For Love of Mother-Not - Alan Dean Foster [8]
She nodded approvingly. “Probably. Go on, boy.”
“I was moved around a lot. That was the end of the happy time.”
“What happened after that?’ she prompted him.
“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “It’s so hard so remember.”
“I know ’tis painful for ye, Flinx. I need to know all about ye that I can, so I can help ye as best as I’m able.”
“If I tell you,” he asked uncertainly, “you won’t let the bad people come and take me away?”
“No,” she said, her voice suddenly soft. “No, I won’t let them come and take ye away, Flinx. I won’t let anyone come and take ye away. Ever. I promise ye that.”
He moved a little nearer and sat down on the extended leg support of the big chair. He had his eyes closed as he concentrated.
“I remember never staying in one place for very long at a time. The people, the good people who took care of me and fed me, they kept the bad people away. They were always upset about something, and they yelled at me a lot more than before.”
“Were they mad at ye?”
“I don’t think so. Not really.” He licked his lips. “I think they were scared, Mother. I know I was, but I think they were, also. And then”—a look of confusion stole over his face—“I went to sleep. For a long time. Only, it wasn’t really a sleep. It was like I was asleep and yet like I wasn’t.” He opened his eyes and looked up at her. “Do you understand that, Mother? I don’t.”
“No, I’m not sure I do, boy.” Her mind worked. Now who, she wondered, would take the time and trouble to sedate a child for a long period of time? And why bother?
“Then some more bad people suddenly showed up, I think,” he went on. “I didn’t see them this time. But some of the people who watched me died or went away. Then there was just me and one man and one lady, and then they were gone, too.”
“Your mother and father?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he told her. “Anyway, they never called themselves that. They were just two of the good people. Then some other people came and found me. People I’d never seen before. They took me away with them.”
“Were they good people or bad people?”
“I don’t think they were either,” the boy replied carefully. “I think they were kind of in-between people. I think maybe they were sorry for me. They tried to be nice, but”—he shrugged—“they were just in-between people. They moved me around a lot again, and there were different places and lots of new children I didn’t know, and then there was yesterday, and you bought me. Right?”
She put a hand to her mouth and coughed. “I didn’t buy ye, actually. I agreed to take responsibility for ye.”
“But you paid the government money for me, didn’t you? I was told that was what was going to happen to me.”
“It was only to pay off the debt the government incurred for taking care of ye,” she explained to him. “I don’t actually own ye. I would never do that.”
“Oh,” he said quietly. “That’s nice. I’m glad.” He waited a moment, watching her, then added, “That’s everything I can remember.”
“Ye did fine.” She leaned forward and pointed to her right, up the street. The chair groaned. “If ye walk six stalls that way, ye’ll find a very small shop run by a mur man. His name be Cheneth. Go up to him and tell him who ye be and where ye came from. And ye can buy from him”—she thought a moment, not wishing to overdo things—“a half credit’s worth of whatever ye see in his shop.”
“What kind of shop is it?” he asked excitedly.
“Candy,” she said, enjoying the light that came into his face. “Ye remember what candy is, don’t ye? I can see by the expression on your face that ye do.” She could also tell by the speed with which he took off up the street. He was back before long, those deep emerald eyes shining from his dark face. “Thank you, Mother.”
“Go on, go on, move to one side! You’re blocking my—our—view of the customers. Wander about, learn the ins and outs of where ye live now.”
He vanished like a ray of sunshine, his red hair disappearing into the crowd.
Expensive, she thought to herself. That