It was much warmer here, in the new bed they had let him sleep in. He had been here for some days now, and still he did not know where he was, or who these people were, but they had told him that he was safe, and that he did not need to be scared any longer.
The little boy did not understand them, but they had given him food, and he was pleased about that, because he had not eaten for a long time.
The strange faces seemed nice, but they were also quite stupid. For example, they did not realize that the walls in their house were very thin and that he could hear them talking about him once he had gone to bed. His mum had always said that he should be wary of people, that they could not be trusted. He could see now that she had been right. Because these strangers said one thing to him when he was in the room and another when they were on the other side of the wall.
This is insane.
She has kept him a prisoner in that cabin for ten years.
He has never met other children.
Christ Almighty.
He sat underneath her for over a week.
Starving.
He tried to understand what they were talking about; he was no fool, they were clearly talking about him, but he could not grasp the full implications. Nor could he understand why his mum was not here. They had taken her down from the roof beam, the people who had turned up, and he had been looking forward to seeing her again, but she didn’t seem ready, or maybe he was meant to wait for her here in this house with the strangers who could not be trusted. They were stupid, but their food was good. And the rooms were warm. And he was especially excited about the books. They had lots and lots of books.
They said that he had to talk to a man with a thin moustache who had a job as something called a psychologist. The man with the thin moustache said that he was allowed to eat the sweets in the bowl on the table between them, probably to trick him, like people did, but he ate them anyway, because they tasted nice, and he nodded in all the right places, while the man talked.
The man told him about something called death. That his mum was gone, and that she would never come back. To begin with, he did not believe him, of course, but as time passed, he began to think that maybe there was a grain of truth in it after all. Because no matter how long he waited and how much he hoped that she would be there when he opened his eyes under the duvet in the morning, she did not come. So this death place must exist after all, and his mum clearly intended to spend some time there. He did not know for how long, nor did he ask because, every time he opened his mouth, whether it was to the women who brought his food, or the psychologist man with the sweets, they would look at him strangely.
As if he were stupid.
They never said so outright, but he could see it in their eyes. So he stopped asking questions. He learned to nod instead. He smiled and he nodded, and they liked that. And the walls in the house were very thin, but because he became very good at not telling anyone how he felt, the words on the other side of the wall began to change when they discussed him.
He’s doing incredibly well.
What a relief.
What a nightmare, can you imagine? All alone with a crazy mother in a cabin for ten years?
But now he’s doing so well.
Have you noticed how clever he is? How much reading he’s doing?
Did you hear what Nils said?
No, what did he say?
About the laptop?
What about it?
At first he didn’t know what it was.
Really?
I mean, he has never seen one before, but now he uses it all the time. Nils said he has never seen anybody pick up something that quickly.
By now he had been there for a year. He had read all the books in the house several times, including the books the people told him were just for grown-ups.
Don’t say mean things about my mum.
Once or twice, whatever was inside him had almost slipped out and made them take back the bad things they had said about his mum, but he had managed to control himself. He became very good at it. They never noticed.
Oh, he’s so cute.
Yes, isn’t he?
The voices through the wall. And that was how he wanted it. He did not like the words he had overheard the first nights. They had made him shiver under the duvet, even though he was quite warm.
But being here was nice in some ways.
Mostly because of the books.
And the other children.
Not to begin with. The children’s faces had been strange, like those of the grown-ups, but once he had worked out how to copy them, learned not to be himself but merely smile and never show them how he felt on the inside, things had improved.
Still, it was the laptop that fascinated him more than anything.
It was a man called Nils who had first shown it to him. The small plastic rectangle which opened to reveal a whole new world.
‘Have you really never seen a laptop before?’
And the little boy had felt it then, how the rage inside him nearly came out, but he had managed to keep his face clear of expression.
You would not believe the head on that boy.
Amazing, isn’t it? Growing up in those circumstances, and doing as well as he is.
No, I mean it. He’s like Beethoven.
I don’t follow?
The moment Beethoven saw a piano, he knew what to do with it.
What?
Some people have to learn, but Beethoven, he just looked at it, sat down and started playing. He knew immediately what to do.
What are you talking about, Nils?
That boy had never seen a computer in all his life. But the moment he sat down in front of it, it was as if he just instinctively knew how it worked.
I’m so glad he’s doing so well.
No, you don’t understand. This boy is exceptional.
Two years passed. He grew used to all the different flavours of sweets. And although the children would come and go, he enjoyed being with them. Death was clearly an important person who was looking after his mum until she was ready to come back. In time he began to feel that this place was almost his home. It was nothing like life with his mum, obviously, but it was all right. The voices behind the wall now said only nice things about him. The children in the school playground were happy to play football with him or climb on the climbing frame. He was content to wait here. For death to finish with his mum. He slept better at nights. He felt happy every time he woke up.
Right until the day when a car pulled into the yard outside the house and one of the women who looked after him came over to him.
‘I want you to meet someone.’
‘Yes?’ he had replied with his smiling face.
‘You’re going to get a new home.’
He struggled to make sense of the words.
‘Hello,’ said a woman with blonde hair who had emerged from the unfamiliar car.
‘Hello,’ he said, holding out his hand and bowing like he had been taught he should.
‘My name is Helene,’ the smiling woman said. ‘Helene Eriksen.’
‘Why don’t we all go inside and get to know each other?’ said the woman who looked after him.
So that is what they had done, gone inside, and there were crusty rolls on a plate on the table and red squash for him to drink, and then the face of the new woman had grown serious and she had put her hand on his shoulder.
‘We’re so happy about it, we really are. That you are going to be a part of our family now.’
The boy did not understand what was happening, and the thing inside him bared its teeth, but he had managed to smile at her all the same, with that face he had learned to show the outside world.