave your toys in the middle of the way.

But I wanna play. Papa said—

If you help Mama now, then Mama can play with you too. Mama and Papa. How about?

Chanoch nodded to the old man.

Here, the man said. Help me put these papers here in this drawer.

The boy was already tiptoeing near the desk, reaching for the tallest heap.

Oh, not these. Here, here.

The old man opened the drawer and Chanoch saved the correct papers.

Nice! Thank you! The man beamed and Chanoch got back to his chair wondering when he’d have to help him again. The desk was still crowded with papers.

What was the man writing? A story? Well, if that was a story, it was a giant one. How many days would the man spend reading all that? Mama was the fastest reader in the world, she would definitely finish that in five minutes. Chanoch couldn’t do it in five minutes. He had once asked her how long he had spent reading the duck’s book, but she didn’t tell him. So he concluded he should do it himself. He tried to count while reading, and at the end he proudly announced that the book had two hundred words. But then Mama asked what was the book about. Why the duck got stuck.

Chanoch was devastated.

It’s alright. Try again, son. Let’s see why the duck got stuck. No, come back here. You can do it. Calm down and pay attention.

The book had actually two hundred and forty words. And the duck should’ve pushed the car. It would’ve solved the problem.

Why can’t he just push the car?

Maybe because it’s too heavy.

Chanoch stared attentively at the illustration. The duck was fat and clumsy. And the car was pretty small for that fat duck. It could barely fit inside. So the car was not heavy. Mama was wrong. The duck was the problem. He couldn’t push it. Chanoch stared at her. She smiled.

Or maybe the duck needs some help to push the car.

He flipped the pages. There was no one nearby.

He’s alone, Mama.

Really. If the fat duck were competent, he would’ve fixed the problem and gone to wherever. Now he was stuck for good, in the middle of the road. All day. Then night would come and the duck would stay there, in pitch dark. Afraid of sleeping. But what if he left the car went to his destination on foot? No. It’d get tired. And hungry. And the duck couldn’t leave the car in the middle of the way. Because it was wrong. But who was going to help him?

I have an idea, son, his mother spoke, watching the thoughtful Chanoch gaze at the stuck car. What if the duck disassembles the car?

Disassemble?

Yes. To separate the parts of the car, removing them one by one.

Chanoch pictured the fat duck picking the wheel and throwing it sideways. Then the backseat, then... But then what? It couldn’t do that. The duck would be breaking the car! But Mama had the answer.

Then the duck builds it again. Out of the mud, of course.

Build it again?

Yes.

Wow. Wait, how?? Did the duck know how to build a car? Chanoch didn’t know how to build a car. He stared at the duck. How could he tell if the duck knew it or not?

Maybe the duck is smart, Mama said.

No, he’s not smart.

No?

No.

Why he isn’t, son?

You can’t pass over the mud. You must get the mud of the way first. It’s in the middle of the way. Now he’s stuck, the car’s all dirty, and he won’t get home. And he doesn’t know how to build a car because he’s not smart.

Mama smiled.

And if you met the duck, what would you do?

What would he do?

On that night, Chanoch realized he had to set up a few things. He had to be strong enough to push a car by himself; he had to be smart so he could build a car, a car good enough to pass over the mud without getting stuck; he had to find out why the sky was falling and where were its pieces and how to recover them without Mama noticing; and he had to be the best reader in the world so he could read books about smarter ducks, because that one, really...

HIS MOTHER SPENT MOST days at home. Her desk had loads of his pictures, from the day he was born to yesterday, on his sixth birthday. Really. Too many pictures for his taste. He had actually dropped one as he tried to clean the table. Papa laughed and said he’d done that on purpose. The apparent reason: he didn’t look so handsome in that specific one. Chanoch protested in silence. He hadn’t dropped it on purpose, Mama wouldn’t like it. And of course she didn’t. Next time he’d have to pay more attention, he shouldn’t be distracted with her papers, and no, he must not try to fix the frame himself because the glass was shattered, and that was dangerous.

Papa was always distracted but Mama didn’t seem to bother. That was a little unfair, but how to say that? It was hard to gather the right words because the man was a talking machine. This time the main topic was Chanoch becoming a prince. Wait, a prince or an emperor? Or both? He examined the broken frame. He looked pretty normal, but yes, he hated taking pictures. Well, did he really look ugly on that? Chanoch examined his reflection in the broken portrait and concluded nothing. One thing was sure, though: he hadn’t changed much. He was the only child in the world that wouldn’t change a thing.

The reason was simple.

Oh, look at you! I barely recognized you! You’ve grown up so much!, adults would say to most children.

Oh, look at him! So beautiful this boy, isn’t he? He’s got his mom’s eyes!, adults would say about him.

They mentioned he was growing up, yes, but that was so obvious, why people had to inform him as if he didn’t know? Did they think he was stupid? The other children definitely were.

Chanoch attended school for a few months. He’d read the books with excessive colors, he’d write the words in bold and in different sizes because the teacher had a kick out of forgetting her glasses and Chanoch was tired of pointing at her neck, and when there was no task available anymore, he’d watch her talk on with that same silly voice. And when none of her words and stories differed from yesterday’s, he’d focus on hearing the clock, which was a hard task considering he was among a crowd of loud kids. He asked Mama if that routine was really necessary. He didn’t like those kids. They’d scream instead of talk, they’d scramble the words as if they were still babies, they’d mess up with his backpack and throw his things, they’d ask what had happened to his hair, why it was black, why he was so silent, why he was so boring, why, why, why... And they wanted snacks, the so-called candies that made little animals grow inside the teeth. And they wanted to play. Why not staying home, then? Wasn’t that a school? Didn’t their Mamas send them so they could learn how to read and write? What was wrong with everyone?

Mama was too busy at her desk, ranged by two piles of documents, three black notebooks and a blue calculator, telling Papa the things he had to do at his work, things to send to the old man, things to buy, things to sell, things to negotiate, which day they should call whom, and the next step, the next deal, incomes, profits, workers, transport, import, export... Papa would smile and say, Sure!, on his way to leave but also expecting more orders, and they’d come. From eight in the morning to dinnertime, Mama worked restlessly. When she didn’t respond to his timid protest, Chanoch decided he should deal with it himself. He panicked at first. How to make all the children shut their mouths? How to make them not look at him? How to send them home whenever he saw it fit? How, how? When he remembered the other issues on his ‘I Must Solve’ list, he confirmed that this was a critical situation. But he shouldn’t panic. Otherwise he’d get nowhere.

He still didn’t know how to gain strength to push a car. He thought about asking Papa, who’d laugh at him, so no. He thought about asking him how to build a car, but he had absolutely no idea whether Papa knew how to do it or not; Chanoch would be a little disappointed to confirm Papa wasn’t that smart.

And the sky was falling.

He panicked again. He couldn’t fix anything on his own, so maybe he wasn’t a smart person, either. 

But Mama told him not to squeeze the pillow.

He should calm down and try again.

He picked the blue inhaler inside his drawer and stared at the night sky, taking deep breaths.

There it is.

The moon.

At least he knew its name, now.

That was a start.

CHANOCH WAVED PAPA goodbye and headed straight to the teachers’ lounge. He knocked on the door. No answer. With no time to waste, Chanoch opened it. Seven heads turned to him, and if he hadn’t spotted the right teacher at that moment he would’ve quickly shut the door and run away.  

Teacher, Chanoch called her. His voice went sharper than he expected. She almost dropped her cup of coffee.

Yes, boy?

What’s today’s lesson?

A few minutes later, Chanoch was leaving, partially satisfied. As for the teacher, she stood by the door, puzzled. Then, Chanoch knocked on the principal’s office. The man’s face was worse than the teacher’s.

Why do you want to stay at my office, boy?

Because I need to study and I can’t do it in the classroom, Chanoch retorted, peering around the room and wondering which part of the desk he’d be allowed to use. The man frowned. Apparently slow to understanding. People at my class are too loud, Chanoch explained. I can’t concentrate. I can’t learn. I have today’s lesson. I can do it by myself. Can I stay here?

The principal wasn’t frowning anymore. His eyebrows were somewhere up in the skies.

The moment of shock eventually passed. The principal went straight to the teacher, who apologized and said that she’d make sure the classroom was quiet enough, but as both principal and teacher returned to the office, Chanoch was already set. He was sitting at the principal’s armchair, notebook ready, a pen and a pencil lined by the open book, an eraser balanced vertically at the center of the desk, and a portentous silence. The bird inside the cage had stopped fumbling its feathers long ago. Chanoch didn’t look up at the intruders. He was in the middle of a paragraph.

The principal and the teacher shared a long glance.

Look what you’ve done! the principal snarled at the teacher after closing the door, leaving Chanoch and his deep state of study inside the office. Now there’s a boy sitting on my chair...

With all due respect, Mr.Furst, but he was looking more like a principal than you...

I should fire you.

On the same day, his mother asked him about school.

Chanoch forgot the chew and swallowed down the chicken.

What’s wrong, son?

S-School was good.

Chanoch, are you hiding something?

Papa’s excitement had an awful timing. Ooh, a secret! he sang, munching the chicken and smiling at the same time.

Chanoch. Tell me what you did today.

I-I... Chanoch sent a mental S.O.S. to Papa. He needed help. Mama would be furious. Papa received the signal, but there was nothing he could do. He made an apologetic face. Sorry, champion. Can’t help you. Good luck.

That was the end. He did something without asking for her permission. He was so stupid.

I stayed at the principal’s office.

He wanted to cough. The inhaler was upstairs, and though he wanted to spread running, it was out of question.

What were you doing at the principal’s office, Chanoch? Mama asked; her voice sent cold vibrations all around, and he couldn’t read them properly.

He looked down at his plate; the chicken was definitely cold, he could feel it. I was studying...

Why were you studying at the principal’s, Chanoch?

B-Because I wanted. No, no, that was the wrong word. I had to.

Papa frowned, holding his cup in midair. Why??

Glad that his father had inquired with a friendly curiosity, Chanoch spoke: People are the classroom are too loud. I can’t concentrate there, I can’t learn. So I went to the teacher and asked her what was today’s lesson, and then I went to the principal’s. And I studied there. Chanoch watched Mama’s eyes, trying to spot some danger. Impossible to guess. And then, I finished and gave it to the teacher.

Papa was the first to speak. Wow. I’d never have the guts to do that. I think I’d freak out at the principal’s. It’s very intimidati—

Helena looked at Papa; he broke off and ate the cold chicken.

Tom.

Yes?

I’m making a call.

Mama stood up and went upstairs.

It was over.

Papa finally understood his despair. Relax, buddy. I don’t think she’s mad at you. She never is! But who do you think she’s calling? Some squad forces? Haha...

That really didn’t help much.

ON THE NEXT DAY, CHANOCH didn’t go to school. He was prohibited. Now there were new rules. He’d start homeschooling. He didn’t understand at first; soon, his teacher showed up at his house, carrying a thick folder and two books. He would have private lessons. Chanoch approved the idea. Apparently what he’d done yesterday had good results, despite the fear of getting beaten by a squad. But it was too early to breathe. Tension was still lingering in the air. Regardless of what Papa had said, it was clear: Mama was angry. Looking hard and serious. With arms crossed. Blinking occasionally. She ordered the teacher to sit across the dining table, which proved to be an arduous task since the woman was trembling. Chanoch almost swooned with relief. But of course. Mama was mad at the teacher, not him! The teacher was the one responsible for not controlling the kids at the classroom, not him! Nothing fairer than getting scolded by Mama.

She didn’t answer to phone calls. Instead, she gazed at the teacher from nine in the morning to lunch time. Chanoch wrote everything down in the best handwriting he could manage, and apparently that was something to practice more further on. Mama watched everything. Mama noticed everything. So if he had the feeling that the handwriting seemed odd, then it definitely was. He had heard a man on the TV saying, There are gazillions of mistakes you can make. World’s full of possibilities. So if you commit the same mistake twice, you’re either being stupid or not dreaming big enough. Chanoch had understood the message: the man who spoke was embarrassed of all the mistakes he’d committed and wanted to make little of the people who were careful with their homework.

But what had happened to the other kids? Had they gone home? Without having classes? Before he could develop this thought while underscoring phrases on his book, Mama spoke for the first time in hours. The teacher jumped on her chair. Chanoch almost slipped a smile.

I hope they find a competent teacher in time. Otherwise I’ll be sorry for these kids. Not every parent can afford private lessons.

Ah, yes, yes.

My son has special needs. He’s not mediocre, so please do not be a mediocre teacher next time. Chanoch, are you finished?

Yes.

Good job, dear. You see? He doesn’t need to repeat this lesson. What’s next?

At midday, the teacher left home, and Chanoch stretched his fingers, joints aching from the marathon. Mama moved from the chair, leaned closer, and opened a smile, inundating his heart with relief. The marathon had been a success. Nothing ached.

I’m proud of you, she said in a soft whisper. You did the right thing.

He looked down on his notebook and smiled timidly.

And she continued. Tomorrow I’ll be back to work. Stay focused on your teacher. She’s exclusively here for you, so keep doing your best. If you don’t understand a lesson, ask her. Don’t be shy. You don’t have to take note of everything she says, write the essential. I know you have a lot of questions, things you want to learn, but you don’t have all day. Mama will buy you other books, don’t worry. I know how it feels to not have the right answers. Just be patient.

Chanoch blinked, trying to assimilate all her orientations. He was tired and hungry.

And keep an eye on her. Anything wrong, let me know. Please don’t hide things from Mama anymore. If you don’t speak, we can’t help each other out. Don’t be scared, I’ll always be here for you. Me and Papa. Okay, son? And remember to bring the inhaler downstairs. Now, let’s eat. Wash your hands and help me with the table.

It didn’t take long to change the tutor. Though Chanoch wasn’t exactly saying anything—he thought about mentioning the man’s bad breath, but maybe that wasn’t so important, he could handle it without coughing too much—, Mama was hiring new people. They wouldn’t stay long, either. Chanoch wondered if the problem was with him, but no, otherwise she would’ve told him. After finishing her duties, she’d sit next to him and examine his notebook. She’d point at some mistakes; he’d quickly find the eraser and correct. Sometimes she’d do it herself.

Because he was a little tired with the new routine, Chanoch didn’t have the chance to study the other items of his ‘I Must Solve’ list, much less watch the moon’s patterns. He had no choice but to sleep. And he wasn’t the only one. One night, Mama lay down next to him and passed out. Chanoch did too. He woke up with her coughs; luckily, his inhaler was right beside his pillow, over the dog-eared notebook.

Oh, sorry, dear. I woke you up.

She stood up and left the room with ungainly steps. Chanoch wanted to say that she could have his inhaler, he was fine, he didn’t need it, but Papa had woken up too. It was all right, then.

Papa had some secret power. With him beside her, Mama didn’t need inhalers or medicine. His presence was healing.

Chanoch wished he had this power too. Was it hereditary?

How to obtain it?

He added it to the list.

04. Disharmony

Mama combed his hair . No matter how many times they said he looked good, he didn’t know what was worse: having bangs that rose to wavy spikes as if he’d been mildly electrocuted in the pillow or wearing that sticky gel that pulled everything backwards and gave him that Dracula miasma. Maybe if he tried to comb it himself, he’d find a way to avoid that look. He didn’t understand why Mama was such a terrible hairstylist. She was good in so many things. Her long strands were perfectly coiled at the back of her head. Still, she failed in combing his hair. Also, Chanoch wished he were blonde. He was tired of receiving anxious glances and being asked if he had dyed his hair; and he had run out of mental replies, such as, It’s my natural color. It’s my mother’s. We had spare black ink in our office. Actually, food was salty yesterday. I’m an alien, excuse me, I need to check out on the Moon. Mama and Papa said that it was because he was a very pretty boy, but then what was the point of being pretty if people didn’t leave him alone?

Even if he were blonde, there was another problem. His eyes. People would gape at him. And they would keep doing that until he decided to walk away and pretend he wasn’t listening to whatever they were saying. Once, he had sneaked into his father’s closet and picked a sunglasses and a hat. He looked terrible. After that day, he decided that his deepest wish was to turn into a ghost, a ghost that only Mama and Papa could see. And Papa was a jungle man. He looked like a lion, with that mane flying around him.

The upside of going out at night was that he wasn’t easily spotted. He could stroll comfortably. All he had to do was walk behind his mother and take advantage of his little stature—which was temporary since Papa and Mama were taller than average—and be invisible. Until Papa pushed him forward and started joking around, speaking loudly so everybody could listen.

Come on, boss! Lead the way!

Tom, don’t do this, he’s shy, leave him alone...

Well, he wasn’t shy. He just didn’t like ‘leading the way’, though being called ‘boss’ was nice. Why exactly he was called that way, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that as soon as he grew up and became an adult, he’d be standing at Mama’s desk, doing her work. Mama was a boss. He’d be one too. At least that’s what both had told him.

He’ll run the business once you get old, Helen. I can’t see him doing what I do, you know. Chanoch’s got brain. Not muscles. Haha...

Tom...

It was weird to say that a person didn’t have muscles. If that meant that he wasn’t strong enough, then he had a problem. Was he weak? He had always helped Mama carry the groceries, the thick encyclopedias, the heap of papers, the magazines, not to mention move the furniture every once in a while because someone might’ve bumped into it and left it askew. How about that? He thought about asking Papa, but he wouldn’t get a good answer, anyway. But he heard the truth sooner than he expected.

Son, don’t worry about those kids. If you don’t want to play with them, it’s okay.

But Papa said that if I don’t make friends—

You will. Don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to be fine. You’re smart, you’re a good boy, you help Mama, and you make her really proud. You should be proud of yourself. And you’ll be a great man like Papa. You’ll be strong and you’ll protect your family. Okay?

Will?

Bottom line: he was currently weak.

He was definitely a smart person, smarter than the kids screaming around the neighborhood, smart enough to finally understand that the Moon was the Earth’s satellite, rotating around the globe and being illuminated by the Sun, and since it changed its position, it couldn’t be seen entirely, sometimes just half or less, and no, there was no way parts of the Moon could deliberately detach and draw towards the Earth with a gravitational insanity, then collapse right over Aufshürg and kill a bunch of people, including him and his parents. And according to his latest teacher, building a car required specific skills that were too advanced for his age. Well, for a child of his age, not for him. It was time to convince Mama to buy him the promised books.

But the strength... Where to start?

Boss, what you’re staring at, huh? Papa called him. Chanoch was trying to guess where Papa’s muscles and strength had come from. Come here, let me see if you can carry those things. They’re made of the heaviest iron on Earth!

What a lie. It was just paper. But one thing was sure: now it was time to help Papa. He had to figure out the secret.

Hurry, boy!

Watching not to touch his hair and ruin Mama’s ugly job, Chanoch followed his parent towards a majestic building with yellowish lights. Since it was night, the construction resembled an open oven. Burning yellow, surrounded by darkness. Wasting so many lamps to light a facade most people knew was dumb regardless of what people had said. What was the point of ‘praising the magnificent beauty of our virtuous palace’ if the entire population, including the ones who couldn’t afford an oven, had to pay for its lamps? Though the building was stunning indeed, it didn’t matter much; Chanoch wasn’t interested in its looks. He was asking himself what exactly lie inside it. Mama held his hand tighter, and he looked up. It was hard to guess what she was thinking.

Well, let’s see... Papa whispered to Mama.

See what? Growing suspicious, Chanoch stared at the big oven, wondering if it was too hot inside it.

THERE WERE SIX PILLARS. A red carpet was crossing the giant entrance and splaying on a set of stairs, occupying the hall like a giant tongue. People, dressed like Mama and Papa, were entering the oven. Chanoch gulped.

Son, are you okay? Mama whispered, leaning close. Papa was exclaiming something, marveled at the building.

Did he look scared? Was he scared? No, he wasn’t, maybe he was just thirsty or—

Are you thirsty, dear? Mama asked, to which he nodded.

Right. We’ll order something after we get our seats.

Seats... So they’d be sitting. And they would order something. And it wasn’t a restaurant. If it were, Mama would’ve said ‘tables’, not ‘seats’... But what they would do, just sitting? Was that a cinema? Chanoch glanced around. A cinema or not, he’d rather watch movies on the TV. At home. Because staring at a huge screen was odd. And the sound was deafening. At home, he could lower the volume. Change the channel to avoid the colorful ads. Pause the movie. Press fast forward. And turn it off. All that with a simple remote control. Instead, he’d be stuck in a long line of people. A myriad of perfumes burning his nose, making him regret he had left his inhaler at home. And for a change, they’d look at him, whisper to their comrades, and even point, depending on their age. But something in the air told him that all ages were worthy of his concern. How long would they be waiting in line? Everyone seemed to be there, and whatever was about to happen, it was late.

Mama let go of his hand and opened her purse.

Where did I put it... she mumbled to herself, shuffling her things. Chanoch heard the jiggle of metal, the ruffle of paper, and mini plastics. He leaned closer, trying to gape inside it. It was dark.

Why women never find their stuff inside their bags...? Papa sighed and looked at Chanoch. Don’t you agree, little champion?

Irrelevant. It didn’t matter whether women had problems with their purses or not. The real question was—

She found it. It was a ticket. Rectangular and with a rouge picture printed across its length. No Mama in the world would’ve understood how much he needed to check that paper himself. Helena did. She gave him the ticket and he ran his eyes across it, feeling the air swooning easily into his lungs but the heart accelerating as he read on.

The Aufshürg State Opera presents:

Tonight's performance: Ocean Sounds In Classical Music

The masterpieces:

Ludwig van Beethoven: Symphony No.9 in D minor Op.125 – II. Molto vivace

Edvard Grieg: Piano Concerto in A Minor Op.16 – I. Allegro molto moderato

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Symphony No.40 in G Minor, K.550 – I. Molto allegro

Seats:

G.32 G.33 G.34

The acquisition of this ticket is totally conditioned to the previous knowledge of the terms below on the part of the buyer; it is posted for reading before the actual purchase:

The entrance of the Aufshürg State Opera house counts on the market's most modern security items, preventing its falsification. However, some of the items can be verified by the people in charge of the entrance of this event.

Always check the rules of the event venue on: food and beverage entrance, parking, local laws and rules, and opening times.

It is not allowed to enter with—

Come, Mama spoke, leading the way to the entrance. A man smiled at him and asked for the ticket.

He didn’t get to read the rest. What was not allowed?

They entered.

The place had many seats and was as giant as the hall. Chanoch stared down at the red carpet; his neck was giving out the first signs of fatigue. Well, at least he had found out what was the event about. Some kind of music. With a piano. But what did all the numbers mean? He looked around again, rubbing the nape of his neck. People didn’t seem curious; they were familiar to that type of show.

The seats were located in the middle of the rows, and he could see the stage; it had many seats too. All set in a U-shape, each with a tiny folding table with a notebook. Or just papers. At the center, the tallest table. With no notebook. Okay, that was very strange. Where was the piano?

Papa stood up. I’m grabbing some drinks. Boss, what do you want?

Chanoch glanced at his father, eyes vacant, distracted with the search for the piano. Papa chuckled.

Oh, water, right? This kid only drinks water, don’t know why I still ask... No juice, no soda, no milk, no beer... Weird kid.

Tom.

Okay, okay...

Tom, I want—

Vodka and gin? Got it.

Ah... Don’t worry, dear. Mama looked at Chanoch, beaming lightly. He’s not bringing vodka and gin.

He wasn’t listening. Should he ask her the piano’s whereabouts? She definitely knew.

Look, son. That’s the piano.

Two men carefully stationed the piano at left. It had a black, corpulent, and shiny body. Chanoch pictured a car. A car being built. Some parts already set, others detached but ready to be placed above it or beneath it, or... Another man walked in and opened its large hood and propped it on a spindly bar. The interior was cream beige and golden. It had thin metallic strings with different lengths ranged side by side, with small and white rectangles at the edge. What was all that? Chanoch studied the shape again. It was curvy on one side. At the bottom of it, in front the bench, a set of three pedals. A musical clutch-break-accelerator maybe? Then, the man lifted another cover. Ah, the keyboard. Some keys where white, others were shorter and black. They looked special. But why? Chanoch narrowed his eyes and tried to count the number of keys, but Mama told him to sit down.

People emerged from both sides of the stage. Women and men, dressed in black. Carrying their instruments. So many of them. A family of contortioned megaphones, tubes with buttons, in all sizes. A family of brown guitars with no holes, fewer strings, and their tip curled like young twigs, just like the ‘magnificent palace’s decoration. And then, magic wands. Many wands. At right, big instruments; at left, their miniatures. He was about to count everything when a short man walked straight to the front of the stage, and people broke into applause. He bowed and turned his back. A woman in a shiny dress walked in, people applauded again but less, she bowed, and sat in front of the piano.

The short man still had his back on the spectators, and that was a little rude, wasn’t it? Everybody sat except for him. Was he about to give a speech to the musicians? Weird.

He had a magic wand too.

SONG: SYMPHONY NO.9 in D Minor Op.125 – II. Molto vivace, Ludwig van Beethoven.

It started so abruptly.

Chanoch got swept away on the first second. His heart lost its balance inside his ribcage, and it tried to remain still, but too late. It was being dragged and led somewhere else. He wasn’t sure if it was inwards or outwards, but he definitely didn’t want to go. Then it started invading, penetrating his body, making his lungs flip upside down and spin. What exactly were they doing? It was a giant mess of noise, senseless, illogical, thrown at him with no mercy, expecting him to catch the endless melodies at the same time, but no, he couldn’t. It flowed in opulent waves, leading him to a trip he wasn’t invited, he wasn’t prepared for. His mind still tried to capture the melodies and make out their look, but they would fleet away and come back changed, rushing to new corners of his brain. Nonstop.

He opened his eyes. It didn’t help. The short man was shaking both arms like a demented, his movements aggravating the mess. The sound coming from the instruments was not coming from the instruments, there was something incredibly wrong with that. He shut his eyes again and the mass engulfed him from all sides.

Then, the music wound down. He could breathe. They were finally considering it was necessary to take it easy. But it only made things worse. Now the sound was a mysterious echo, creeping and giggling at his back, holding his heart until it stopped beating. The air receded into the darkness, and gradually, at crawling movements, the music returned, stronger, and stronger, and he didn’t have the chance to actually think about it, because the wave hit him again and swallowed his body. The vile creature opened its arms triumphantly, laughing at Chanoch’s defeat.

He shot up from his seat and trekked wildly across the row of people, stumbling on many legs and purses, both hands pressing his sensitive ears. He reached the ending and bolted towards the door.

His steps echoed through the silent hall, the music chased him, and though it was gradually quieting, it roared in his ears. An invisible claw wrapped around his legs and pulled him, causing him to run blindly and meet a nook where he cowered and decided to never leave.

In the vacuum he inhaled, trying to find tranquility and scare away the fear, but his hopes were jammed inside his lungs, letting the mind tower through the air and rotate freely.

A movie played and there was no controlling device to make it stop.

He had fallen into the sea, distracted by the waves and the irregular reflection of his eyes. The water hit his skin like needles as his body splashed onto the cold surface. A slow but thick wave took him far from the boat. Chanoch heard someone yelling his name. He saw his father jumping out of the boat and diving into the water, but why was it taking so long? Where was Papa? The waves were blocking the view. His little arms and legs shook, uncoordinated, and the water spread inside his chest as he tried to breathe. He choked, and after an eternity of struggle, Chanoch sank, the sunlight getting distant. The music came to an end. He heard a muffled applause.

Someone shook his arms, trying to wake him up, but—

Son, what’s wrong? he heard Mama speaking, but why was she so calm? He was sinking, why not just pull him out and save him, he was dying, he—

Then a hook pulled him out and someone ran with him.

Puzzled, he opened his eyes.

PAPA WAS CARRYING HIM with one arm. Mama was right behind them, her tidy hair undone, waving on her shoulders and arms. Some people were staring, paralyzed, or whispering to each other. There was so sea nearby, the boat had disappeared. He was breathing and feeling his heart. He wasn’t dying anymore. Papa saved him in time, it was all under control. But why was he so nervous—

I told you this wouldn’t work, Papa said as they entered the car. Door shut on his face, two doors shut, seat belt, engine on, accelerator. All too fast and loud. Last time we came he cried so loud people thought I’d dropped him off the seat—

Tom, he was just a baby.

That’s the problem! The place is not for kids, I said that, but you insist on forcing him to do what he doesn’t want to, you didn’t even ask him if he wanted or not, and to be honest, I didn’t want it, either. But you just decided—

You made no objection—

Of course, there’s no point in disagreeing with you, but I did warn—

Tom, watch out—

The car braked at the red light and lurched back. Papa sighed and glanced at Chanoch through the rearview mirror. The thing is, Helen, he said, as if Chanoch wasn’t listening. He’s a kid. A kid must do kids’ stuff. Kids must play kids’ game. Kids must eat kids’ food. Helen, when I was a child—

You are not him, he’s not you, Tom.

Well, maybe that’s the problem! He’d be much happier if—

Don’t tell me what he should and shouldn’t—

Ah, of course, ‘cause you’re his mother!

Exactly—

Responsible for his education and blah blah blah, but hellooo, I’m his father, I have the right to—

"Maybe you will have once you start taking care of your son."

Excuse me?? Who said I don’t??

Did you forget when you let him fall off the boat—

Ah, that again...

I was against it, then you insisted, I let you take him, I told you to keep an eye on him, but you were too distracted to take care of your son. He was just four, what makes you think he could handle it by himself, that was incredibly dangerous, he could’ve died—

Stop, Helen! We’ve already talked about this, and look, look, he’s back there, totally alive, he’s alive, and guess what? Thanks to me!

That’s ridiculous, to claim it was your merit, when in fact you were the one responsible for—

But. I. Saved. Him.

That was the least you—

And Helen, suppose you were the one with the boat, with Chanoch. You two. Alone. What if, despite all your precautions, like putting five layers of floaters on him or tying him with ropes and stuff, what if he still fell on the water? Those accidents can happen. We take precautions, but accidents happen. And I’m sorry, but I think you wouldn’t be able to—

Ah, just because you think I’m weaker, since I’m a woman—

Yeah, that’s accurate, Helen, you’re very smart, why am I still impressed—

That’s not funny—

Actually, it is, ‘cause you don’t know what’s best for him.

Now, that’s hilarious—

He needs to have some fun, for Christ’s sake! I don’t think I told you, but on the boat day he was so happy, talking all the time! You should’ve seen him. That’s the son I wanna see, you know. Not a mute boy staring at the window, afraid of going outside. And even if you say it’s because of his health and that you want to prepare him to the future, like getting into a University certified by Einstein, well guess what, you’re missing something! You wanna make him healthy and strong? Then let him out, make him run, jump, put him to swim, make him compete!

Tom, he has—

Yes, exactly, that’s why he needs to exercise. You should, as well. You wouldn’t be so ill if you went outside every once in a while—

Tom, that’s enough—

No, I’m not finished. Let me express myself for once.

Fine.

You wanna prepare him for the future? Then why don’t you start by letting him socialize?? That’s the basics.

He’s naturally shy, I can’t force him—

"No, you’re making him shy, you’re letting him, and frankly, socializing is something worth forcing. I’d rather see my son able to stay around people without looking like a wall—"

He’s always paying attention to people—

... Then seeing him graduate in that music stuff, that’s total bullshi—

Don’t talk about Classical Music with such despise—

It’s not because you love it that he must too, Helen. That’s a matter of taste, but he’s gotta socialize!! This thing matters! He’s gotta be more independent, Helen, you’re always trying to protect him, well, that’s not good for him! Let him free, the world happens outside home—

Tom, stop, he’s crying. Chanoch, dear, it’s okay—

No, it’s not okay. Chanoch, stop that. Stop crying. Wipe those tears right now and get a grip.

05. Paddle To The Medal

Chanoch shut the windows and sat over his bed, in pitch dark. After two hours, he fell asleep. On the next day, he woke up earlier. He stood up and opened the window but made sure to not look out. If he wanted to see what was out there, he’d better get out and see what was out there. In fact, he knew that street pretty well. It consisted of a long asphalt with pavements on each side, residences on each side, each one with their respective shape and height. There were people walking on both sides and crossing the street. They would always be dressed according to the current weather, and they’d be staring straight ahead or down at their shoes. The cars moved in line. No car had crashed yet, and no person had been hit by a car yet. If it ever happened, maybe he’d stare out through the window.

The same applied to the sky. During the day, the sun would either be there, or be there. It was always there. The only variable was the presence of clouds or not. Sunny days had blue skies, and the reason for the blue color was something he wouldn’t learn by staring at it. He’d ask the teacher and get the proper information in no time. Cloudy days were sometimes rainy, sometimes not. Rain had different degrees, from almost nothing to torrential. And it wasn’t necessary to check the window to know the proportions. All he needed was to listen to the outside or the adults’ conversation. There was also the TV as a last resource.

Looking at night sky had no use either. He had mastered the night sky: a dull black or maybe deep blue, with few brilliant points called stars that were always arranged in the same way, sometimes moving a bit to the left or so, the Moon with its hide-and-seek behavior, airplanes rarely passing over, Santa Claus didn’t exist, so there was no flying carriage and no elder man laughing with a bell, neither he’d catch the fat man climbing down the fireplace because that house didn’t even have a fireplace.

Satisfied that he had spent enough time inside the bedroom, not too much and not too little, Chanoch grabbed a sweater and put it on. Then he undressed it, realizing it wasn’t cold. The warmth he’d lost after leaving the bed was minimal, so there was no point in trying to prevent from cold. In case of cold, he’d went back upstairs and put the sweater on. But even in case of cold, he would hold back. Reaching for warm protection should only be necessary in severe cases. He was inside home. And it wasn’t snowing outside, it hadn’t snowed lately, otherwise he’d hear snowplows everywhere.

He left the bedroom and knocked on his parents’ door. It was half past six. They must be awake. If they weren’t, it was time to wake up. They had to work, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start working right now. But before that, he had a few requests. He knocked twice. That should be enough. The door was made of wood, and woods were perfect to knock on. If they were made of steel, it’d be even better. But he wanted to wake Mama and Papa, not the entire neighborhood. They would probably take some time to reach the door, so he patiently waited. One, two, three, four, five—

Oh. Papa looked down at Chanoch and frowned. Morning. Fell out of bed, huh?

No. I don’t fall out of bed, Chanoch retorted. And even if I did, that wouldn’t hurt. Falling out of bed doesn’t hurt.

Chanoch watched Papa raise both eyebrows and laugh. Papa had the ability of laughing at absolutely everything, and Chanoch wasn’t marveled by it. He didn’t envy people who laughed. Seeing Chanoch’s hard face, Papa tilted his head.

Anything wrong?

Yes and no.

Not much willing to explain it to someone who would only laugh, Chanoch went straight to business. Take me to a swimming pool. Right now or after your work. But today.

Papa froze. Probably wondering if that request had something to do with yesterday’s ‘talk’. After a long pause—Chanoch was concluding that some adults were slow to understanding, at least when he asked things—, Papa opened another smile.

Sure, boss, he said.

Chanoch tried to ignore the ‘boss’ vocative because it didn’t make sense, but especially because it was not time to smile back. Papa leaned down and poked his cheek. That wasn’t something that would make him smile, either.

Is that your birthday wish, son?

Birthday?

Oh, Helen, come and see this! Papa exclaimed, shuffling Chanoch’s hair. Really. He forgot his own birthday.

He shouldn’t be so mad he had forgotten his own birthday, so he tried to replace the rage by the fact that he’d never be six-years-old again and what a good thing. It’s not my birthday wish. I don’t have any wish. Just take me to a pool.

Papa inadvertently picked him up his arms and held him. It was incredible how Papa was strong, and Chanoch envied that with every inch of his being. And if he was now seven, why he was still so small? Go figure. Maybe he should start eating kids’ food. Maybe Papa was a smart person and his son was too dumb to notice that.

Are you angry at Papa? Hm?

No.

No?

No.

You sure?

Uhum.

Mama came. Smiling. Happy birthday, dear.

Ah, yeah, I was forgetting. Happy birthday, little champion.

T-thanks.

It didn’t make sense to be an emperor, then a prince, then a boss. He was definitely little, but he wasn’t feeling like a champion. Not yet.

What were you two talking about? Mama asked Papa.

He wants to get in a pool, Papa answered, all smiles. Soon, it dropped. Seeing the look in Mama’s eyes, he rushed to explain. He said it, Helen. He, not me.

She looked at Chanoch. It was rare to see Mama confused. Interesting.

You want to get in a pool?

Chanoch watched Papa’s face. He looked excited and almost nodded encouragingly.

Yes, he responded, not sure whom to look at, anymore.

Papa broadened his smile and tightened his arms around him. Was he happy?

Mama still look confused. Oh. That’s great, son.

I’m taking him after work, Papa said. Right, buddy?

Right. Um, and Mama.

Yes, dear?

I wanna hear that song again.

That song? Mama looked weird frowning.

Yes. That song. It was hard to order Mama to do something, but he tried. Take me back there. Where the music was... Playing.

Papa and Mama shared a long glance.

For his own sake, Chanoch broke their mysterious telepathy. "Take me