A Box of Bones

by Marina Cohen

  “Oh, I had an absolutely ginormous breakfast. Mrs. Winslow—I’m living with her while my parents are away—makes the biggest breakfasts in the world. A veritable smorgasbord of sausages, bacon, and ham. Pancakes shaped like flowers with whipped cream petals. And the fluffiest scrambled eggs that just melt in your mouth. I’m really stuffed, couldn’t eat another bite.”

  She paused for a quick breath. “But … I would like some water. Where is the nearest fountain?” She plunked her backpack on the bench next to Kallie and held up her cup.

  Pole pointed to the hallway. “Just outside the cafeteria, in front of the washroom. I can show you the way.”

  “No need,” said Anna. “I’ll be right back.”

  “What do you think of her?” he asked once Anna was out of earshot. He was smiling again—as if he’d just received an A+ on an assignment.

  “I try not to,” said Kallie. She shifted away from the musty-smelling, shabby-looking backpack crammed with so much stuff it was coming apart at the seams.

  “I don’t know. I kind of like her.”

  “How can you?” said Kallie indignantly. “She’s so … incongruent.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I think that’s it. There’s a sort of scalene quality about her, don’t you think?”

  Kallie rolled her eyes and sighed. She took another bite of her sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, all the while thinking. “Can I ask you something?” she said finally.

  “Is it about geometry?” he said, eagerly.

  Kallie shook her head. She chose her words carefully. “Have you ever done something, well, without thinking?”

  Pole nearly dropped his spoon. He looked shocked. “You mean something rash? Impulsive? Unplanned?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “What I meant to say was, have you ever, well, done something, such as gotten something out of the fridge without knowing you’d done so? Maybe you poured yourself a glass of milk without realizing and the next thing you knew it was sitting on the counter waiting for you and you had no idea you’d done it? Like that?”

  Kallie pictured the box, sitting on her desk, as though she had placed it there herself when she was certain she hadn’t gone near it.

  “Of course I have,” said Pole. He pointed his spoon at her. “You’re talking about the automatic brain.”

  “The automatic brain?”

  “Exactly.” Pole dug into his thermos, extracted a heaping spoonful of mush, placed it in his mouth, and swished it around for a bit before swallowing.

  “You see, most of what we do everyday, we do unconsciously—without thinking about it. Our brain has memorized patterns of behavior, and then we just go through the motions.”

  Kallie let the idea swish around her brain like a glob of Pole’s mush. It made sense. She could have gotten out the box unconsciously.

  “If we had to think about every single movement, every single breath, every single step, or blink, or cough,” said Pole, “we’d be exhausted. Thinking is really hard work.”

  “So, it’s as though we go on autopilot?” said Kallie, placing the remainder of her sandwich into the tupperware and zipping up her lunch bag.

  “It’s the magic of the unconscious mind!” said Anna, shifting her backpack down the bench, slipping in beside Kallie, placing her cup on the table.

  Kallie had no idea Anna had been there, eavesdropping on their conversation. She was about to tell Anna there was no such thing as magic when she heard a loud crash and the cafeteria went silent.

  8

  THE GOBLET

  Liah’s eyelids fluttered open, and her arms fell limp at her sides. She was standing alone. If there had been a beast, she had frightened it away.

  She was about to turn back when, in the distance, her eyes caught a faint glimmer. Curious, she wove through the labyrinth of tree trunks toward it. When at last she passed through a thick patch of brush and came upon the source, the breath caught in her throat.

  Scattered about the ground as far as she could see lay a mass of bones—so many they would be impossible to count. It was a strange and mystifying sight. The bone carver had said the forest was haunted by the spirits of those who had no ancestors to provide them with a proper burial—but surely he did not mean their bones had been merely discarded here like so much rubble?

  Liah reached out a trembling hand and picked up the piece closest to her. It was a skull, cold and smooth and so white it shone silver. How strange, she thought, for bone preparation was a lengthy process. A bone must be boiled three times, and then a fourth using a washing powder before it can lie in the sun to bleach white.

  The bone she held was such a fine piece. She could carve from it a weaving tool, or a cloak pin, many charms or buttons to sell in the village market. She wondered if perhaps the bone carver came to this place in secret to obtain his bones. Perhaps that was why he bade her stick to the path.

  Liah withdrew a piece of cloth from her sack, wrapped the skull, and slipped it into her satchel, promising herself she would perform the rituals to release the spirit once she was home. The bone carver would be less angry once he beheld all the lovely items she had created from it.

  As she turned to leave, she stood searching in one direction, then another, but could no longer see the path whence she had come. The forest around her seemed darker and deeper, as though it might go on forever. She had wandered farther than she had thought.

  Liah began to pick a careful path in one direction, but after several paces, she determined she was mistaken. She turned and tried another. Overhanging branches knit above, reaching down with blackened, brittle fingers. As she made her way through the forest, all the tree trunks began to look familiar, as though she were wandering in circles.

  “Master!” she called, but her voice was dull and refused to carry. Her heart beat a rhythm in her throat as she tried again, this time louder and more fervently: “Master!”

  From somewhere behind her, she heard a soft sound. Her insides tingled with unease. If the white beast had returned, it might not scare again so easily. She uprooted herself and began to run.

  Liah dashed as fast as her feet could manage, dodging trees and branches, but it was as though the forest were collapsing in around her, swallowing her in its dark folds. She imagined a soft murmur of voices rising up from somewhere in the distance, moving toward her, drawing nearer.

  She paused for only a brief moment to catch her breath and search for direction. She spun round and round, dizzying herself, when suddenly a hand gripped her shoulder. The voices stopped.

  “What has happened? Why did you cry out?”

  Relief washed over Liah as the bone carver steadied her in his strong but gentle arms.

  “I-I became lost. And something gave chase.” Her voice faltered. She pointed to a spot behind the nearest trunk. “A beast,” she said breathlessly. “A white beast.” She scanned every shadow, but nothing stirred. All was silent.

  The bone carver’s gaze slipped from Liah’s eyes to her feet. She stood once again by the animal bones she had first come upon. It was as though she had not moved from the spot.

  He released his grip and scowled. “I warned you not to disturb anything in this forest. You have disobeyed.”

  Liah hung her head. She could not find any words to argue. He held her gaze—long enough for shame to settle into her stomach—and then he turned and headed back toward the path. She scrambled after him, scolding herself for not having heeded his warning.

  When they reached the edge of the woods, the bone carver stooped to retrieve his sack. He must have cast it aside when he had come running to find her. It lay against a jagged rock. As he inspected his goods, his frown hardened. His most precious carving had been damaged.

  Liah took the goblet from his hands. The intricate patterns had taken much time to carve, and the turquoise inlay had cost five coppers. He had spent countless days polishing it until it gleamed. Now the side was scraped, its value cheapened.
/>   “Your foolishness has angered the ancestors,” he said.

  Liah rubbed the scratches with her thumb, hoping they would disappear, but no matter how hard she pressed, the damage remained. She knew her master could no longer present the cup to the Empress. It had been his most valuable piece. If he had sold it, they would have had food for many seasons.

  “When we arrive at the palace, you will remain outside,” he said firmly.

  The words struck Liah like a hand across the face. She had never been allowed to accompany him to the palace. When he agreed to take her, she boasted to all the villagers how she would see the inner courtyard and the great stone terrace with her own eyes.

  Pleading would be of no use. The bone carver was a kind and thoughtful man, but once he set a punishment, it was as though he had carved it in bone.

  She took a scrap of cloth from her provisions sack and carefully wrapped the goblet. As she placed it inside, she remembered the skull she had taken from the forest. She should go back and return it, but how could she do so without the bone carver’s knowledge? She resolved to keep it safely hidden. She would find an opportunity to return the skull to the forest on the journey home.

  9

  FRAGMENTS AND SHARDS

  The cup lay on the floor in two pieces. The handle had broken off. A puddle spread out around the cup as though it were bleeding water. Pole and Anna and all the nearby students eyed Kallie solemnly.

  “Why did you do that?” said Anna quietly. It was not an accusation, but a simple question.

  Kallie’s cheeks blazed. Her gaze volleyed from one pair of eyes to another. “I-I didn’t,” she stammered. She shuffled off the bench and stooped to pick up the pieces. “I don’t know what happened. But I didn’t touch your cup…”

  Her voice trailed off as she looked toward Pole for reassurance, but he merely winced and then nodded as if to confirm Anna’s accusation.

  Kallie couldn’t understand it. She hadn’t laid a finger on the cup. She was sure of it … absolutely certain of it … wasn’t she? Had she knocked it down accidentally without realizing? Or had her limbs somehow reacted independently of her thoughts? The automatic brain? Again she looked toward Pole, but his expression was draped in worry.

  Something was happening. Something Kallie couldn’t explain. Not even to herself. “I’m sorry,” she said, lifting the pieces, still unconvinced of her guilt.

  Anna smiled. “Don’t worry.” She took the cup from Kallie, cradling the two pieces gently. “Objects, unlike people, can be easily repaired.” Her eyes remained as bright as beacons, though her lower lip quivered slightly.

  Kallie swallowed a large lump growing in her throat. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Anna placed the shards on the table, reached for her worn purple backpack, and located a small bottle of glue. “Well,” she said, cheerfulness flooding steadily back into her voice. “If you’re not going to eat the other half of that sandwich…”

  “But…” said Kallie, “I thought you said you were too stuffed to eat?”

  “I am. Really.” Anna placed small dabs of glue on the cup where the handle belonged. “But … well, I’d hate to see good food go to waste.” She smiled.

  Kallie glanced at Pole, who shrugged, finishing the last of his mush.

  She unzipped her lunch bag and retrieved the half sandwich from the untouched tupperware. One side was squished, and a slice of cucumber had slipped out and lay at the bottom of the container. She handed it to Anna, who accepted it graciously.

  Pole gathered his belongings and stood. “We have math next. I don’t want to be late. I hear Mr. Bent bought new protractors.”

  Kallie took a deep breath. Math class. With shiny new protractors. The day was not completely lost.

  * * *

  During math, Mr. Bent instructed the class in calculating the area of obtuse triangles. Kallie completed her task well ahead of everyone—including Pole.

  As she sat waiting, she thought about the cup, and something niggled inside her. Like a blurry face on the other side of damp, foggy glass. Unclear. Distorted. She couldn’t quite see it. Not yet. But she could feel it there, waiting for her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kallie noticed Anna struggling. Kallie reached over and sketched a dotted line, creating the angle necessary for Anna to solve the equation.

  “Thanks,” whispered Anna, but Kallie quickly looked away, pretending she hadn’t heard.

  When Kallie had picked up Anna’s cup, she’d seen a word on the bottom—painted with jagged and uneven strokes: Mom. Had the cup been a gift from Anna to her mother? Perhaps a birthday or Mother’s Day present?

  Kallie had once made her father a set of coasters from old, mismatched tiles her teacher must have gotten from a thrift store. The children had each painted them and wrapped them in tissue paper for Father’s Day.

  Kallie took her gift home and waited excitedly as her father unpacked it. He smiled and said thank you, but he worried the tiles would scratch the table. A week later she found them in the garbage.

  Would She have done the same? Kallie wondered. Would She have kept Kallie’s gift? Perhaps Anna’s mother was like Kallie’s father. Maybe she saw no use for such an unattractive cup.

  A cup. A broken cup …

  Something continued to trouble Kallie’s mind. Like fragments and shards of an image smashed and scattered about the floor of her brain. She would only piece them together the following day in music class.

  10

  A HAUNTING MELODY

  Mr. Pagliacci adjusted his collar. He had an assortment of shirts with swashbuckling necklines. They might have made him look a little like a pirate, but with his hanging jowls, droopy eyes, and red bulbous nose, he reminded Kallie more of a sad—slightly intoxicated—clown.

  “This year, vocal music has given way to instrumental,” he proclaimed with both pride and enthusiasm.

  Kallie’s stomach clenched. Her singing voice was like sandpaper grating against glass. But play an instrument? How would she ever manage? She wouldn’t be allowed to practice—that was certain. Her father didn’t even like to listen to well-played music. He’d never stand for subperfect screechings, ornery honkings, and tuneless tootings.

  “Now, it is my firm belief,” said Mr. Pagliacci, his forehead creased with concern, “that it is the moral and ethical duty of a good music teacher to place each student with the instrument on which they will have the highest probability of success…”

  Kallie cast Pole an anxious glance. On the probability scale, with one being certain and zero being impossible, she gauged her instrumental success at 0.1—in words, highly unlikely.

  And now, not only would she have to suffer through another half hour of instrumental agony, it would be followed by a double period of Ms. Beausoleil and then a long, languid weekend. She couldn’t understand why the state of Vermont insisted on beginning school before Labor Day. Three days of school. Then three days off. Inconsistency was the main ingredient in the recipe for failure.

  “… Therefore, rather than have you choose by some whimsical fancy, such as I like the color—the shape—I shall assign you your instruments. The key to success is a perfect match.”

  Mr. Pagliacci retrieved a clipboard from beneath the reams of sheet music and books cluttering his desk and had everyone line up, facing him. It seemed a bit odd—though nothing artistic people did made any sense to Kallie. To her, creative was synonymous with unpredictable and a hairbreadth from unstable.

  “Jonah Abercrombie,” began the teacher, scrutinizing the first student. “Yes. Yes. Reasonably straight teeth, medium lips—perfect for the embouchure—long, thin fingers…” He jotted something on his clipboard and then shouted, startling everyone, “Flute!”

  Mr. Pagliacci went on to assign Queenie Choy the clarinet because of her short, wide fingers; Ivan Gruzinsky the saxophone for his height and robustness; and Saif Khan the trombone as, according to Mr. Pagliacci, he had particularly long arms.

  A
ll three appeared offended, and though Mr. Pagliacci’s observations were not altogether inaccurate, Kallie decided thick fingers, a wide girth, and Neanderthal arms weren’t all too complimentary.

  Kallie was up next. She planted her feet firmly and glared at the teacher. Were her lips too thin? Did she have crocodile arms? She steeled herself, but Mr. Pagliacci glanced at her for a mere fraction of a second before scribbling something onto his clipboard. He looked up briefly, smiled, and said one word.

  “Triangle.”

  The triangle. Kallie seethed. How dare he? It was dismissive. Bordering on insulting. And yet … perfectly equilateral, not to mention required little practice. She settled nicely into the idea once Pole was given the cymbals—only a slight step above her in the percussion pecking order.

  Musical relationships are nothing more than mathematical relationships, Kallie reassured herself. Fractions … simple ratios … patterns …

  Nearly all the instruments had been allocated when Mr. Pagliacci arrived in front of Anna. Before he could examine her or say a word, she pulled something out from her backpack.

  “This is my instrument,” she said decisively. She held out an odd whitish lump riddled with holes.

  Kallie stood in silent amusement, fully expecting a swift reprimand for such insolence, but instead, Mr. Pagliacci’s eyes grew wide, and the corners of his mouth curled into what appeared to be, of all things, delight.

  “Why, it’s a vessel flute—an ocarina,” he said gently, his eyes twinkling.

  “An oca-who?” asked Jonah.

  “An ocarina,” said Anna. “It’s an ancient instrument. Over twelve thousand years old. The Mayans and the Aztecs made them. So did the ancient Chinese.”