attend to something at the other end of the mysterious tunnel, Keith struck up a conversation.
“Good, isn’t he?” he asked the bearded one, who seemed surprised to be addressed by a Big Person. He grunted.
“Needs practice. He’s too showy. That pipestem’d break the first time it got a look at a set of teeth.”
The boy lifted his head from his work. “Now, Marm, you know that’s not so,” he said, patiently, laying down the blade.
“It is so. You want strength in a bitty piece of work like that; you need a harder sort of wood, or work across the grain.”
“Here,” said the boy, thrusting the tiny thing past Keith, and into the other’s hands. “Look for yourself. It’s not wood. It’s bone. I suppose your eyes are getting too old to tell the difference.”
“Well,” said Keith, “for bone, that looks pretty good. I think. His wood carvings are really fine, aren’t they?” he added hopefully. The older elf grunted his approval.
Marm turned the little stick over in his hand. Keith could see that its length was covered with a pattern of interlocking broad-leaved vines. It was astonishing that anything that small should be so perfect. He couldn’t tell what Marm was complaining about. Probably just jealous. “Yah, you’re right. Must be a goat’s bone, now that I see it closely. Yah, a goat’s bone. Fine work, Maven.”
“What did he call you?” Keith demanded of the young elf, astonished.
“Maven. The Maven. That’s what everyone calls me. It’s a Yiddish word; means ‘expert.’ My name is Holl. And by the by, thanks for the compliment.”
“Sure. I meant it. Where on earth did you get a Yiddish nickname?” Keith asked, not to be diverted. Jewish elves? Holl started to answer, but stopped, and held up both hands to shush him. “Why …”
“Quiet, you widdy, can’t you hear him?” He puffed out his ruddy cheeks and blew bone fragments off his desk, then sat up straight.
“No …” But in a moment, the clicking of a pair of heels on the tunnel’s concrete floor floated up over the rest of the noise. The Elf Master was returning. In a moment, all the voices ceased, and everyone sat at polite attention.
“Quiet,” the Master said wearily, though there was no noise. “Ve vill continue. Tay,” he gestured at the second bearded elf, a pale blond with sharply tilted eyebrows, “has briefly outlined the development of modern agrarian society. Vhat, Mr. Eisley, vould you say were the primary social changes brought about by the Industrial Revolution in the agrarian countries of the vorld?”
O O O
Keith hung back when class ended, and tapped Holl on the shoulder when he got up to leave. He kept his voice low as the other students passed by him. “Listen, I think your work is really good. Do you think I could come over some time, and see other things you’ve carved?” Keith tossed his head toward the low doorway. “I couldn’t do that stuff. I’d cut my fingers off.”
Holl cocked an eyebrow and peered at him a good long time before answering, knowing full well what Keith was asking, and giving it honest consideration. “You’re a different one, Keith. I’ll see. Maybe you can come for an evening meal. The older ones won’t gripe so much about a visitor while they’re eating. And I don’t mind an audience for my work.”
“Terrific!” said Keith. “In exchange, I hereby invite you to be my guest in the dining hall. Only you probably won’t think it’s much of a favor when you’ve tasted the food.”
“A good guest never counts the dishes served, nor spits out the mouthful he’s chewing.”
“Right. Always eat every meal as though it was your last.”
“Wait here. I’ll ask now.” Holl vanished down the echoing hallway. After a while, he returned. “You can come. Wait by the big sycamore outside the back of the library building in an hour and a half. I’ll find you there. You’ll need to be on your best behavior, boy.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good, isn’t he?” he asked the bearded one, who seemed surprised to be addressed by a Big Person. He grunted.
“Needs practice. He’s too showy. That pipestem’d break the first time it got a look at a set of teeth.”
The boy lifted his head from his work. “Now, Marm, you know that’s not so,” he said, patiently, laying down the blade.
“It is so. You want strength in a bitty piece of work like that; you need a harder sort of wood, or work across the grain.”
“Here,” said the boy, thrusting the tiny thing past Keith, and into the other’s hands. “Look for yourself. It’s not wood. It’s bone. I suppose your eyes are getting too old to tell the difference.”
“Well,” said Keith, “for bone, that looks pretty good. I think. His wood carvings are really fine, aren’t they?” he added hopefully. The older elf grunted his approval.
Marm turned the little stick over in his hand. Keith could see that its length was covered with a pattern of interlocking broad-leaved vines. It was astonishing that anything that small should be so perfect. He couldn’t tell what Marm was complaining about. Probably just jealous. “Yah, you’re right. Must be a goat’s bone, now that I see it closely. Yah, a goat’s bone. Fine work, Maven.”
“What did he call you?” Keith demanded of the young elf, astonished.
“Maven. The Maven. That’s what everyone calls me. It’s a Yiddish word; means ‘expert.’ My name is Holl. And by the by, thanks for the compliment.”
“Sure. I meant it. Where on earth did you get a Yiddish nickname?” Keith asked, not to be diverted. Jewish elves? Holl started to answer, but stopped, and held up both hands to shush him. “Why …”
“Quiet, you widdy, can’t you hear him?” He puffed out his ruddy cheeks and blew bone fragments off his desk, then sat up straight.
“No …” But in a moment, the clicking of a pair of heels on the tunnel’s concrete floor floated up over the rest of the noise. The Elf Master was returning. In a moment, all the voices ceased, and everyone sat at polite attention.
“Quiet,” the Master said wearily, though there was no noise. “Ve vill continue. Tay,” he gestured at the second bearded elf, a pale blond with sharply tilted eyebrows, “has briefly outlined the development of modern agrarian society. Vhat, Mr. Eisley, vould you say were the primary social changes brought about by the Industrial Revolution in the agrarian countries of the vorld?”
O O O
Keith hung back when class ended, and tapped Holl on the shoulder when he got up to leave. He kept his voice low as the other students passed by him. “Listen, I think your work is really good. Do you think I could come over some time, and see other things you’ve carved?” Keith tossed his head toward the low doorway. “I couldn’t do that stuff. I’d cut my fingers off.”
Holl cocked an eyebrow and peered at him a good long time before answering, knowing full well what Keith was asking, and giving it honest consideration. “You’re a different one, Keith. I’ll see. Maybe you can come for an evening meal. The older ones won’t gripe so much about a visitor while they’re eating. And I don’t mind an audience for my work.”
“Terrific!” said Keith. “In exchange, I hereby invite you to be my guest in the dining hall. Only you probably won’t think it’s much of a favor when you’ve tasted the food.”
“A good guest never counts the dishes served, nor spits out the mouthful he’s chewing.”
“Right. Always eat every meal as though it was your last.”
“Wait here. I’ll ask now.” Holl vanished down the echoing hallway. After a while, he returned. “You can come. Wait by the big sycamore outside the back of the library building in an hour and a half. I’ll find you there. You’ll need to be on your best behavior, boy.”
“Yes, sir!”
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