Embracing Darkness

by Christopher D. Roe

  “Who are you callin’ a rat?” Zachary said, with anger etched in his face.

  Arthur Nichols was speechless. He didn’t mean anything offensive by his choice of words. It was simply a coincidence that he had chosen a word that could make for a good joke as well as offend a boy who, as close as any human could, resembled a giant rodent.

  “Why did you say ‘rat’?” pursued Zachary. “My mamma and daddy always called me a rat when they were talking about me. They’d say, ‘Where’s the rat got to?’ and ‘See if the rat wants dinner’ or ‘Tell the rat to clean his room.’ Why should you be any different?”

  “That’s not what I meant at all, Zachary. I want you to know that I would never say anything to hurt anyone, especially a little boy. I would venture to say that most people are like that.”

  Zachary reacted slightly to Arthur Nichols’ use of the phrase “little boy.” He replied, “I only know what my mamma and daddy said. And daddy always claimed that I was rodent-like.” He then continued walking, rather fast now and seemingly not out of breath.

  They reached the top of the hill two minutes later. Zachary had beaten them up there by just short of half a minute. With his back still to them, Zachary ogled at what he could see of the great maple just beyond the rectory. Only a small portion of the branches was visible from where he was standing. He also perceived that it was the only tree on the hill and appeared to be immense. Although he had lived in Holly his whole life, Zachary, who never went out much, had never before seen Holly Hill or its solitary maple.

  Instead of walking up to the rectory, Zachary turned right and walked around the building. Father Poole passed Jessica over to Arthur Nichols and asked him to bring her inside to Sister Ignatius.

  “She’ll be all too happy to take the babe from you,” said the priest. “She’ll also have a variety of questions, I’m sure, such as why I came back with Jessica and who that boy is out back. Tell her I’ll be in presently to explain.”

  After the two men parted, Father Poole traced Zachary’s steps in the dead, flattened grass. When he cleared the side of the rectory, he watched Zachary approach the trunk of the great maple. Zachary was looking up at the vast branches, noticing how the limbs twisted and curved around one another, and he began to feel intimidated by the thought of trying to climb such a monster. He began kicking at the trunk and knocked off large pieces of bark.

  “That tree is an old and dear friend of mine,” Father Poole said kindly. “I’ll ask you to treat her with respect.”

  The boy stopped kicking and stomping. Still keeping his head down, he walked around to the tree’s other side from the left. Father Poole put his hands in his pockets, lowered his head too, and walked around the tree from the right.

  “Nothing makes any sense right now, I’ll bet.”

  The boy said nothing.

  The priest’s nostrils whistled slightly as he inhaled the cold air. He glanced up into the tree as Zachary had done moments earlier, but not with the trepidation that the boy had felt.

  “Notice anything interesting about the tree, Zachary?” Father Poole asked.

  Zachary kept his head down, his eyes still fixed on his feet.

  “Look up at her, Zachary.”

  He didn’t but instead started kicking the trunk again.

  The priest sighed. “Alright, boy. At least listen.”

  With these last words Zachary studied the wide expanse of dead grass, which by now was dry and brittle. He even ceased the assault of his foot on the tree.

  “You hear it?” asked Father Poole.

  There was a faint sound of chirping high up in the tree.

  “Look up into that great old tree, Zachary.” said Father Poole.

  He did.

  “You hear the chirping of a baby red tip hawk. Its nest is perched high in the tree. You can see it clearly. The mother hawk is gone now. She’ll leave him with enough nourishment to fend for himself. He’s still a fledgling, but in time he’ll be strong enough to fly and catch his own food, yet he still cries for her.”

  “I know you’re crying inside for your mother,” Father Poole continued. “I know she left you, and I bet you feel a bit like that fledgling up there. But he’ll survive, and you’ll survive, won’t you? ’Cause you’ve got a friend now who will protect you.”

  Zachary immediately gave his back to the priest.

  “I meant what I said back at your house, boy. I don’t want you to feel as though you’re alone.”

  “Why do I feel that way then?” Zachary asked.

  Phineas could see the tears well up in Zachary’s eyes. He quickly brought the boy to his chest and hugged him tightly. Zachary reciprocated. Phineas then took his right hand and stroked the boy’s head, letting his thick locks of reddish brown hair run through his fingers. Zachary withdrew, pushing Father Poole away with the heels of his hands. He wiped his eyes and sucked the snot that had collected in his nose back into his throat and swallowed it.

  Father Poole beamed at the boy, feeling as though he had broken through the hardness that comes from years of neglect and resentment. “I’m going to get you settled inside,” he said. “We’ll put you in your own room with your own bed. And you can come and go as you like. Mrs. Keats will prepare all your meals for you, and you will stay here until… .”

  Father Poole realized he couldn’t finish that sentence. The boy was not his to take from his father. He asked himself whether this was not kidnapping. He believed in his heart that he was doing the right thing. After all, Mr. Black was abusive, and Mrs. Black had abandoned the both of them. The priest remembered his vow to help all those in need. He couldn’t turn his back on this lost soul, especially since the boy now presumably trusted him.

  To the devil with Mr. Black, thought Phineas. He then said to Zachary, “You will stay here until you are old enough to live on your own. I’ll see to that. You needn’t worry, son.”

  Zachary showed no further emotion, even when Father Poole called him “son.” He smiled back at Father Poole as the latter returned to the rectory. When he was midway between the maple and the rectory, Father Poole shouted, “YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE IT HERE, ZACHARY! I CAN TELL!” In his newfound joy the priest broke into a slow run, almost skipping, until he reached the rectory’s back stairs.

  The conviction that he had made a difference in this child’s life was more fulfillment than Father Poole had ever expected to feel as a priest. So this is what doing good for others feels like, he thought.

  As the back door of the rectory slammed shut, Zachary’s smile slowly turned into a malevolent grimace. “No Father,” he said to himself. “I won’t worry, not at all.” He then wiped the tears from his eyes, which had been occasioned by the cold wind blowing in his face and the pain from his broken nose. He narrowed his eyes again at the fledgling hawk’s nest. He bent down and pulled the slingshot from his bag.

  “No, Father!” Sister Ignatius exclaimed when he told her that they were taking Zachary Black in as an unofficial ward of the church. “You are not authorized to do this, and I will not allow that ruffian to reside within these walls!”

  “Mr. Nichols,” began Father Poole. “Would you kindly excuse Sister and me? It seems we have some important matters to discuss so that Zachary may have a smooth transition into this establishment.”

  Sister Ignatius vocalized under her breath while the priest continued, “Would you please put Jessica down for her midday nap? Her bedroom is across the way in the old Benson house. Straight up the stairs, first door at the top.”

  Arthur Nichols felt uneasy about being there. Sister Ignatius had her arms crossed and was staring at both of them with stern eyes. “I-I’ll just…,” Arthur Nichols stammered, not knowing exactly what he should say for fear that Sister Ignatius would object to allowing him, a perfect stranger, to carry Jessica over to the Benson house and put he
r down for her nap. “I’ll just take her there,” he replied, “and sit with her while she naps. How’s that?”

  Neither the priest nor the nun answered. Nichols walked between the two of them and out the front door.

  “Uh, Mr. Nichols,” Father Poole called. “Would you mind checking up on Zachary on the way? He’s out by the maple.”

  Nichols felt a chill run down his spine as he closed the door behind him.

  Sister Ignatius spoke immediately. “YOU COULDN’T POSSIBLY!” she burst out at the top of her lungs, loud enough even for Arthur Nichols to hear as he walked down the rectory’s front steps.

  “Sister,” replied Father Poole calmly, “what were you trying to convince me of this morning? Trying to keep a baby who does not belong to us instead of doing the more sensible thing and send her to the orphanage?”

  “And you told me, Father,” she spit back, “that we didn’t have the right to keep her, that we had to do the right thing and send her away. You stood right where you’re standing now and told me that we had no more right to keep her than any other Tom, Dick, or Harry!”

  “I DIDN’T SAY THAT!” he shouted.

  “You said something like it,” she retorted. “The principle’s the same!”

  “SISTER,” the priest expostulated. “THIS BOY HAS BEEN ABUSED!”

  A hush ensued. Father Poole exhaled slowly and composed himself while Sister Ignatius shied away.

  “Please try to see this thing clearly, Sister. We have a teenage boy out there with a busted nose who’s been abandoned by his mother and whose father almost killed him. I know because I saw it not more than two hours ago. If I brought him to the authorities, they’d simply send him back to his father, and I don’t want that. Would you want that? The boy’s been damaged. I can’t let him go back to that life. No one will know if he stays here. We can keep him safe and hidden away, at least until we can find a suitable home for him. Until then we can let everyone assume he’s run away. We’ll school him here, you and I. I’ll take care of his ciphering; you can see to his English and History.”

  He approached her and kneaded her shoulders, tightly enough so that she arched her back slightly. “It can work!” he assured her after a few seconds of silence, just as he detected a strong smell of glue. Backing up a few steps, he said, “I thought you had stopped that nonsense.”

  “Well,” answered the nun, “when you take someone away from me to whom I’ve grown attached, I need an escape.”

  As Father Poole walked toward his office, Sister Ignatius followed closely behind him. “Father,” she persisted. “In my view there is but one option open to us, one that would benefit both us and the children.”

  “Oh?” he said.

  “A compromise,” she said in a voice just higher than a whisper.

  “What sort of compromise?” he asked.

  “It seems that you really want the boy to stay here with us, just how badly I can already see.”

  “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “The boy can stay if you allow Jessica to stay too.”

  “That’s like blackmail!” Father Poole protested.

  “Oh no, Father,” answered Sister Ignatius. “Blackmail would be more like my saying that, if you don’t let Jessica stay, I will tell the bishop that you are keeping a little boy hidden here from his rightful legal guardian.”

  Father Poole wasn’t sure whether she’d actually go that far, but he didn’t want to test her. After pausing for a minute to weigh everything, Father Poole acquiesced. “Alright Sister,” he said. “You win.”

  “Oh no,” she replied. “We win. All of us.”

  Arthur Nichols stopped to bundle up Jessica before carrying her around the rectory and over to the maple. He saw Zachary standing about fifteen feet from the tree and poking the ground with a stick. “Hi there!” he called.

  Zachary kept his left foot in place, turning on it to face Mr. Nichols, and putting his right foot on top of the hawk fledgling he’d just killed and, until this moment, had been trying to dissect.

  “Hello,” Zachary said blandly.

  Arthur Nichols observed the dead grass around Zachary’s feet. “Whatcha doin’?” he asked. “Father Poole told me to come out and check on you.” Mr. Nichols still didn’t like the look he saw in Zachary Black’s eyes. “Is everything alright?”

  The adolescent’s blank expression was unyielding and again Arthur Nichols was reminded of the overwhelming hardness and discontent this boy possessed. The retired schoolmaster was at a loss for words and each passing moment he spent with Zachary Black increased his anxiety and apprehension of the boy that much more.

  Mr. Nichols finally had to back up a few paces as if this were a remedy to ease his trepidation. He heard the cry of a hawk circling overhead, and it was then that Nichols noticed a nest lying at the base of the tree. It apparently had been broken in half. “Aw,” Nichols said sadly. “Her nest must have fallen out of the tree.”

  “Maybe she abandoned her chick,” suggested Zachary. “After all, mothers do abandon their young, don’t they, Mr. Nichols? I oughta know, right?”

  “Zachary,” the schoolteacher replied. “Surely you wouldn’t be happy at that possibility. If a mother doesn’t return to her babies, they’ll die. You wouldn’t want that.”

  Zachary said, “But that’s the best thing for them, isn’t it? I mean, are you a good enough person to climb up there, risk fallin’ and breakin’ your leg, to save him from freezin’ to death? Would you care enough about the life of one of God’s little creatures? Perhaps you can’t answer that, Mr. Nichols, but I can. I wouldn’t go up and save him. I don’t care. I don’t think like you do. You would probably see that broken nest over yonder and think the fledgling got himself up an’ outta that there nest, and the force of him takin’ off into the air knocked the nest right off its branch. Me, on the other hand, I’d think that he was so upset from his mamma’s leavin’ him all alone that he fussed around in the nest so hard that the nest fell, and he fell with it, all the way to the ground where the impact left him half dead with a broken neck. Then I’d like to think an animal came along, scooped him up in its mouth, and ate him up till there was no proof left that there had ever been a chick in that nest. That’s what I’m thinkin’. But then I can admit that to myself. Can you admit to yourself that you wouldn’t have saved it, that you wouldn’t have interfered and instead would have let nature take its course?”

  At this speech Arthur Nichols took another step back. Zachary still kept his eyes locked on him, still smiled that deviant smile.

  “How can you say all this to me, Zachary?” he asked. I mean, I’m sure you’ve had a hard childhood, but… .”

  “You don’t know the first thing about my childhood,” Zachary interrupted, “or me for that matter. No one knows me. My parents didn’t know me. That priest in there don’t know me. So I don’t think you’ll ever know me, grandpa.”

  Zachary lifted the bottom of the stick four inches from the ground and then landed it hard next to his right foot.

  “You must hate life very much,” Mr. Nichols said, still holding Jessica as he took his leave of the boy.

  Zachary set all his weight on his left foot and moved his right foot away. The flatted corpse of the fledgling he had killed was now embedded in the dying grass. “No, Mr. Nichols, that isn’t it,” he said to himself in a low voice, staring at the dead bird. “I just don’t care.”

  Father Poole came into the Benson house a short time later to find Arthur Nichols sitting on the bottom step of the staircase. His hands were crossed, and he was hunched over.

  “Praying?” Father Poole said light-heartedly, as if making a joke. Arthur Nichols jerked his head up, his eyes squinting in the light. “We have a place for just that sort of thing across the way,” said the priest. “How’s the boy?”

  Arth
ur Nichols sighed. “He, uhm, he’s… .” Mr. Nichols paused, trying to find the right words. “Physically he appears to be fine, apart from that broken nose of his.” He softly rubbed his temples in a circular motion. “I said this to you before, Father. I don’t trust him.”

  Phineas flinched slightly.

  “Why is it, Father,” Nichols continued, “that there is no justice in the world?” The retired schoolteacher got up, walked to a nearby mirror, and looked deeply into it, as if trying to see into his soul. “I mean, there are so many people, good people, in need all around the world. It kills me that some who need help get it while others don’t.”

  Father Poole approached Arthur Nichols and laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m trying my best to understand what you mean, Arthur,” the priest replied, “but so far I’m drawing a blank. Are you talking about the boy?”

  “Yes, but it goes further than that. I can see your kindness and generosity to Zachary firsthand, and I appreciate all that you’re trying to do. I probably can appreciate it more than the average person because I’ve devoted most of my life to children. Yet I can’t help but worry about another boy who may also need your help.”

  The idea that Arthur Nichols knew of another child in trouble took Father Poole completely by surprise. “What? Who? Where is this child? How do you know? And why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I hadn’t thought of him, I swear,” replied Mr. Nichols, “until only the last couple of minutes when his face popped into my mind. Around Halloween I saw this black boy walking past my house.”

  “Black boy?” said the priest. “I was unaware that any Negroes lived in Holly.”

  “To my knowledge this boy and his family are the only ones. They’re drifters. There’s the boy, his mother, and his father. I don’t know whether they’re still around, Father. I mean, the boy told me they’d been moving around a lot.”

  “What are you asking me to do?”

  Arthur Nichols looked out the narrow window next to the front door. There he could see the porch, Old Man Benson’s rocking chair, the rectory, the church, the Keats’s old house, and Holly down below in the distance.