by John Corwin
The bull sped past the other outbuildings. I turned toward the sheep pen and ran. I climbed over the fence and ran through the mud toward the opposite side. William and Stephan were gone, perhaps into the brown barn. I went to the barn door and tried to open it, but like the red barn, it was also sealed tight.
I wondered if someone was playing a prank on me, or if this might be my punishment. The Goodleighs had used the farm animals many a time to punish me and the others. I heard a loud cracking of wood and turned as the bull crashed through the fence. I cried out with fright as the beast veered toward me.
Bos Taurus. Temperamental.
"What?" I shouted. The strange thoughts couldn't have distracted me at a worse time. I jumped to the side an instant before the bull gored me. The beast rammed into the side of the brown barn hard enough to make the building shudder. Its thick, curving horns plunged through the wood.
I heard a loud pounding from inside the door of the brown barn and Brickle shouting something. There wasn't time for me to hear what it was, for the bull was already working its horns free.
The manor was too far away. The barns were locked. As a last resort, I might be able to run into the oak trees and dodge around them until the bull tired or help arrived. I turned toward the trees and saw dozens of bovine eyes looking back at me. The cows stood behind the wooden fence. They pushed forward as one. The fence cracked and fell over. The line of cows moved forward in lockstep. With an angry moo, the bull jerked its horns from the barn.
I ran straight across the pen. There was only one force mighty enough to take on the cows. I simply had to hope they didn't eat me before the bull reached me. I climbed the fence and leapt into the pigpen.
A large sow squealed and ran from me, a group of piglets trotting in her wake. A large mound of mud shuddered and rose to reveal a monstrous boar. It snorted and pawed the ground. With a loud squeal, it raced toward me on stubby legs. The bull crashed through the fence behind me. When I turned, I saw its eyes flash bright. I had never seen such a thing. I might have stood and stared, but common sense prevailed.
I ran for the boar. Footing was treacherous in the thick mud. My breath came in ragged gasps, my legs wobbled with fright. I felt certain I would die. Why should I care if I die? Nobody else in the world cares. The thought nearly made me pause. Perhaps this was the fate designed for me, crushed between a boar and a bull in a muddy pen. The others would remember me if only for the entertaining story.
Weak as I was in mind and body, my survival instinct proved strong. As the two beasts thundered my way, instinct took control of my legs and leapt me out of the way. The bull and the boar crashed hard into each other with an awful bellowing squeal. Something hit me hard on the back of the head. My face burrowed into the muck and I slid forward several feet.
Strange symbols flashed behind my closed eyelids. I remembered seeing some of them during a math lesson. Others looked completely alien. I might have wondered longer at this strange sight, but my mouth and nose were buried in the mud and I suddenly realized I couldn't breathe. I jerked my face up and spat while scraping the mud from my face. My hands were so muddy it took a little while.
I felt warm liquid mingling with the cool mud. When I finally cleared my eyes, I saw thick crimson blood pooling where I knelt. I turned. The bull and boar lay in a huge heap. Blood poured from the bull's mouth. The boar lay on its side, its mouth hanging open, tongue lolling in the mud.
Red blood? I can see color?
The sow squealed and rooted at the boar. Her piglets danced around her feet, each one trying to reach one of her many nipples. Her skin looked quite pink beneath the coarse hairs on her hide. The oak trees looked bright and full of green leaves. It was as if someone had taken a gray landscape and painted the world.
The herd of cows meandered aimlessly within the pigpen while some of the other swine dashed for freedom through the broken fence.
Suidae suinae sus. Swine. Most notable for bacon.
The strange words I'd been hearing in my head suddenly made sense. They were scientific classifications for animals.
Yes, it's a pig. They are very tasty.
We hadn't learned these classifications in school, so how did I know them? I closed my eyes and saw strings of mathematical symbols flowing like a river of nonsense. The schoolwork at the orphanage was rudimentary, nothing so advanced as this.
I heard the mud sucking at someone's feet. Before I could turn to see who it was, I was lifted by my scruff and jerked into the air. Brickle held me in front of him, face red with anger. It was so interesting seeing the color in his face, I nearly forgot I was in trouble.
The Goodleighs stood on the dirt road outside the pigpen. I could tell by the looks on their faces that the blame for this debacle rested squarely on my shoulders.
My first day back was not going well at all.
But at least I can see in color.
Chapter 3
I shivered violently as cold water slammed against me from the high-pressure fire hose. Brickle smiled malevolently as he cut off the water for a moment.
"Still not clean."
Mrs. Goodleigh shook her head. "No, he is not."
Brickle pushed the lever on the nozzle. The world vanished behind a liquid barrier as water hit me in the face.
I stood as still as I could and endured the punishment. I knew if I screamed, cried, or begged, it would do no good whatsoever. In fact, it might prolong the punishment. I tried to close my eyes and put myself in limbo, a quiet disconnected place where I'd often found refuge from the real world. The cold water made it nearly impossible. One positive I observed was that my body had nearly acclimated to the water and it no longer felt as chilling. It was also possible that my skin was simply numb.
To test the theory, I pinched the sensitive skin beneath my wrist between two fingernails. It hurt. Therefore, I have acclimated.
It occurred to me that I couldn't remember reasoning out anything like this before. I usually just accepted cause and effect, but didn't try to connect the dots. Had I suddenly grown smarter?
I imagined a simple math addition problem and achieved the answer immediately. I then calculated the square root of the answer by a random number to the fourth power. Again, the answer came easily. A smile stretched my lips. I am smart! This was unbelievable. I wondered what had caused this change in me and immediately felt the urge to conduct experiments.
The water cut off.
"He's smiling," Brickle said, lips peeled back. "I can make him not smile."
Mr. and Mrs. Goodleigh looked at me with narrowed eyes.
I almost told them about my amazing improvement, but a little voice in the back of my head warned me not to. Let them think you're stupid.
"Why are you smiling?" Mr. Goodleigh asked.
"I am happy," I said.
"Happy?" Mrs. Goodleigh's eyes flashed. "This is punishment. You killed the bull and our prized boar."
"The bull chased me." I looked toward the muddy, bloody pigpen. "Why do you think I'm responsible for its death?"
The Goodleighs looked at each other. I realized they were probably puzzled at my defiance. I rarely defended myself.
"You should not have provoked the bull," Mrs. Goodleigh said. "You made it angry so it chased you into the pen."
I wasn't sure what to do. I could defend myself, but the new smarter voice in my head told me that they had already decided I was at fault. A causal timeline developed in my head. They suspected I'd freed the bull from its pen, teased it until it chased me, and then run all the way back here to the pig pen. It should only take a rational person a matter of a few thoughts to see how preposterous their theory was.
They are not being rational. They do not care to be rational. Something bad happened. They wish to assign blame.
In other words, hard evidence would not sway them. A paradox.
This new way of thinking was very unsettling. There were so many variables to account for. Unfortunately, the Goodleighs were two abso
lutes I could count on. Memories of other punishments I'd suffered came to mind. Most were for minor infractions. There were several instances where I had not been the guilty party and yet had been punished. My new thought processes made clear that the Goodleighs had not even attempted to connect the dots of logic that might have exonerated me.
I suddenly wondered if being ignorant might be better. When I was too stupid to understand why I was being punished, I hadn't felt the void of hopelessness forming in my stomach right now.
Seeing no other recourse, I spoke. "I'm sorry, Mother and Father."
The alarmed looks the Goodleighs had cast at me melted back to normalcy. I was now acting within normal parameters.
"More water?" Brickle asked.
Mrs. Goodleigh shook her head. "No, he is clean enough. Now he must butcher the poor animals."
Brickle rubbed his hands together. "We're going to have fun."
The bull and boar were quite old. Their meat would be tough and stringy. Then again, Oadby, the cook, rarely served the orphans meat. Nearly everything was mushed into unidentifiable casseroles. On second thought, we might actually eat more meat than I realized—it was simply impossible to distinguish it from the other ingredients.
I followed Brickle back to the dead animals. He sent me to fetch a heavy-duty wagon. When I returned with it, he hefted the bull onto it with little difficulty. I knew the man was strong, but my newly heightened senses informed me he was stronger than most men.
When Brickle and I finished the butchery, it was already past suppertime. Blood covered me from head to foot, so the brute made me stand while he sprayed me with the water hose again. Brickle had somehow remained mostly clean during the gruesome process. Proving he was a jack-of-all-trades, the man had carved both beasts into neat steaks using a set of stainless knives he'd pulled from his locker. He'd effortlessly hacked through bone and tendon and then made me package the meat in wax paper.
After I was thoroughly doused, Brickle smiled. "Go inside."
I complied without a word. I removed my boots at the back doorstep and put them next to the other work boots. I squeezed excess moisture from my shirt and pants so I wouldn't drip. That would simply add to the list of infractions I already had to answer for. I hoped my penance for the bull and boar was done, but Mrs. Goodleigh probably had something in store to punish me for damaging the floor in my room.
After changing into clean clothes and putting my dirty ones in the hamper at the end of the hallway, I went downstairs to the empty dining hall. The clock showed it was an hour past suppertime.
"You're late," Mrs. Goodleigh said from behind me.
I turned and bit back an acerbic retort. Instead, I adopted the guise of my old self. "I'm sorry."
"Those who are late to meals must go without eating." She pressed her palms together and pointed her hands at me as if sublime wisdom could be transmitted directly to my mind.
"I understand." I walked toward the hallway.
"I did not excuse you, Conrad."
I stopped at her cold tone, turned, and faced her.
Mrs. Goodleigh stared at me for a moment. "You have obviously forgotten your manners while away and become wild and unruly. First, you disobeyed me when I told you to get into work clothes by instead preparing your bed and damaging the floor. Next, you ignored your task, choosing instead to tease the bull. I can assure you that you will repair every bit of damage you caused." A small smirk curved her lips. "Every time you return to us, you must relearn something. This time it appears you have forgotten everything."
My mind swarmed with cold contempt. There were so many things I wanted to say to this woman, but I didn't dare. I was no longer stupid. I didn't know how my intelligence compared to other people. I might simply be average, which was definitely above what I'd been before. Even if I were a genius, I was still a weakling. I would be hard pressed to physically overcome Mrs. Goodleigh or anyone but the weakest among us.
"I'm sorry, Mother." The words caught in my throat, but I forced them out.
"Apologies are not enough." She released a long sigh. "After your visit with the doctor tomorrow, Father and I will discuss how to handle your reeducation."
I nodded.
Mrs. Goodleigh held my gaze for a long moment. "Now you may go to your room, Conrad."
"Thank you, Mother." I left and went upstairs. Once there, I closed the door and put the sheets on my bed. I changed into pajamas and laid in bed, listening to my stomach rumble and complain. It was an uncomfortable but familiar feeling. The Cullens had given me cereal, oatmeal, or bread pudding for nearly every meal they remembered to feed me. Oftentimes they'd taken me to the pub with them, though I'd waited in the car until the wee hours of the morning.
Cora had been the only one to feed me well. Whatever food we stole, she shared with me.
"Why are you nice to me?" I ask Cora.
She kneels in front of me, eyes troubled. "Have people been mean to you Conrad?"
I don't want to answer the question but nod. "Sometimes."
"Always treat people with respect until they show you they deserve otherwise." She kisses my forehead. "Would you like a cookie?"
"Where's the government paycheck?" Cora's husband, Bill, staggers into the kitchen. His face is red, and his eyelids droop.
"It hasn't come yet, sweetheart." Cora motions me to go to my room.
"You spent all the money!" He slams an empty brown bottle onto the counter.
I know what Bill is like when he acts this way, and quickly leave the kitchen before the yelling and hitting begins.
I jerked awake, stomach growling.
I wish I had a cookie.
I remembered the remains of the angel biscuit from yesterday. I had been stupid, but at least my feeble mind had known how to survive. I ate the last half of the pastry. Instead of partially satisfying me, it only made me hungrier.
Oadby kept the kitchen stocked with food for the adults. The garbage he cooked for the orphans was barely fit for consumption. I'd seen the bountiful harvest in the pantry while helping Brickle install new shelves. My stomach rumbled.
Find food!
I'd suffered near-starvation many times before. I would endure this maltreatment no more.
I cracked open the door and peered up and down the hallway. The other children were behind their own closed doors. Aside from the occasional creaking of wood as the house settled, I heard nothing else. I closed my eyes and imagined the layout of the manor. The stairs were a hundred footsteps to the right and twenty-four steps to the common room on the first floor.
Taking a right from there and walking another hundred and thirty steps would take me to the dining hall. The kitchen was behind the serving counter. This time of night, the door would be locked. Oadby and the Goodleighs each possessed a key. I tried using my new powers of reason to solve the dilemma of finding the key. Unfortunately, I lacked the data necessary to reach a conclusion.
When I closed my eyes, I marveled at how easy it was to imagine the dimensions of the manor. Despite my inability to reason before the incident this afternoon, my brain had retained all the details like a sponge. For example, I'd noted a faulty lock on a window in the back of the kitchen while cleaning them. The window offered a way to bypass the minimal security. Using that route added other variables I'd have to account for. Tracking mud inside would be the primary issue. Opening the window silently would be another—that particular window had squeaked when I'd once opened it at Oadby's request. A third, but no less important variable, were Brickle's hounds. Each night they patrolled the area around the manor.
The initial idea to sate my appetite by stealing food was more complicated than I'd realized. In other words, I would need longer than the space of a night to prepare for a culinary infiltration. I felt a smile crease my face. This was fun. I enjoyed thinking about things even if I couldn't solve the problem right away.
I rubbed the bump on the back of my head where something had hit me during the collision of the
boar and bull. I hoped whatever had rewired my brain was permanent. I never wanted to return to the gray specter of a person I'd been before. I closed the door, turned out the light, and eased into bed.
My mind raced through scenarios for overcoming the challenges to reaching Oadby's hidden fridge. It helped me keep my mind off tomorrow—my least favorite day of the year.
My birthday.
Chapter 4
I started my morning chores at five AM. Mrs. Goodleigh had reassigned the chores from several other children and given them to me, no doubt a punishment for yesterday.
Gathering eggs was first on the list. Dread built in my stomach as I thought of fighting off the rooster. I might be smarter, but I was no more physically adept than the day before. I saw the brightly feathered bird strutting around in front of the coop as I drew closer and stopped to enjoy how pretty it looked, despite its savagery. Scenarios ran through my mind. Other children, myself included, had hit the rooster with rocks or buckets to keep him away.
That approach hadn't worked. If anything, it had made him meaner.
Roosters were essentially the fowl equivalent of a boar and a bull. They wanted to be dominant. How could I make myself dominant over the rooster? The only person the rooster never attacked was Brickle. I'd only seen the rooster fly at him once. Even then, Brickle hadn't backed off. He'd shielded himself and then picked up the rooster immediately after.
In fact, that was how Brickle handled any bullies, by subduing them. I'd rarely had any issues with the bigger or stronger boys bullying me, but that was because Brickle didn't allow anyone to be a bully except himself. He didn't hit anyone, but he would hold them down or humiliate them somehow.
Approach the rooster with confidence.
As I closed in on the coop, the rooster began to cluck in a warning tone. It faced me and strutted toward me. I saw the sharp spurs jutting from the backs of its legs. It had hit me with them on more than one occasion and the experience had not been pleasant.
