We set off from Cole’s and we moved about as fast as convicts in chains. By the clock it was still morning, but we couldn’t even see the sky to be sure.
On my way to Cole’s, I was wondering where they meant to go in this weather. It was always a mystery to me what those two were thinking. Did the kid forget something and want to go get it? He’s always carrying around a book or that magnifying glass of Magnus’s I gave him when we got here so he wouldn’t be so unhappy living in this place. He’s small for his age, but he’s still like a little professor with his glasses and his books under his arm. He was only four when he learned how to read and write, and then six years old when he was doing math in his head. And then there’s Cole, who can’t even add two and two. When that boy talks to me, I feel stupid. Ma tried to teach us things, but I could never keep up. This little guy actually puts you to shame. And I know he doesn’t mean to; he’s not out to make people feel bad about themselves. He just is who he is, nothing more. He’s “got potential,” like his mother used to say. And I was the one she told about that “potential,” like I had any way of helping him there. She said, “Benedict, promise me you’ll take care of him,” and all I could get out was that it wasn’t right to ask that kind of thing of me, that I could barely breathe in this city where I couldn’t stretch my arms without hitting someone, where people’s hearts were colder than any heart you’d find here in Alaska. I told her, “Don’t ask me to stay here: that’ll be the death of me,” and she said, “Benedict, take him anywhere you like, but promise me you’ll keep him close. Don’t ever let him wander off.”
And what did I do? I brought him here and I let him get lost. I didn’t even watch him like I’d promised to. I didn’t teach him what Pa taught me. I didn’t pass on what any father was supposed to pass on to his son.