by Arthur Slade
Then it hit him. He was now the last Starker alive on Planet Earth. The weight of this responsibility hung heavily around his neck. At the same time he felt a certain relief. He had survived her. He could check that off on his list of accomplishments, at least.
He reached out and scratched Joséphine’s back, then picked her up and held her close. She gave a pleasant oink.
A knock on the door startled him out of his reverie. Through the door Jacob said, “It’s me, Newton.”
“Come in.”
Jacob walked in and sat on the trunk. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” Newton said. “Very tired.”
“I’m not surprised.” There was an awkward pause. “I don’t know what to say, Newton. I’m sorry about your grandmother.”
He replied with a shrug. “She was my great-grandmother. And it was inevitable.”
“Does it have to be? There must be a way to avoid the lightning.”
Newton raised his eyebrow. “I don’t see one.”
Joséphine oinked several times, seeming to admonish him. She’s right. I’m a depressing bore.
Newton looked Jacob in the eyes. “But I guess I just have to keep trying to find an answer.”
“That’s the spirit,” Jacob said.
Another knock on the door. “Newton? It’s Mr. Dumont.”
Newton shuffled Joséphine, grunting out complaints, under the bed. “Please come in.”
Headmaster Dumont opened the door and squeezed through the frame. Newton didn’t realize how small his room really was until Dumont was in it. His swinging elbows threatened to knock out the windows.
“Oh, hello, Jacob. It’s good of you to spend some time with Newton, especially under the circumstances.” He looked at Newton. “Again, I am sorry about your great-grandmother’s death. Though this is the way of life, it’s still hard any time we lose a loved one.”
“Thank you, sir,” Newton said.
“I understand that your father will arrive in the next few hours. I wanted to say you’re officially relieved of your kitchen duties, and you have permission to miss classes while you and your father prepare for the funeral. Instructors will give you makeup classes and tests, so you won’t fall behind.”
“That is very kind of you, Mr. Dumont.”
“It is our policy. The mourning period is important, when we’re not in the field. If you were in a survival situation, there wouldn’t be time to mourn, but in civilized society we must make the time. The passing of a life is a grave matter.”
Newton wondered if he was trying to be funny, but if Mr. Dumont had noticed the pun, he wasn’t showing it.
“I assume,” Mr. Dumont continued, “that the manner of your relative’s death may be especially upsetting to you. It’s only natural. I do promise that we will do our best to protect you from meeting the same end.”
“I appreciate that, sir.”
“Finally, it is less than two weeks until the expedition. I have discussed this with my colleagues, and we’ll allow you to miss it if you are feeling unprepared, mentally speaking.”
“Miss the expedition?” Newton said.
“Yes.”
“Sir, I—I want to participate!”
“Being alone in the forest isn’t just about survival. It’s about facing yourself and your demons.”
“But, sir—”
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Mr. Dumont went on. “I do worry, in all honesty, that we’ll never be able to teach you enough about lightning. Mother Nature has more mysteries up her sleeve than we’ll ever understand. We can only let her flow through us.” He laughed. “I sound alarmingly New Agey. Is there anything else you need?”
“I am doing well, sir. Well enough, thank you.”
“Take care of yourself, Newton.” His voice actually sounded gentle, for a change. He turned to go, and at that moment Joséphine chose to let out an oink as clear as a bell.
Mr. Dumont spun around. “What was that?”
Both Newton and Jacob covered their mouths and said, simultaneously, “Excuse me, sir.”
He stared at them. Several emotions flickered across his face, then he shrugged and lumbered out of the room.
It wasn’t until after they heard him going down the stairs that Jacob and Newton began to laugh.
You Are Cordially Invited to the Funeral of Enid Evelyn Starker
* * *
The burial was four days later, attended by Newton, his father, Jacob and the manager of the funeral home. “Any final words?” the funeral director asked at the end of the short service.
“Farewell, Enid,” Newton’s father said to the casket. “You were one of a kind.”
“Goodbye, Great-grandmother,” Newton added. “I hope you’re in a happier place. And thank you.”
The director pressed a button, and the casket was lowered into the ground. As they turned to leave, Newton spotted a photographer crouched behind a tree, snapping pictures.
“Just let it go, Newton,” his father said, putting his arm around Newton’s shoulders. He pulled him close.
Let it go? Several revenge scenarios went through Newton’s mind, including giving the photographer the finger. He settled on thumbing his nose at the guy and then at the sky itself.
Proposing a Change in Venue
* * *
The day after the funeral, Newton hung out with his dad, touring around Moose Jaw. His father had been staying at the spa while arranging the funeral and looking after Great-grandmother’s estate. She had left all of her money to the Welakwa seniors’ home, for a new lawn bowling green. The only stipulation was that they had to build a statue of her.
They had dinner at the spa restaurant. Newton chose veal Portofino, since nearly every other dish included bacon, ham or pork. He wouldn’t be able to face Joséphine if he ate one of her cousins. The tiger prawns were surprisingly delicious, even though Moose Jaw was so far from the sea. The veal was passable. If only the chef had used some truffles.
“Are you happy here?” his dad asked during dessert.
“I don’t mind Moose Jaw. It’s bigger than Snohomish. But I wouldn’t want to live here forever.”
“I mean, at the academy. Now that you’ve been here for a couple of weeks, do you think it’ll be what you hoped for?”
“Yes,” Newton said, “I think so. And I’ve made a few friends. Well, Jacob, anyway.” Jacob was looking after Joséphine for the day; only a friend would take care of your pig. “I like the headmaster. And the teachers.”
“That’s good news. Your mom was always a bit touchy about you having friends, but I think that’s great news. Still, I had a lot of time to think on the way here, and I have a proposal.”
“Which is?”
“I think perhaps you should be homeschooled.”
“Homeschooled? By whom?”
“Well, me, of course.”
“But I just got here!”
“Yes, I know, but . . .” His father scratched the back of his head. For the first time Newton noticed the few gray hairs at his temple. “We hired a new salesman last month, and two more engineers. I should be able to reduce my workload to afternoons and some evenings. I could teach you in the morning. The rest could be done by correspondence.”
“Correspondence?”
“Your mother and I spoke about this several times. She insisted you needed a normal education, but now I wonder about the wisdom of that. I especially don’t like the idea of you going on this expedition you’ve been telling me about.”
Newton sighed heavily. He did miss his dad. And his comfortable bed in the lightning-proof, thunderstorm-proof, tornado-proof dome. And he, too, worried about his safety on these expeditions. Could Dumont and the other instructors protect him out in the natural world?
“I don’t want to lose you, son. I worry about you being this far away. And this incident with your great-grandmother—it . . . it could have been you, Newton. I couldn’t stand being without you and your mother, too
.”
His father’s hands trembled as he reached for his coffee cup. Newton had never considered how hard his going away must have been for his dad. If Mom had stayed inside the dome, she’d be alive today.
“I—I don’t know. I really don’t. I’ll think hard about it, Dad. I’ll need a few days, if that’s okay.”
His father nodded. “I’ll respect your choice, Newt. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I just want you to know the offer is there.”
Newton patted his father’s hand, noticing, happily, that there was no shock. “You’re the best, Dad. You really are.”
A Bad-Hair Day
* * *
Newton was having problems with his hair. He stared into the hand mirror. He’d used several gobs of gel, and now his hair looked like a helmet. Joséphine watched from her pillow near the radiator, oinking as though offering advice.
“What? Were you a hairdresser in another life?”
Oink. Oink.
“Is that yes or no?”
Oink. Oink.
Even as Newton smiled, a storm cloud of dejection was settling over him. His father had gone home the day before, and Newton pictured him sitting alone at the kitchen table in their dome. If Newton were there, he’d cook his dad a great meal. That would be fun.
It was Saturday, the day he would’ve normally visited his great-grandmother. She had been dead for a week. He recalled her gleeful face as she spoke about spite and survival. She had lived so long, it was true, but in such a state of anger. Or had what he’d witnessed really been a state of madness?
“What do you think, Joséphine?” Newton asked. “Did Great-grandmother’s spite help her?”
Joséphine lifted her head, concern on her brow, and oinked emphatically twice.
“Sure wish I could read your mind,” Newton said. “Seems to me it’d be a hard thing to live with so much anger and seething inside.”
Newton turned his thoughts to school, resolving to work harder and set his goals a little lower. For example, he would aim to be in the Hall of Heroes by the end of the year, not to try to have the highest marks the whole semester. His truffle recipe had moved him ahead of Violet on the marks front, but he’d only begun attending classes again on Friday, after missing four days. She’d be ahead of him this coming week.
He thought again about his dad’s offer: Newton could go home anytime. All Newton had to do was phone, and Dad would book the ticket. It’d be great to spend more time with his father, who always worked so hard. “I mean it, son,” he’d said. “It’d be fun to learn together.”
The truth was, Newton did feel more nervous now whenever he went outside. He found himself checking the weather every few minutes. This only contributed to his general malaise.
What would make him feel better was to get away for a while and enjoy dinner out. He scooped up Joséphine, hid her in his backpack, tightened his kilt and walked downtown. He passed some of the houses and buildings his dad had pointed out as wonderful examples of fine architecture, older buildings built with dreams of some great destiny for the city.
He entered Nit’s, a Thai restaurant, Newton’s oasis from the Jerry Potts mess. He set down his backpack and unzipped it. Joséphine poked out her snout.
“I’ve always got you,” he said, patting her.
He drank a Dr Pepper and devoured eight pieces of Guy Satay, an appetizer of sliced chicken marinated in spiced coconut and broiled on a stick. It was served with peanut sauce and cucumber salad, a combination that made it taste a little like candy. Perfect.
Newton’s entrée, tum yum goung, arrived: shrimp in a sour consommé. He could taste chili, lemongrass and lime. To die for.
The meal put his mind at ease for a while. Life didn’t seem so bad after all, lightning aside. He had a great school, a great dad, a new friend and a special pig. And he was alive. He could overcome his problems.
A rustle alerted him to danger, but before he could react, he felt a sudden pain in his side and someone shoving him along the bench of the booth, smashing Joséphine against the wall. She let out a grunt. Newton scrambled to push her back into his bag, then turned to face his assailant.
Sitting next to him was Violet, her nose only a few inches from his forehead.
“Hey, Newton. Dining for one, I see.” Her breath smelled like egg rolls.
There was something poking into his rib cage, and he hoped it was her fingernail, not her sgian dubh.
“Vi-o-let.” He wanted to sound sinister, but the effect was more like a tire deflating. It made her laugh.
“I came to talk, Starker.”
“Talk? Ruin my dinner, maybe.”
“I was sitting at the back and saw you come in. It seemed the perfect opportunity to call a truce.”
“A truce?”
“Yes.” She pulled her hand from his side, and Newton thought he saw the flicker of something metal. Perhaps her watch. Perhaps not. She couldn’t be trusted. “We could work as partners. Study together. Imagine how well we would do as a team. We’d both be in the Hall of Heroes.”
Newton smiled coldly. If Violet wanted a truce, then that was proof she was in a weakened state. Or she was lying and setting him up for a fall. Either way, now was his time to strike.
He turned to look her directly in the eye and deliver something witty. Her eyes met his, unwavering. Her breath smelled minty now. He suddenly wanted to grab her and kiss her, and the thought made his head spin and his gut do a somersault. What’s wrong with me? This is insane. Get ahold of yourself, Newton.
“Never,” he said, triumphantly, even as he was beginning to hyperventilate. “Never. Not in a billion years.”
Tears seemed to be forming on the edges of her eyes. What was she playing at?
“Why do you do it?” Newton demanded.
“Do what?”
“Get on my nerves? Bug me. Annoy me. Why don’t you get a life!” Her answer was to grab a chopstick and drive it straight at his chest. Newton blocked the blow and grabbed another chopstick with his other hand.
“You snot,” she hissed. “You stuck-up snot! No wonder no one likes you.”
“Ha! Call me a snot, will you,” he said, parrying two other attempts she made to poke him. “Well, snot I may be, but I’ve been fencing since I was five. Ha!”
She feinted at his eyes, but he deflected the blow. “Ho!” he said, then Violet jammed her thumb into his solar plexus. He couldn’t breathe, and dropped his chopstick.
“You started it,” she spat.
“Me?”
“You spilled your porridge on me. On purpose!”
“But you—you made my kilt drop in front of everyone.”
She blinked, looking absolutely confused. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I didn’t! I laughed my head off, but I didn’t throw the rock. It was Mr. MacBain.”
Newton thought back on the moment: on the tap of the rock—a large pebble, really—hitting his belt; on how he turned as his kilt fell; on then seeing Violet laughing, Mr. MacBain feigning innocence.
A lesson. That’s what it had been. So that Newton would never buckle his kilt improperly again.
“You didn’t do it?” Newton said.
“No.”
Just then Joséphine oinked, and Violet’s eyes widened. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” Newton looked around. Oink. Oink! Oink! Joséphine was poking his leg with her snout. “Oh, that.” Newton moved his arm, and a pink snout protruded from his backpack. “It’s Joséphine,” Newton huffed. “My pig.”
Joséphine oinked, looked at both of them for a few moments, then daintily walked over Newton, onto Violet’s lap. “Is she clean?”
“Of course.”
Joséphine grunted and rubbed her head against Violet’s stomach. “She’s so cute. And she smells like perfume.”
“Okay, Joséphine,” Newton said, “get back here.”
Violet scratched the top of Joséphine’s head,
and the pig seemed to purr.
“Joséphine!” Newton hissed. She shook her head as though she had fleas, then leaped across Newton’s lap and wiggled into the backpack with a loud, derisive oink.
“You can go now,” Newton said to Violet.
“I’m waiting for you to apologize to me.”
“I never apologize,” he lied. She slid out of the booth, put her hands on the table and leaned over toward him. “You will apologize, one way or another,” she snarled. And with that, she strode out the front door.
Newton chuckled feebly, put his head down on the table and counted as he banged it ten times.
In the Bowels of Moose Jaw
* * *
By the time Newton was ready to leave Nit’s, it was pouring rain. It pounded down and bounced off the parked cars on Main Street. He stood, backpack on, nose pressed against the window, cursing Environment Canada. This storm was not foretold on the Web site. My weather sense has failed me, Newton thought.
Rule number 14 shot through his mind: “During a thunderstorm, stay away from conductive materials.” His memory flashed to his childhood, when he watched the world from inside their dome like some lab rat trapped in a glass cage. His whole life had been like this—staring out windows, checking the weather. And it had been like this for every Starker who had ever walked the earth.
It occurred to him that he’d been gripping the metal door fiercely. He shoved the door open and stepped out into the rain. A clap of thunder shook the city. You don’t frighten me. You don’t! I’ll walk all the way back to Jerry Potts Academy. Just watch me!
A muffled oink floated out of his backpack, but he ignored it. He swaggered down the street, snorting at another thunderous growl as it ripped through the sky. Zeus was banging his drums like a madman. Then followed a flash so bright it bleached all the color from the buildings on Main Street and momentarily blinded Newton. He bumped into something hard, blinked, felt one of the old-fashioned streetlamps that decorated the street. Being, of course, much taller than Newton, it would be an easy mark for a bolt of lightning. He gasped and yanked his hand away. Now he was soaking wet, right to his skin. I’m the perfect conductor of electricity.
