by R.G. Strike
Zeejay was walking along the deserted hallway, his bearing couldn’t quite register the fact that he was about to leave. But it was okay, though it might take a little while for the orphan community to know he was gone. They were not drawn so close to him, actually. Very few of them had been interested talking to him. For a while, he thought about the nonexistent reason people would talk to him. His demeanor to conceal his family’s story was tight, so tight that he would die first before they would discover.
How many more days would he wait before aunt Fulminana take him? Or does he just have hours left – maybe minutes? And how did aunt Fulminana found out about him being left at St. Mayleboune Orphanage? He was resisting the most evil relative he had, and he completely knew that aunt Fulminana was just pretending to be good in front of other people, but was so outrageous when they’re gone.
“She was a faint heart,” Zeejay muttered as he turned to enter his room.
As usual, it was in order. The books from the Perkin’s chair were perfectly stacked on the shelf; linen of the beds fit tightly underneath; the curtain was drawn out so that sunlight was entering the room in a dais of splendor.
He crept into his own bed, staring at the linen as though he would never see it again.
“That’s right,” he said. “I might not be living here anymore.”
“Where then?” said a voice from the door.
Zeejay quickly turned around. Standing there was Alex, hands crossed over his chest, and leaning on the doorpost. He appeared like a madman and his face was shallow with mirth.
“Er – I . . .” Zeejay stammered, “. . . in the other rooms, perhaps.”
“Nah,” Alex snapped coldly. “You think I don’t know about your good news?”
Zeejay gasped hastily, and with a rescuing mouth speed, he said, “It wasn’t good news from my point of view.”
“Me, either,” said Alex. “Just the name, it sounds terrifying.”
“What name?”
“Fulminana, if I get it right.”
“Oh,” said Zeejay, gulping hardly so that he appeared disappointed to have somebody know about Fulminana. “She’s cool, absolutely cool.”
“Does snapping words appear cool to you?” Alex asked confidently.
How could he know? Oh, right, Zeejay thought. Maybe he doesn’t have anything else to hide now.
“To be honest with you, you’re right,” Zeejay admitted hoarsely. “But I know it does not concern you, so don’t bother scrutinizing about it.”
“I don’t think so,” Alex replied confidently. “Just that you know, Mrs. Melody told me everything about Fulminana – I mean, not everything, only the basic things.”
“Basic, is it?”
“Oh, yeah. You’re right.”
“Then you should be careful about your words or my aunt Fulminana will have to glide here and twist your mouth to shut up,” said Zeejay unwillingly, but he needed to sound tough to conceal his weakness.
“What?” Alex demanded, appearing disrespected.
Zeejay sighed and looked at Alex.
“It’s just that whenever my aunt Fulminana –”
“Sorry,” Alex interrupted, “but is she your aunt or your cousin?”
“She’s,” said Zeejay, sighing heavily once again, “my elder cousin. But she looked too mature – I mean, old – so I call her aunt, which quite lessened the ferocity of how she appeared.”
“Okay. Continue, then.”
“Where was I?” Zeejay rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as he thought for a few seconds, then averted them just to find Alex seated on the edge of his own steel bed. Alex gestured a nod to Zeejay to indicate him to continue.
“Aunt Fulminana doesn’t want anyone to know about her real identity,” said Zeejay meekly. “Doesn’t want a lot of friends, as well.”
“But,” Alex snapped once again, “if you said that she doesn’t have a lot of friends –”
“I said she doesn’t want, not have,” Zeejay corrected, and Alex dispatched from his mood.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized dankly, shifting his position so that a portion of his head was torched by the sunlight coming out through the window. “As I was about to ask, if she doesn’t want,” Alex made a clear emphasis on the word, “why, then, was she successful talking to Mrs. Melody? Why, in her state of being unfriendly, did she talk to her knowing that Mrs. Melody might not want to approve her request?”
“Because,” said Zeejay, scowling, “it’s her nature. I already told you she’s faking people of having a great attitude, but, in fact, she was more than evil. And so you asked why did she still acted courageous talking to Mrs. Melody if she knew, in the first place, that Mrs. Melody would deny her request? That simply meant one thing: She was making things appear worthwhile, in a sense that Mrs. Melody would realize her concern upon continuing to raise me.”
“Yes, I thought so,” said Alex. “And did you ever wonder why she was so desperate of your return?”
“Yes,” prowled Zeejay proudly.
“So, you mean you are handing yourself to her?”
Zeejay considered this for a moment. “Yes. But the thing is, I am old enough to handle things.”
“Don’t make estimations,” Alex warned hastily, but Zeejay caught his meaning. “You’ll be drowned in madness if you do so.”
“Nah, you’re so weird.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just trying to offer an advice.”
“You’re really weird. Well, as I have already told you in countless times, don’t bother about my problems. My problem is my problem. I don’t want any other people involved in any of this craziness.”
“You’re a shit, Zeejay. Roll your brain; don’t get it stocked too long. Let it function because you’ve been out being moody since the day you arrived.”
“Don’t tell me I’m a shit, Alex. I’m just settling things myself –”
“So, you think you can manage your problems yourself?”
Zeejay contemplated his statement. “Why, you think I can’t?”
“Listen,” said Alex. “The thing is, I’m not underestimating your ability or your capacity to handle things, but matters like this should need outside help. You get it? You need others to decide for you. You don’t just need to think once or twice, think thrice. Sometimes thinking thrice doesn’t even make fair difference.”
“Thanks for the advice, but,” said Zeejay, “as I have told you, I can handle this myself.”
“Zeejay!” Alex exclaimed.
“What?”
“Don’t you get what I’m telling you?” Alex barked, blatantly clear. “I’m telling you to step out of clomping things on your own, because – because – because it’s fatal!”
“I was just wondering why you are so interested about my problem. . . .”
“I’m concerned, Zeejay! One little wrong move, and maybe you’ll put yourself into serious danger.”
“What do you mean?” Zeejay asked curiously, suddenly averted from his momentum. “What danger are you talking about? What is it about that – oh, I get it. You know something about aunt Fulminana?”
“I know more than something about your cousin, Zeejay. Mrs. Melody and I have discussed it during your hibernation.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m not supposed to tell you!”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Zeejay looked sharply dispirited. Then, with a swift movement, he thrust his head towards the window, as if he was suddenly uninterested about it.
“Zeejay, look! Why would I tell you about it if you yourself don’t even share a tiny bit of your story?” Alex asked as he frowned.
Zeejay remained looking through the window at the trees which he had imagined muffling with the wind.
“My parents are dead,” he said softly. “That’s a tiny bit of my story.”
“Oh,” said Alex, startled. “Very well, that was so informative.”
“Oh, was it?”
“I don’t th
ink so.”
Zeejay looked back to Alex, who, yet again, readjusted himself and squared his shoulders. He looked pale, his greasy hairs seemed to be vines creeping on his skull.
“Zeejay, one thing for sure is that your cousin Fulminana will have to do her best to get you, and you just sent me so much shocked when you said you’ve made your decision to hand over yourself, are you crazy?”
He did not respond, his face was heaved with enough burdens to carry. How on earth was he supposed to face all of these problems – with Alex and Mrs. Melody knowing, even? Zeejay was not in the mood to talk about anything about aunt Fulminana or the death of his parents. It was just too much, and simply thinking of it was incapacitating.
After a few moments of silence, Alex stepped out of the room and left Zeejay for some time to think his decisions over again, hoping between hopes that Zeejay would change his mind.
But he didn’t.
The hours crept by slowly during the afternoon, and the weather had shifted into a hazy drizzle in a light sunshine until the sunset. Alex had stocked himself under a thick cherry tree, looking up above the last window where Zeejay was supposed to be staring at. But whenever Alex glared at it, a hopeless idea would pop out quickly to disappoint him, leaving him quite depressed over the preceding minutes.
When nightfall finally came, when everything turned dark except for the orange glares from the street lights and the windows of each household, Alex stood and lurched inside into the dining hall where he found the other orphans gathered together. Mrs. Melody, Sandra and Suzette were standing in front, as usual, waiting for the silence so they could deliver whatever they want to say.
“Children,” Mrs. Suzette called. “The night has come. Please settle yourself comfortably on your own seats and listen to my words before we take dinner at the same time.”
The throng took their chairs noisily, and then fell silent afterwards.
“So,” Mrs. Suzette continued, “there are certain announcement that you need to bear upon yourselves – announcements and reminders that are essential. Tomorrow would be our Mid-Day Tour, the very first tour we have set ever. In this case, take note that your bearing of discipline is the topmost tool for the success of this tour.
“I am happy to tell you details that would surge your curious mind, so I want you all to know what to expect. First of all – our tour has been decided to incorporate with Mrs. Marietta, our director,” – there was a chorus of gasps from the crowd, most of the kid started muttering complains to their seatmates – “and she was happy to approve. She will be arriving early first thing tomorrow, which would then signal our departure.
“Secondly – it would be exciting if we keep our destination a secret from you; in this manner, you will learn some lessons. We also want your little minds to flourish jauntiness to guess the kid who will be leaving us, but since the kid’s adopter did not arrive yet, your chances will expand. Use it wisely.
“Now let us not get our stomachs grumbling in hunger, hush around and get your meals quietly. . . . We don’t want neighbors complaining about your hilarity.”
All of them ate in silence, and when they were finished, they were ordered to sneak into their bedrooms as silent as they could so that none of the nearby household would complain. Alex and Zeejay strolled into theirs and fainted into each of their own beds and were suddenly asleep.
They were woken the following morning by a knocking sound, and the door clicked open. Mrs. Sandra stepped into the room and uttered some orders and she left immediately. Alex and Zeejay changed their clothes and went out to the dining area.
The tables were pushed aside, orphans standing in groups, apparently talking or sharing gossips; on the front row, however, was a black woman with curly brown hairs. She was whispering something to Mrs. Melody, who was at her great demeanor to protrude courtesy.
Alex and Zeejay joined the crowd. They looked impaired because all of them were carrying bulging backpacks, sleeping bags, throw-pillows, mufflers, looking as though they would go camping. Then, when Zeejay accidentally passed his eyes across the front row, he spotted Mrs. Marietta, the dark woman, pointing towards their direction; Mrs. Melody nodding beside her as if understanding every single word she said.
“Mr. Sanders! Mr. Abercrombe!” Mrs. Melody called out. “How come you’re not carrying anything?”
“Carry what?” said Zeejay, and then he immediately noticed everybody’s sleeping bags. “Sorry, we weren’t briefed to bring them, ma’am. I’ll go check them, then –”
“Oh, no need,” Mrs. Melody retorted. “Suzette will get them for you. Now, all of you listen!” She clapped her hands subsequently three times. “Get in the bus now. After a minute we’ll be following.”
The kids, Alex, and Zeejay obeyed, and they entered a huge red bus. It smelled like rotting refreshers inside a malfunctioning air-condition; the aisle was covered with overused bronze carpet, some portions scraped by ferocious shoes, and it clanked noisily as the children poured over; the threadbare seats were puffed with foam, but when they sat, it sagged down that they were almost sitting between the bars of its steel skeleton.
Facing the steering wheel on the driver’s seat sat an enormously kinky fat man, grumbling something they could not understand. His left hand was hanging from the open window, clutching a burning cigarette, and was puffing smokes in circles, hoping it would amaze the children, which certainly did. But when the Mrs. Melody and Mrs. Marietta climbed up into the bus, the driver immediately thrust his cigarette into the manicured lawn, then appearing suddenly anxious.
“What are you doing?” warned Mrs. Melody in a soft whisper. “Stop that, the director’s here.”
Mrs. Melody thought Mrs. Marietta hadn’t heard her whisper, but she did. In fact, Mrs. Marietta slowly looked at Mrs. Melody and said, “Doesn’t matter, I smoke, too. I understand him. Once you started smoking, it would be definitely hard to halt from it.”
Mrs. Melody looked at her, in return, startled because she was not expecting any statement like that from the directress herself. She gulped and both of the women sank in the front seat.
Almost all of the kids hadn’t noticed their arrival because had been too preoccupied shouting at each other, some screaming, some had stomached the ability to read a thick book amidst the noise.
Alex was sitting beside Zeejay, who still refused to talk to him.
“What’s your problem?” Alex asked him, frowning.
“Nothing,” Zeejay replied.
Alex scrambled on his seat to face Zeejay.
“Are you going to tell me or not?”
“No, of course.”
Alex swarmed with anger once again, and he was reaching the highest peak of his temper. He would have smacked Zeejay, but from behind him came a high-pitched voice that spoke full of authority.
“Still had detritus of your disgusting attitude, Alex?”
Alex twisted to his back, then there upon the same threadbare sofa sat a girl as pale as he was, some of her blond hairs ponytailed back so that her bangs was spiky, she seemed to wear a menacing pout.
Alex sniggered.
“None of your business,” he said, looking away. Then he grabbed Zeejay on the shoulders and dragged him off into the aisle. “Come on, we’ll find another peaceful seat where nobody can accuse me again.”
Both men scrambled the whole bus, looking for extra seat, but it had been fully occupied; they had no choice because the one at the back of the faculty seat, which was left openly vacant but no one dared it, and so they sat.
“It looks stupid sitting here,” Zeejay whispered to Alex.
“No, it’s not!” he whispered back. “Just shut up, and everything would be okay.”
“Right, I get it.”
After a few minutes in silence, the bus engine roared to life. The other children screamed after knowing they were leaving at last. The bus screwed through the narrow street of the brick houses, uncivilized dogs barking and chasing the bus as it went out of Galania;
when it did, the brick buildings disappeared, replaced by wide and green fields, and bluing mountain on the further portion.
A dark cloud was storming on the horizon, wind was blowing quite coldly through the windows, and they could see pelicans fluttering along the rice fields, apparently getting ready to migrate.
Hours of amazing window viewing had given the children the enjoyment they had only seen on TV and books. They were wailing in surprise of witnessing the actual figures of birds and other creatures. Then after two more hours, they went under a rainy atmosphere that they had to close their windows so waters would not drip inside, making the orphans disappointed.
As they took longer routes on the road, the rain became heavier and heavier, lightning bolted from the far horizon followed by a loud banging of thunder. The girls inside had to hug each other for fear that they might be toasted any moment. The boys, however, took the opportunity to bust the girls, so that they screamed, unheard by Mrs. Melody due to the heavy downpour.
“Stupid rain,” Zeejay said, leaning his forehead against the misty window pane, his breath had left a trace of fog. “If I just knew this was going to happen I should not have joined this annoying tour.”
“Come on,” Alex convinced him. “It would look great later on. . . .”
“. . . but you know there’s something mysterious about the Abercrombe boy,” they heard Mrs. Melody said, though faintly and broken. “. . . he was left . . . disrespectful lady in a saucy . . . seemed . . . drool the authority. . . .”
“Hey!” Alex told Zeejay, who immediately bolted up straight in his chair. “They’re talking about me.”
“About you? Why would they talk about –?”
“Shut up! Let’s better listen.”
Both men zipped their mouth shut and veered their heads to the back of the faculty chair. Then, as they had expected, Mrs. Melody’s voice materialized but not as murky as it had been.
Zeejay opened his mouth in amazement, but Alex eyed him.
“I still remember when . . . a baby. Abercrombe . . . so cute back then. . . .”
“Still remember . . . when . . . about that day?” said another voice, rather packed with more strictness, which was probably from Mrs. Marietta. “I . . . thirty-five then . . . so much . . . do you believe it? It’s . . . long since they left.”
“Yes, and . . . observed something strange about . . . parents that day. They . . . so much tensed, you get what I mean?”
“Yeah . . . not as . . . as Sanders’s aunt Amexis.”
Zeejay jolted his head closer when he heard his own name, as though he was desperate to know what they were saying about him.
“She was a great aunt, anyway. But I’m sad for her tragic ending,” said Mrs. Melody.
“I thought Sanders was supposed to be claimed by his aunt Fulminana?”
“It wasn’t his aunt – it was his cousin, dear directress,” snapped Mrs. Melody quickly.
“Whatever. Fulminana looked great; you know the motherly thing we require for adapters, she got it . . . can’t say anything bad about her.”
“Let’s not talk about it.”
“Oh, good. Are you really sure about your decision with the Abercrombe boy?” asked Mrs. Marietta, entailed with a puffy snigger.
Alex was startled.
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Melody spoke calmly, as though it was an idea that was decided long ago. “When we leave these orphans at St. Mary’s, I’d like to take Sanders and Abercrombe with us. They’re the perfect kids for me, you know. . . .”
“Whatever. But why will you take Sanders if you knew Fulminana will claim him?”
“I – I’m not sure about Fulminana. I was feeling that something was wrong when I talked to her, though she seemed very polite and grateful I responded to her query immediately.”
Zeejay withdrew his head. Alex looked at him, giving him a facial warning to listen for more, but Zeejay was hard to convince now that he had heard enough. Alex detached his head and rested back upon the chair. He was disappointed that they had to quit listening for conversations that informed so much.
It’s too much, Zeejay thought. First, I discovered Mrs. Melody knowing about aunt Fulminana, then Alex, and now, the directress herself was talking about them as though she had known so much about Fulminana. What’s happening? I thought I was so tight to keep my secret? It was aunt Fulminana’s fault! She ruined my life!
Zeejay shook his head jerkily, trying to eschew this thoughts and questions that still remained unanswered. He took a very deep breath, feeling relieved as he exhaled a mouthful of air, and then leaned his head against the cold window panes again, and then he finally dozed off like everybody else.
CHAPTER EIGHT:
JOHN’S REVENGE