The hand on my arm fell. I turned.
There stood my assailant: a grubby little boy of no more than ten years of age. His bulky coat had a ripped sleeve and his blond hair hung stick straight and clumped around big, bottle-green eyes. His fixed gaze took me in from a step away, having stumbled and retreated after my initial reaction to his touch. Shaking, clutching his arms, he looked for all the world like a drowned squirrel.
"What're you doing, boy?" I asked. My voice was harsh; I was startled out of my wits, Goddamnit!
"D-do you 'av somethang' to eat, M-missy?"
I could do nothing but gape.
That was when I finally took the whole of him in. By God, he's thin. He was chattering with cold; not regular chattering either, like normal people in nippy weather, rather a violent bone-shaking tremble that made him shiver like a mirage in the desert. His lips and fingertips—the latter bare—were blue, and there was a hole in his right boot allowing a big quivering toe to peek out.
I stared for a heartbeat. Then, sinking to the ground in slow motion, I held up a hand. "Come here, will you?"
He stood rooted to the spot, hands stuffed in baggy, bulging pockets. I wondered if he carried his world in there. "A bite, Missy. Do you 'av it?"
"I-I don't, not right now."
His whole face crumbled, a collapsing building. He retreated a step further, not to turn away, but more to stop himself from falling over. His weakness showed clear now, the moon coming out from behind the cloud of his false bravado. It wasn't a pretty moon. It was raw and ugly. The dark circles under his eyes stood out.
"Hey," I coaxed, leaning forward to touch his shoulder. He leaped out of my reach, a colt ready to bolt. "What's your name, honey?" I asked.
He stayed stoic, refusing to answer. Then a whisper left his lips.
"I'm sorry. I didn't catch that. What?"
He cleared his throat and tried again. "Jonah." It came out like a plea.
"Where are your parents, Jonah?" My knees were killing me. I also had to keep one hand close to the ground in preparation for when my psychosomatically-bum leg decided to give out, but I dared not move, dared not alarm him.
He waited another heavy moment, continuing to gawp with dinner-plate eyes. Then the matted head went side to side.
"Would you like to come with me?" A finger of cold air sneaked through my sleeve and brushed my skin.
He started to shake more violently. This time it wasn't the weather that made him do so. "You wan' ta take ma back to tha' foster home!" he accused, little kid's voice as sharp as ice splinters. The disappointment and betrayal in his tone were apparent. "I will na go!"
I rushed to reassure: "No, no that's not true. I just want to take you home. I'll give you something to eat, a hot bath..."
"I'm na a stray dog ya can take home. I don't do baths," he said.
He has a tongue on him, that's for sure. Then again, so did I. "How long have you been on your own, Jonah?"
"Three years, now," he declared, pride evident in the shadow of his fear. "And withou' anyone's help at tha'."
"And when was the last you ate?"
The momentary happy expression vanished and his stomach grumbled.
"It seems I have my answer. Come with me and I'll help you. You don't have to be scared, I promise."
He scowled through the indecision on his face. He wanted to accept my offer even though his mind told him not to. I let him debate in silence.
"How much food?" he asked.
"As much as you want, and more."
He gave me a once over. "You don na look very wealthy yourself. How can I trust you?"
I smiled. "Do you want to take the risk?"
Still, he hesitated. His hand snaked to the inside of his jacket, withdrawing something long and shiny from the dark depth. The light from a street lamp up ahead reflected in a jagged line off the rusty blade. "I like risks."
My expression remained passive. "I'm offering you help, Jonah. I'll not be threatened."
He smirked, though it wobbled precariously on the edges of his lips. "Then there's na worry."
***
Ten minutes later—counting the time my slow struggle up the stairs took—Jonah and I stood outsides my apartment door. The hallway was dim and dirty, with peeling wallpaper and busted bulbs. But when you arrived at eleven at night and knew there waited a bed for you behind one of these doors, you learned not to complain.
I leaned a shoulder against the wall, turned my key into the lock, and shouldered my way in.
"Welcome to my humble home." I beamed.
He didn't return the smile. In the light of the hallway he looked even more scared, teeth gritted and furtive eyes dancing left and right. The smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose stood out against pale, papery skin. His hand moved to the edge of his jacket as if to console himself of the knife's presence. I pretended not to notice. His uncertain demeanor reassured me my decision was right. He was pulling a major bluff—I knew my bullshit from any other shit.
The heat from the lone space heater must have penetrated the chill outside and touched him, for he crossed the threshold after only a short bout of hesitancy.
The inside of the ramshackle apartment I shared with Granny Tonks was nothing to be proud of, but, oh well, you take what you get. On passing through the door one entered the living room, an eleven by eleven affair with an old television at the head, and a gigantic couch and low coffee table taking up the rest. A large armchair creaked by the lone shuttered window, heaped with wrinkled blankets. Two doors led off from here, one to another room with a bathroom en suite—nowhere near as fancy as it sounds—and another to the little kitchen.
Mi casa.
Jonah made a beeline for the heater beside the armchair. Shrugging off his jacket to reveal a yellowing t-shirt, he shoved his hands so close to the grills I feared he might burn himself. A whimper escaped his lips. He looked at me with pitiful eyes, questioning.
I gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back," I said. Stopping only to close the door behind me—Jonah started, but didn't say anything when I left the bolt hanging—I headed for the only bedroom and flipped on the light switch. The yellow bulb illuminated a small space with two single beds against the walls left and right and a chest of drawers, with a mounted mirror, straight ahead. On the right bed lay a small figure hidden from head to toe under blankets.
Silently, trying not to disturb Ella, I leaned my crutches against the wall and, using the bureau for leverage, maneuvered my way out of the abaya. Beneath, my wet kameez stuck to my body like glue, so I took the time to get out of that too. I dried myself with a towel and pushed my head into a comfortable sweatshirt. Hanging the abaya and towel from nails hammered behind the door, I grabbed another sweatshirt and made to limp back to Jonah.
"Mommy?" a soft voice whispered.
Ella was perched against the headboard in her penguin-print pajamas, looking at me with sea-green eyes through a tangle of auburn hair. The blankets were now pooled around her waist, making me sigh.
She gave me a radiant smile when I settled on the edge of her bed, displaying a tiny hole in her front teeth.
"I lost it. I finally lost the tooth!"
"I can see that, honey, but why aren't you asleep yet?" I stroked hair out of her face and she leaned into my hand like a kitten.
"I wanted to tell you first, so I stayed up," she said, sheepish. The glint in her eyes said, I'm waiting for the just punishment my rebellion deserves but I don't care because it was worth it. Perhaps those exact words were in her thoughts, for my four-year-old daughter was smarter than was good for anyone. She was a little woman, pardon the pun.
"Is that so? Well, that's not a very good thing to do. You know you have school tomorrow."
"I know, Mommy, but look."
She held out her hand, showing off the brand-new tooth in the basin of her palm.
"That's beautiful, darling."
"Can I put it under my pillow for the tooth fairy?"
I cracked a grin. "Do you really want some nasty fairy rooting under your head while you sleep?"
Her smile dimmed. She thought about it a moment, then said, "You're right. I don't. I'd get scared."
"Then how about you give me that tooth and I negotiate with the fairy when she comes looking for it? I won't let her anywhere near your room."
She beamed, jumping up and down. "That'd be amazing!" Then she went ahead and dumped the tooth in my hand.
"So, what do you want me to ask her for?"
"A brother. Ask her for a brother."
My smile crumbed. Oh, boy. Lately Ella had taken into her head that she wanted a brother. Not just any brother though. An older brother. I'd tried to explain to her that that's not how it worked, that if she could ever get a brother—not that I had any idea how I'd fulfill that wish—she could only have a younger one because he came after her. Ella was a smart kid—with a frighteningly above average IQ, online tests declared—and didn't complain, but this idea wouldn't leave her head no matter what I did.
"Honey, tha—"
A scream rang out in the living room. I looked up. Ella jumped into my arms like a frog, gripping my neck and whimpering in terror.
The scream came again, followed by a gasp and something falling to the ground with a crash. There was another scream, one not like the first. It was high-pitched and chocked, as if the person had been chewing something before he or she saw the need to call out.
He or she?
Granny Tonks!
Before I could unclasp Ella from my neck and get up, Jonah's frightened face appeared in the open doorway.
"An old lady's dying on your couch," he said.
Ella took one look at Jonah, forgot the screams, and fixed me with her too-big eyes. Then she looked back at him. Then, because the mayhem in the house was lacking, she gave the mother of all almighty shrieks and launched herself off the bed.
"You got my wish!"
She flung herself on the startled boy, tackling him to the ground and kissing him on the cheek. Jonah's hand twitched, as if he knew he should be doing something but had forgotten what.
The knife, my startled brain told me. It was still in the jacket he'd taken off.
I struggled to get my crutches off the ground.
"This ain't what I expected! What is this mad house?"
I didn't blame him from thinking that.
"I dropped me pipe!" a wheezy voice proclaimed from the living room.
I sighed.
"And so, Ella, Jonah is not your wish."
We were all sitting on the long couch. Granny Tonks was puffing away on a pipe in her customary armchair. She was a devil of an old woman with a mane of silver hair and a wrinkled face like that of a bulldog. Earlier, she had been lying stretched in her chair with a jumble of blankets on her face, hidden, scaring the life out of Jonah when she moved. Seeing a foreign face in her house, Granny Tonks started screaming too, nearly choking on the pipe she kept in her mouth at all times.
I was very thankful the boy hadn't gutted her in shock. I made a mental note to take the knife away the first chance I got.
After I had been able to get back on my feet, I helped Jonah wrestle Ella into submitting and, depositing them both on the couch—Jonah as far away from a salivating Ella as he could get—I rushed over to Granny and jammed the pipe into her mouth, cutting her short mid-profanity.
Now we were all as calmed down as we could get. I retrieved a plate of pasta leftovers from the fridge and placed it before our uncomfortable guest. He dug into it with slightly lesser gusto than I would have liked, still somewhat traumatized.
Ella's face had fallen, but I could still see hope in her eyes when she looked at the boy. This was not going to go down well.
"And," I added as an afterthought, spearing her with my gaze. "If I ever see you jumping on a complete stranger like that again, you will have to answer to me. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Mommy," she mumbled, looking down.
"You got that right, lass," Granny Tonks exclaimed, launching spittle everywhere. "The young these days!"
"Yes, Granny, we understand," I said, looking at the clock. It was just about to strike midnight. I heaved myself up. "Now, then, it's way past time for bed." I pointed at Jonah. "You can take the couch today. And you," I swung toward Ella and jabbed the air for extra emphasis, "to bed with you and let me not hear another squeak."
Jonah looked at Granny, who had fallen asleep already, the pipe hanging in a thread of drool from her mouth. He cleared his throat and turned beseeching eyes on me. "Do I really have to sleep with her in the room?"
I had to smile at that. "She is harmless, don't you worry," I said, crossing my fingers behind my back just in case.
My orders were executed to the letter. Ella and I retreated to our room after making Granny comfortable in her chair. Jonah made himself a nest of sorts out of all the blankets and pillows I could find him.
I lay down on my bed after making sure Ella was indeed sleeping and not faking again. Tomorrow, I vowed, is going to be a normal day. I have had my nerves tested enough to last a month.
Unfortunately, when I opened my eyes to a deafening crash, my bedroom door was lying on the floor where a door is certainly not supposed to be. So, decidedly not a normal day.