Apprenticeship

THERE WERE TWO WEEKS until Oscar’s birthday and his sleepover with Saige.

Two weeks in which time did that weird sometimes-fast, sometimes-slow thing again.

Like, the time he spent in the shop passed excruciatingly slowly.

And whenever he wasn’t in the shop, time zipped by, faster than a drop of rain in a blanderwheel.

It wasn’t that Oscar really minded working at the shop that much. Especially during the first week, when he’d had the afternoons off. He liked the quiet of the workspace, the gentleness with which Bilius moved about the shop, the patience he used whenever he showed Oscar a new task.

Oscar had always enjoyed being with his father.

He thought it might be because his father was the only parent he had.

He often wondered what it would have been like if his mother hadn’t died.

What would she be like? What sort of a relationship would they have?

“Oscar, you’re dripping glue,” Bilius said on Tuesday afternoon. It was only Oscar’s second day of full shifts, and he was having trouble keeping his mind from wandering. He stifled a yawn and looked down at his workspace.

Bilius was right, of course. He had dripped glue everywhere.

He took a small rag, dipped it carefully into a container of paint thinner, and wiped the excess glue from the Wib he was currently assembling.

It made him think of Wib the dog.

Last week, he’d been able to work on his carvings during the afternoons.

Yesterday, after his first full day at the shop, he’d been too exhausted to carve anything.

He had a feeling today would be the same.

Oscar finished wiping up the glue and set the rag to the side.

The Wib was almost finished. The canopy was completed and open on the workbench in front of him, and Oscar was currently working on gluing the handle together. It would need to dry for a full day before the separate pieces could be assembled.

“You did a good job with that,” Bilius said, coming over to examine the work more closely. “Let’s get it in the vise and tighten it up. Then maybe we could take a little walk together? Get some fresh air?”

It hadn’t been too rainy of a day; it was currently only flinnering.⁸⁴

“Fresh air sounds great,” Oscar said, so Bilius showed him how to set the handle into the vise, tightening the crank until the two glued-together pieces were fit snugly against each other. Then they turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED and headed outside. Bilius didn’t even bring an umbrella.⁸⁵

They made their way to East Market, which was busy with people taking advantage of the fair weather. Neko was working and tossed them each a shooting star fruit.

“I don’t actually love these,” Oscar whispered to Bilius.

“Me either,” Bilius admitted. “But I know someone who does.”

And that is how they ended up trading their two shooting star fruits for two steaming cups of hot chocolate from Mrs. Flanders, who practically squealed with delight over the fruit.

“My favorite!” she announced.

“Neko would understand,” Bilius said as he took his first sip of the hot chocolate. Then, with a wink, he added, “But we’re not going to tell him.”

They ambled slowly around the Alley, not headed in any particular direction. They paused on the far side of Finch and looked west across the Toe, to where the factories were. The smoke they belched into the sky looked particularly gray and dreary today.

“So,” Bilius said. “How are you liking being my apprentice?”

Oscar had sort of known this conversation was coming, and he didn’t exactly know how to answer. The truth was somewhere along the lines of “It’s fine, Dad—it’s not the most miserable thing in the world but I don’t want to be an umbrella maker, and to be honest, I wouldn’t want to work in the shop ever again if I didn’t have to,” but he didn’t want to hurt Bilius’s feelings. Because the truth was—he understood. Bilius didn’t want to force Oscar into the family trade. But he had to. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to pay the bills.⁸⁶

So Oscar settled for the easiest answer.

“It’s good, Dad. Really good.”

He watched as Bilius exhaled a sigh of relief.

And he felt relief himself.

Because the last thing he ever wanted to do was give Bilius more stress.

Footnotes

⁸⁴ A flinner is a rain that doesn’t appear to really want to fall at all. It is sort of a hesitant, reluctant, mediocre drizzle.

⁸⁵ And, of course, Oscar didn’t have one to bring.

⁸⁶ Even though the money from that mysterious Farsouthian had taken a bit of the immediate pressure off, those skiffs wouldn’t last forever.