Unspeakable, Part 8

The new system satisfied everyone. For a long time they just sat and talked. Talked about anything, everything. It felt so good to be out of silence, out of solitude.

Connie, like Miles, confessed dreams of the outdoors. Despite her condition, she longed to stand upon the ground, to feel grass and dirt and to smell flowers and feel the sun.

In fact they all longed for light, for air. Ivan admitted he’d never been allowed outside, anywhere he might be seen, be recorded, and he like Connie longed to walk free.

Sally dreamed of play. She told them of her love for music, for dancing and games and good company. Mander eyed them from one side, the other, then admitted he shared her hobbies.

Sally was overjoyed. They had no access to music but sang their favorite tunes, clapping and laughing along; despite his deliberate bearing, Mander could move. They were a good pair.

Stretching up on her toes, Sally even convinced Ivan to dance, which he did with grace, a smile stealing over his face. Shylock knelt and watched, resting his head on Miles’ knee.

Sequoia was reluctant to speak, slow to join in. She watched everything carefully through her curtain of hair. Ivan treated her respectfully, tenderly, which she seemed to appreciate.

Connie also spoke to her, kindly, and Sequoia answered in words and phrases. She had a habit of picking and rubbing at her hands as well as tucking her feet underneath her.

Connie increasingly leaned over the edge of the hammock, inclining herself toward the others, as close as she could get. Lying on her stomach she kicked her thin feet up toward the ceiling and down again, as if the fateful extremities were restless of their own accord.

Miles’ restlessness was, of necessity, internally contained. He drummed his clumsy fingers on the rusted arm of the chair until he noticed Shylock’s big eyes on him.

He gave Shylock the smile he could manage, and tried to still his hand. The boy seemed to watch him constantly, struggling with the impulse to stick to his side.

Miles thought about it, but ended up encouraging that impulse. Every time he doubted, he could hear the weeping that had haunted him through the wall.

Above all else, Shylock had to know he wasn’t alone. At night when Shylock twitched in bad dreams, Miles put a hand on his head and whispered it’s okay.

As time passed Miles became more and more attached to sharing a bed with Shylock. Night had always been when the doubts and pointlessness of life hit him the hardest.

But now, when he wondered if going on was really worth it, if his life was worth living, he felt Shylock’s breath on his shoulder, Shylock’s arm over his chest, and he got back to sleep.

The boy was invaluable to him in so many ways. To his frustration, Miles would have been helpless without him to lift him, to push the chair. Just his company made life more bearable.

In light of that Miles was impatient to see Shylock improve. The same sort of irrational determination that had driven their first meeting drove Miles now to seek Shylock’s smile.

Miles tried different kinds of jokes, tried to draw Shylock into activities, trying to find something that would reach him. But it depended on the day.

One day Miles thought Shylock watched he and Connie banter with hope in his big eyes.

But the next, teasing from Sally caused him to withdraw into himself, nearly in tears.

That day, when they returned to their room Miles was troubled to hear Shylock’s breathing, still labored and shaky as if he was trying not to cry.

Not yet, Miles said, when Shylock put a hand on his back to move him to the slab. Shylock sat down on the edge of the slab. Miles shifted himself nearer.

Aw, Shylock, he said, she didn’t mean anything by it. You know that, right? Shylock nodded his head without looking up, his shoulders hunched.

Miles sighed. Shylock, he said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. I wish there was something I could say. I wish-- he stopped. If you want to just stay in tomorrow, we can.

You should go, Shylock whispered after a moment. They’re your friends. Miles frowned briefly, but spoke lightly. Hey, how would I get anything done without you? he asked.

Ivan will help you, Shylock answered, like he did before. You--don’t need me.

Miles squeezed Shylock’s shoulder as tight as he could. Whether or not that’s true, he said, I’m not going without you. Shylock sniffled.

Why not? he asked brokenly after a moment.

I don’t know, Miles said thoughtfully, and gave him a playful shake. I guess you’ve grown on me, kid. It just wouldn’t be the same, me without you.

Shylock sniffled again, and Miles realized he’d begun to cry. Aw hell, Shylock, he sighed, isn’t there anything I can say that won’t make you cry?

I’m sorry, Shylock whispered. I-I- I don’t deserve you-your kindness.

Miles gave a brief laugh. Oh, sweet Shylock, he said wryly, you deserve so much better than me. I’m really quite an ass. And not just the obstinate donkey kind of ass, but the literal, poop comes out of it kind of ass. A big, saggy, smelly, ass, that’s me. Ask anyone upstairs.

Shylock glanced at him once, then again, and Miles realized his face had brightened. Poop? he whispered. Miles grinned. Lots of poop. Little rabbit poops, big diarrhea rushes, you name it.

Shylock ducked his head again, and Miles thought the boy might be at least thinking of smiling. I can’t exactly ask, Shylock whispered, but I don’t think that’s true.

It is, Miles said, unfortunately, and you’ll ask. He squeezed Shylock’s shoulder again. Just you wait, Shylock. I’m gonna take you upstairs and show you everything. The big golden baths, the light-filled atrium, the libraries if you want. The training fields, the grasses, the vistas of scenery.

Miles’ brow furrowed, he stared into space. It’s all up there, Shylock. And not just the Academy, either. No, one day, I’ll take you to Central Control itself. It’s legendary. A floating palace.

Floating? came Shylock’s whisper, and Miles smiled faintly. That’s what they say, he answered. An upside-down mountain with a palace growing out of it, floating, traveling the whole world.

It’s so high in the air, he said, and always moving, that no one can find it. But if anyone can, Shylock, he added, you can. You and me, we’ll find it.

Me? Shylock whispered, and Miles looked at him. There was a light in his face. You, Shylock, Miles said. You see things other people can’t. It’s a gift.

It’s-- a madness, Shylock whispered, dropping his eyes. I- I know I’m crazy.

You’re not, Miles said, and Shylock looked back at him. I’ve seen crazy, Shylock. The Academy drives people crazy, and I’ve seen it. You’re something else, something--very, very special.

He smiled as he said it, and then suddenly Shylock fell toward him. He wrapped his arms around Miles’ neck, sank to his knees before the chair and he held on tight.

He couldn’t feel it, but Miles was startled nonetheless. Shylock, he said, then cleared his throat. Shylock, I think you need some sleep, he said, huh? He laid his hand on Shylock’s head.

Let’s get to bed, he said, but Shylock took a shaky breath and nestled closer. Aw, buddy, Miles said, with a light laugh. You’ll be more comfortable lying down, you know.

He managed to maneuver him onto the slab, but Shylock wouldn’t let go, keeping his arms locked tight around Miles. Miles was about to doze off anyway, when he heard thank you.

Shylock’s face was pressed into the hollow of Miles’ neck, and there was suddenly a lump in Miles’ throat. He put a hand on the back of Shylock’s head. Just- just go to sleep, buddy, he said.