by Earl, Collin
Monson just scowled at Mr. Gatt’s remark. "Honestly, the way she was yelling at me, you would have thought I just murdered her cat or something."
"That's just how she is," Artorius said, still chuckling. "You should have seen when Casey and she got into it last—"
"Ar-thur!" Casey shot out angrily. "We really don't need to talk about that."
"Oh, come on," Artorius replied, a malicious grin on his face. "It's in the past. You need to let it go, my man."
"Yeah, Casey," Monson said. "What's with the two of you? And don't try to deny it. You guys have a past. Spill it."
"Now is not the time or the place," Casey said, giving Mr. Gatt a sideways glance.
Mr. Gatt chuckled. "Please, do not let me stop you. As a matter of fact, I’m fairly curious myself. I like to know what motivates my students."
This was obviously not what Casey wanted to hear. "It's such a long, boring story." Casey looked flushed and uncomfortable.
Monson opened his mouth to encourage him, but before he could say anything, Mr. Gatt cut him off.
"Do not worry, lad. This is not something that has to be shared now. Perhaps another time."
Casey looked at him, relief starting to dull the red color that had overtaken his face. The group pressed on, picking up their pace a bit.
Mr. Gatt did not talk much as he led the three boys to their dormitory. This was perfectly fine with Monson; the quiet was not something that bothered him. Casey chatted up a storm, telling Artorius about his summer, the places he had visited, the girls he had met, and a bundle of other things, all of which sounded exaggerated. Artorius seemed content to listen as Casey dived headlong into a story about a trip to Rome. Monson stopped listening and turned his attention to Mr. Gatt.
"So, how long have you worked here, Mr. Gatt?" Monson asked politely.
To Monson's surprise, Mr. Gatt let out an ironic laugh. Monson observed, but did not comment, that it was probably a good thing Mr. Gatt had not been drinking at that moment, as something would have come flying out of his nose. Mr. Gatt certainly was a strange man. He continued laughing for a minute or so, then, wiping a tear from his eye, said, "Well, young man, that is quite the question, and I suppose it depends on what you mean."
This was not the answer Monson had expected.
"I am not sure what you mean, Mr. Gatt. I—"
Mr. Gatt interrupted him.
"My apologies. My own little joke." He cleared his throat. "I guess I was inquiring if you wanted to know how long I’ve actually been here, or how long it feels like I’ve been here."
Monson looked perplexed. "Well, I guess I mean how long you've actually been here."
"About twenty-five years, off and on," he said simply.
Now Monson was thoroughly confused. He did not understand what was so funny about working at Coren for twenty-five years. He also could not help but feel amazed. Mr. Gatt did not look that old. His hair threw you off, but up close his face boasted late thirties at the most.
Markin Gatt looked at him, a fatherly expression on his face. "Mr. Grey . . . Monson, this is a world of privilege, and with those privileges there are certain expectations and norms one must follow."
"So, why is that funny?" Monson asked timidly, not wanting to offend.
"Allow me to answer in the form of a question," Mr. Gatt said patiently. "What happens in a society that is highly restricted by rules and regulations, when someone within that society does not conform?"
"I have no idea," Monson said plainly. "That person is thrown out?"
Markin Gatt laughed again. "In a way. Their interactions are definitely constricted. However, they are not thrown out, especially in a society like this one." He stopped for a second, spun around on the balls of his feet, and pointed to the surroundings. "These people," Mr. Gatt continued, "would not physically throw anyone out; it is not en vogue."
Monson raised an eyebrow. He was not sure what Mr. Gatt was talking about. Who are these people?
"Do not worry, my friend. You’re a bright one. You’ll eventually understand what I’m talking about, but it’s a lesson that you'll need to learn early, I'm afraid: appropriate responses for the appropriate situation."
Monson could not think of anything to say in answer to that, and thought a change in subject might be warranted.
"You said that you’ve been here off and on for twenty-five years, right?"
“Yes, that is correct."
“What were you doing when you weren't teaching?"
"Adventuring."
Monson blinked, certain that he must have heard wrong.
"Adventuring?"
"Have you ever seen any of the Indiana Jones films?"
Actually, Monson had seen the first movie. It was a good flick.
He looked at Mr. Gatt suspiciously.
"I've seen one of those movies. Why do you ask?"
"Consider me a real-life Dr. Jones." He looked rather satisfied with himself. "That’s what I do when I’m not here. It is all very exciting."
"Then why are you back here?" Monson wondered, since it was pretty obvious that he found this place distasteful. The question was simple, but seemed important.
"Research," Mr. Gatt answered rather lamely.
"Research?" Monson asked. "What sort of research?"
Mr. Gatt smiled. "I'm looking for someone."
Monson smiled back. "A woman? You should try eHarmony. I hear it works wonders."
Mr. Gatt laughed as he picked up his pace, but offered no more details. Regardless, Monson felt his curiosity prickle. Mr. Gatt was indeed an interesting one.
The walk to the dorms seemed to take almost no time at all, even though Monson knew it was on the other side of Coren's sizable campus. The grounds displayed an abundance of the now-recognizable stylized architecture he first noticed in Coren’s Coliseum. The structures were enormous, beautiful, and clearly expensive; it was not difficult to understand what impression Coren's board of directors was determined to make. However, something was lost in the overall effect. To Monson, much of it seemed too planned and rigid.
After about ten or fifteen minutes of walking, Monson, Mr. Gatt, Artorius, and Casey all arrived at a massive and bulky structure with elegant decor. White brick walkways lined with lighted stone columns perfectly matched the gray sculpted stone of the building's exterior, including an indoor atrium visible from any walkway. A large hedge encircled the building, giving it a secretive feeling, as if this place was a world apart from the rest, a refuge of some sort.
Mr. Gatt, moving quickly, continued to walk until he came to a three-way fork in the walkway. Preceding the fork, ever so slightly, was a large, finely carved stone arch. He stopped directly under the arch and turned to look at the three boys.
"Welcome to The Barracks, boys," Mr. Gatt said in a formal voice, while bowing. "I will now show the Horum Vir to his prepared quarters."
Monson, Casey, and Artorius gave each other inquisitive looks, taken aback by Mr. Gatt’s formal manner. Monson recovered first.
"Mr. Gatt," he said, sounding unsure. "Why exactly are you talking like that?"
Mr. Gatt gave Monson a warm smile and put his hand on Monson's shoulder. With a little squeeze, he replied, "I am sorry about that. I guess it is a habit. There is supposed to be a kind of ceremony, called the ‘Induction.’ It is when the students and parents meet in the indoor atrium to see the Horum Vir and his 'Ascension' into his quarters." He took his hand off Monson and placed it on his own chest. "I am usually the Master of Ceremonies at the Induction. The formality is a hard habit to break."
"That's weird." Casey stepped away from the arch and moved a bit closer to both Monson and Mr. Gatt. He looked around, tracing the stone walkway with his eyes as if to see if there were people hiding in the bushes. "What the hell happened to the ceremony this year?"
“Do not swear, Cassius,” chided Mr. Gatt. “It’s a sign of a weak mind and an undisciplined tongue.”
Casey looked was taken aback. “Sorry.
”
"Monson's winning of the Horum Vir scholarship was something of a surprise," continued Mr. Gatt. "The Induction ceremony was canceled because the board was unsure whether Monson was going to claim the scholarship. The ceremony is quite elaborate, with celebrities, political figures, and businessmen from all over. It’s very much a spectacle. The Board didn't have time to organize on the timeline Mr. Grey here gave them. But do not fret; there will be a small reception this evening."
"There you are!"
It was Molly. She jogged up to the small group, looking slightly winded. "Molly!" Monson said, moving toward her to steady her. "Are you all right?”
"Hey there, love," she finally said, after catching her breath. "I'm fine. I'm just glad I didn't miss you. I was going to wait for you just outside the Coliseum, but I realized they weren't having the ceremony this year."
“What, did you think I was going to let you leave without saying goodbye?" Monson answered. "Don't be silly."
Molly smiled at his pitiful attempt at humor. "You're such a sweet boy. I’m going to miss you."
"Me too," Monson said fondly. It was true. He was going to miss her. She had been his rock for the past few months, one of the only connections to his past, and for a time, his only friend. Monson suddenly felt sad; he was going to miss this woman a great deal more than he had been willing to admit.
Molly again smiled at him, her eyes shiny. She surprised him when she gently laid her hand on his face, lightly touching his scars. She kissed him on the forehead. Monson looked at her. Molly never displayed this kind of affection.
As if this was not weird enough, Monson received another shock when he heard a slight sniff. Confused, he looked into her big, dark eyes and gasped. Tears were starting to flow liberally, making her eyes and cheeks puff. She sniffed again. He looked to Artorius and Casey. They just stared back at Monson, obviously more confused than he was.
"Molly . . . " Monson tried to keep the concern and confusion out of his voice.
"Shhhh, " she said softly. She pulled a small bag out of her pocket and gestured for Monson to take it. "Monson, honey, I have a gift for you. It's something very important to your family, so I want you to promise me that you will always wear it."
Monson took the small cloth bag and opened it. It contained a small square box, the same type that would hold an engagement ring or anniversary gift. Monson held up the box, and then said with some bravado, "Are you asking for my hand in marriage, Molly? Because I’m flattered, but I'm not sure I'm your type."
Everyone laughed, including Molly. This went on for a moment and helped to relieve some of the tension. Molly, still giggling, said, "Just open the box, smartass."
Monson did just that, and gawked as he beheld a large, silver stone set on a silver chain. Monson looked at Molly in disbelief.
"Well," Molly said, her voice becoming less emotional and more dignified, "examine it. Get to know each other."
On this enigmatic note, Monson scrutinized the stone, removing it from its box. More a gem than a mere stone, its color was a deep silver, but seemingly transparent as well. Mesmerized, Monson lifted the stone to the light of the sun and searched its depths.
Strange. The distance within the stone seemed incomprehensible and changing, like the material just below the surface was constantly shifting. He lowered his arm and smiled. This stone was one of the most mysterious and beautiful things Monson had ever seen.
"It was your grandfather's," Molly whispered. "He told me to hang on to it. I want you to take very good care of it. It's a gift from him."
"Molly, I — " Monson stammered, but Molly just put a finger to her lips.
"Well, then, let's see it on," she said with some of her former excitement. She gestured for him to return it. He gave it back to her, and turned around. After another moment, a silver chain appeared around his neck, the stone hanging in the middle. It was in that exact moment that Monson finally felt at ease for the first time in a very long while. It was strange, but something about Molly's demeanor, her formality, and even the stone itself gave him a feeling of hope. That feeling, which had been lost to him for some time, was bittersweet. Monson smiled as he looked from the stone around his neck, to his two new friends, to Mr. Gatt, and then finally to Molly. As corny as it sounded, he was glad they were all there.
There was nothing left to say. Monson smiled and then put out his hand to shake Molly's, who was looking relieved for some reason. Abandoning all pretenses, she threw her arms around him and squeezed as if her life depended on it.
"I'm so proud of you. Hardships await, but you'll rise to the task. I know you will. Be courageous and happy."
Molly released him. He, in turn, hugged her again.
"I’ll see you at Christmas."
"Of course," Molly said, pulling away and wiping her eyes. "Have a good term." With that farewell, she started toward the other side of the campus and the parking lot. After a short distance, she turned and waved energetically, beaming. It was odd, but something told Monson that he was not the only one to whom she was waving.
****
"You and your mom have a really weird relationship." Casey looked perplexed. The look on his face made Monson snicker.
"Oh!" Monson smacked his forehead. "I forgot you wouldn't know."
"I wouldn't know what?"
"Molly isn't my mother."
"OK . . . then who is she?"
"My lawyer."
Everyone except Monson burst out laughing. This continued for a while until they noticed that Monson was not joining in.
"You’re serious?" Artorius said.
"It's a really long story, and it's kind of depressing, so let's not talk about it right now."
"Fair enough," Casey said, picking up his luggage.
"OK, but I want to hear this story, so don't forget to tell us," Artorius said.
"Why are you so interested in Molly?" Monson asked, flummoxed.
"She was crying," Artorius said, something close to wonderment in his voice.
"Yeah, what does that have to do with anything?"
"My dad is a lawyer," Artorius answered, "and I wasn't aware that lawyers could cry."
They all laughed this time.
"Mr. Gatt," Casey said, moving toward him. "I believe you were going to show us where we're staying."
"That I was, Mr. Kay," he replied with a bow. "If you will please follow me."
They gathered all their stuff once more and moved through the arch and down the center pathway toward the Atrium.
"This is your entrance," Mr. Gatt explained, looking over to Monson. "It makes it a lot easier than trying to navigate the boys' or girls' dormitories.”
Mr. Gatt took the boys through large glass double doors and started up a red brick path toward the center of the Atrium. The boys followed, marveling at their surroundings, including some expertly crafted stonework.
"Wow!" Monson said as he moved through the Atrium. "That's amazing."
There were statues—a lot of them: stone depictions of heroes and heroines, gods and goddesses, all on the bottom floor of the student dorm. At the center was a large and grandiose foundation with hundreds of spouting veins of water that arced and rippled in a variety of paths. As if this wasn't enough, on top of the fountain stood the statue of a giant, probably twenty-five feet tall and weighing at least a couple of tons. The features of the statue were finely shaped, especially the eyes. Spotlights illuminated his perch, forcing the eye to this spot in the Atrium.
"Jupiter," Mr. Gatt said simply.
"Ahh," Monson said, comprehension finally hitting him. Of course. Who better than the king of the gods to watch over the students? he thought. The old myths and legends of antiquity were one of the things Monson enjoyed most about history. The gods especially were of interest to him. Monson asked himself more than once what it would be like to have almost infinite power at your fingertips and still have all the imperfections and contradictions that are so much a part of the human condition. H
e had heard the saying that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Monson wondered if that was true.
He took a step closer and examined the fine detail and the smooth marble. He really liked this statue.
"So, who is this guy supposed to be?" Casey asked, obviously bored.
"Jupiter," Artorius answered.
"How did you know that?" Casey asked, sounding slightly surprised.
"Well," Artorius said, starting to grin. "The huge thunderbolt kind of gave it away. Then, of course, there was the whole part where Mr. Gatt just said it was Jupiter."
Monson thought he heard Mr. Gatt stifle a laugh, though when he spoke his voice sounded quite level.
"Over here, please. The Horum Vir's entrance is right around the corner."
Casey and Artorius grabbed their stuff and started after Mr. Gatt. Monson, however, stood for a moment more staring at the stunning sculpture. He looked up into the blank, staring face of Jupiter, king of the gods, and shuddered.
"Absolute power . . . ." He placed a hand on his chin and stared directly into the face of statue. "So how did that work out for you, Jupiter, old boy? It’s lonely at the top, no? Well, if it makes you feel any better it ain’t that great at the bottom either."
Monson winked. Why he winked at an inanimate object he wasn’t sure. He just felt inclined to do so and obviously the statue felt the same way: It winked back at him.
Monson froze. That did not just happen.
"Monson! Hurry up or we're going to be late." Casey's voice sounded a short distance off.
Monson called after him, keeping his eyes on Jupiter, "Late? Late for what?" Nothing came in response.
Monson tore his eyes from the king of the Roman gods and hurried after the others.
***
The entrance to the Horum Vir's quarters was a small elevator found in one of the corners of the Atrium. It was a little cramped, but after a few minutes of arranging, Monson, Casey, Artorius, Mr. Gatt and all the luggage were packed in the elevator and cruising upward to the top floor of The Barracks. Cramped and uncomfortable, talking seemed like a luxury they could forgo. After a few sore moments, in which everyone wished wholeheartedly that they had split up, the elevator screeched to a halt and the doors opened. This caused everyone and everything except Mr. Gatt to tumble out of the elevator. Being the closest to the door, Monson fell first. He spilled forward, hitting the ground hard. He looked up just as Artorius and Casey lost their balance. Monson shuddered as they came stumbling out after him.
