“Me, you, Leo, and Anselm. I always wanted to go for a picnic.”
“Why not?” Maria said.
“Why not?” Stirling repeated. “Let’s.”
They sat there side by side, Stirling’s finger still clasped in the baby’s hand, and began planning this picnic. “Let’s go next Saturday,” said Maria. “It will be the last day in June.”
“Really summer,” said Stirling. It was true. It had crept up entirely while we still thought we were wearing jackets and lighting the fire and complaining about the cold. I glanced out the window now at the sunlight on the roofs across the street.
“Leo?” Maria was saying then. “Where shall we go? Somewhere pretty, like a garden.”
I turned back to them. “Where is there that we can go for a picnic in this city?”
“There must be somewhere,” said Maria. “Come on, Leo; it is an excellent idea!”
“I’m not denying it’s excellent,” I said. “I’m just saying, where? All I can think of is the graveyard.”
“That is not nice for a picnic!” said Maria.
“It is for the worms.”
“Leo, stop it!” Stirling told me.
“You’ll be giving him nightmares,” Maria said. She thought for a moment. “It’s a shame we cannot go to the Royal Gardens. I heard they are beautiful. People used to be allowed into them.”
“We could climb over the gate,” I said, not really serious.
“With Anselm?” She laughed and shook her head.
“The eastern hills!” said Stirling suddenly. “That is a good place for a picnic.”
Grandmother leaned through the door and called, “Leo! Stirling! Will you set the plates out, please?”
“The eastern hills are a good idea,” said Maria. “I think we should do it.”
“But why?” I asked. “Why this sudden notion of a picnic?”
“Because it’s fun, Leo,” said Maria, as if it was obvious.
Stirling brought plates from the kitchen. I cleared Grandmother’s sewing and the newspaper off the table and put them on the sofa beside Maria. She looked at the picture of Ahira and then turned it over. “Why did you do that?” I asked.
“I hate him,” she said quietly. And the hairs on her arms had risen, as if she was cold.
“I hate him too,” I said.
“If you live a hundred years, Leo, I don’t think you’ll get to hate him as much as I do,” she said, in the same quiet voice. I didn’t dare to ask why. And then she shrugged and smiled, and we went over to the table.
I did not go back to school on Monday. I could tell that Grandmother was worried by the set of the edges of her mouth as she waved goodbye to Stirling, but she did not mention the truancy officer and I didn’t either. That morning it was very quiet in the apartment, with Stirling at school and Grandmother at the market. I read through the book again, then put it away and wandered from room to room.
I had hoped that Maria would come to the door, but I could hear Anselm’s wails drifting down the stairs all morning. When I passed Maria in the yard, she was still trying to quiet the baby, who was screaming in her arms. “He just won’t stop crying,” she said, and she seemed close to tears suddenly. “I was going to come and see you, Leo. As soon as I settle Anselm, I will.” But time passed and I could hear the baby still shrieking upstairs.
That evening Grandmother got back from church before Stirling. I went to the door to meet them. Stirling was coming along behind, talking to Maria. She waved when she saw me, and came jogging up to our door. “Listen, sorry I didn’t come round earlier,” she said. “Anselm just would not settle, and …”
“I understand,” I said, because she wanted me to.
“Thank you, Leo,” she said. “I knew you would.” She looked far less harassed now without the baby as she went tripping up the stairs.
About five minutes later the shouting began. Shouting has to be really loud to be heard through the ceiling. I stood still and listened. “I am not your child-minder!” Maria’s mother
“Why not?” Maria said.
“Why not?” Stirling repeated. “Let’s.”
They sat there side by side, Stirling’s finger still clasped in the baby’s hand, and began planning this picnic. “Let’s go next Saturday,” said Maria. “It will be the last day in June.”
“Really summer,” said Stirling. It was true. It had crept up entirely while we still thought we were wearing jackets and lighting the fire and complaining about the cold. I glanced out the window now at the sunlight on the roofs across the street.
“Leo?” Maria was saying then. “Where shall we go? Somewhere pretty, like a garden.”
I turned back to them. “Where is there that we can go for a picnic in this city?”
“There must be somewhere,” said Maria. “Come on, Leo; it is an excellent idea!”
“I’m not denying it’s excellent,” I said. “I’m just saying, where? All I can think of is the graveyard.”
“That is not nice for a picnic!” said Maria.
“It is for the worms.”
“Leo, stop it!” Stirling told me.
“You’ll be giving him nightmares,” Maria said. She thought for a moment. “It’s a shame we cannot go to the Royal Gardens. I heard they are beautiful. People used to be allowed into them.”
“We could climb over the gate,” I said, not really serious.
“With Anselm?” She laughed and shook her head.
“The eastern hills!” said Stirling suddenly. “That is a good place for a picnic.”
Grandmother leaned through the door and called, “Leo! Stirling! Will you set the plates out, please?”
“The eastern hills are a good idea,” said Maria. “I think we should do it.”
“But why?” I asked. “Why this sudden notion of a picnic?”
“Because it’s fun, Leo,” said Maria, as if it was obvious.
Stirling brought plates from the kitchen. I cleared Grandmother’s sewing and the newspaper off the table and put them on the sofa beside Maria. She looked at the picture of Ahira and then turned it over. “Why did you do that?” I asked.
“I hate him,” she said quietly. And the hairs on her arms had risen, as if she was cold.
“I hate him too,” I said.
“If you live a hundred years, Leo, I don’t think you’ll get to hate him as much as I do,” she said, in the same quiet voice. I didn’t dare to ask why. And then she shrugged and smiled, and we went over to the table.
I did not go back to school on Monday. I could tell that Grandmother was worried by the set of the edges of her mouth as she waved goodbye to Stirling, but she did not mention the truancy officer and I didn’t either. That morning it was very quiet in the apartment, with Stirling at school and Grandmother at the market. I read through the book again, then put it away and wandered from room to room.
I had hoped that Maria would come to the door, but I could hear Anselm’s wails drifting down the stairs all morning. When I passed Maria in the yard, she was still trying to quiet the baby, who was screaming in her arms. “He just won’t stop crying,” she said, and she seemed close to tears suddenly. “I was going to come and see you, Leo. As soon as I settle Anselm, I will.” But time passed and I could hear the baby still shrieking upstairs.
That evening Grandmother got back from church before Stirling. I went to the door to meet them. Stirling was coming along behind, talking to Maria. She waved when she saw me, and came jogging up to our door. “Listen, sorry I didn’t come round earlier,” she said. “Anselm just would not settle, and …”
“I understand,” I said, because she wanted me to.
“Thank you, Leo,” she said. “I knew you would.” She looked far less harassed now without the baby as she went tripping up the stairs.
About five minutes later the shouting began. Shouting has to be really loud to be heard through the ceiling. I stood still and listened. “I am not your child-minder!” Maria’s mother
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