Nobody
ever called him "Slow John" to his face, but that's what the townsfolk called
him every other time. He was, after all, just a boy, and it hurts to be
labeled. Cara was sure he knew about the nickname, though, and,
further, that he wasn't nearly as slow as he seemed. He was, as her
friend Rachel whispered, mysterious.
It was during the yearly school session all town children attended, before the long days when there was too much work to be done, that John appeared. Cara heard later, from her grandfather, how John had been apprehended by Harold, the Watcher on duty that day, peering into windows in town and sniffing around kitchens. After exhausting his patience with the uncommunicative boy, Harold brought him to Old Fell Inn.
"He was here?" squeaked Cara, looking around as if expecting to see a boy hiding in the corner.
Cara's grandmother and grandfather, Old Fell himself, laughed, "No, Cara, but we did feed him."
Grandma Neen clucked her tongue, "The boy wouldn't answer any questions, and they still don't know how long he's been out on his own or where he could be from."
"But the little bugger did eat, didn't he!"
Cara couldn't imagine a boy who didn't have a home. When her own parents had died, her grandparents immediately took her in and raised her. An idea came to her, "Was he a runaway?"
Grandpa Fell shook his head, "Not unless he'd run away as a baby. That boy is more animal now."
"How does that happen, Grandpa?"
Her grandfather began to answer, but Grandma Neen hushed him, "She doesn't need to hear about all the pain in the world, Grandfather. Cara," she chided, "finish all your dinner. There are starving boys out there who would love to have all this."
For the remainder of the meal, all Cara could think of what how the steaming stew and brown bread her grandmother baked would taste to someone starving. She pictured herself alone in the world, wandering the woods, the clothes on her back wearing down thinner and thinner as her body wore down the same. How did the boy sleep at night? How did he keep warm? Cara, being only seven, was not allowed to light a fire. Though, as her grandfather reminded her, she was old enough to help with the dishes.
The next morning in the schoolhouse, the animal boy was the main topic of conversation. Rachel, friend of Cara and daughter of the the man who found the boy, Harold of the Watch, was the center of attention, as she so enjoyed.
"We're calling him John," Rachel lectured as the other children tried to make a nickname stick. "And," she added with a pause, "he's going to come to school." The buzz became speculation as to when he would arrive and what he would do if he had never been to school before and if he only grunted and if he had learned to use a proper bathroom. Cara saw Rachel frown when Miss Helen called them all to sit for their first lesson, math. Rachel didn't like to be interrupted.
The answers to the children's questions came sooner than they expected, and not from Rachel but from the new boy himself, when Rachel's father brought him to the schoolhouse after lunch.
Miss Helen always had the children sit quietly after lunch for ten minutes. She said it was "for digestion", but Cara knew her teacher liked a bit of calm after the rowdy twenty minutes they had to eat. It was in this quiet time that Harold of the Watch knocked on the open doorjamb, holding John by the shoulder.
Cara saw Miss Helen's face before she knew who was at the door, and she watched surprise at a visitor turn to muffled shock and some other emotion she couldn't quite place. As was the way of the class, they turned nearly as one to see who was there. Their eyes rounded at the sight, and Martin, Bri, and quite a few of the others inhaled sharply. John was a walking skeleton.
"He was here?" squeaked Cara, looking around as if expecting to see a boy hiding in the corner.
Cara's grandmother and grandfather, Old Fell himself, laughed, "No, Cara, but we did feed him."
Grandma Neen clucked her tongue, "The boy wouldn't answer any questions, and they still don't know how long he's been out on his own or where he could be from."
"But the little bugger did eat, didn't he!"
Cara couldn't imagine a boy who didn't have a home. When her own parents had died, her grandparents immediately took her in and raised her. An idea came to her, "Was he a runaway?"
Grandpa Fell shook his head, "Not unless he'd run away as a baby. That boy is more animal now."
"How does that happen, Grandpa?"
Her grandfather began to answer, but Grandma Neen hushed him, "She doesn't need to hear about all the pain in the world, Grandfather. Cara," she chided, "finish all your dinner. There are starving boys out there who would love to have all this."
For the remainder of the meal, all Cara could think of what how the steaming stew and brown bread her grandmother baked would taste to someone starving. She pictured herself alone in the world, wandering the woods, the clothes on her back wearing down thinner and thinner as her body wore down the same. How did the boy sleep at night? How did he keep warm? Cara, being only seven, was not allowed to light a fire. Though, as her grandfather reminded her, she was old enough to help with the dishes.
The next morning in the schoolhouse, the animal boy was the main topic of conversation. Rachel, friend of Cara and daughter of the the man who found the boy, Harold of the Watch, was the center of attention, as she so enjoyed.
"We're calling him John," Rachel lectured as the other children tried to make a nickname stick. "And," she added with a pause, "he's going to come to school." The buzz became speculation as to when he would arrive and what he would do if he had never been to school before and if he only grunted and if he had learned to use a proper bathroom. Cara saw Rachel frown when Miss Helen called them all to sit for their first lesson, math. Rachel didn't like to be interrupted.
The answers to the children's questions came sooner than they expected, and not from Rachel but from the new boy himself, when Rachel's father brought him to the schoolhouse after lunch.
Miss Helen always had the children sit quietly after lunch for ten minutes. She said it was "for digestion", but Cara knew her teacher liked a bit of calm after the rowdy twenty minutes they had to eat. It was in this quiet time that Harold of the Watch knocked on the open doorjamb, holding John by the shoulder.
Cara saw Miss Helen's face before she knew who was at the door, and she watched surprise at a visitor turn to muffled shock and some other emotion she couldn't quite place. As was the way of the class, they turned nearly as one to see who was there. Their eyes rounded at the sight, and Martin, Bri, and quite a few of the others inhaled sharply. John was a walking skeleton.
