House of Scales

Chapter 7: The well of bones

Charles was waiting at the door, leaning against the porch's railing and staring at the sky. By the time I got to the hall, Luanne had already packed up and was waiting with him, both of them looking up.

"What's wrong?"

"I just hope it doesn't start raining with those clouds coming down there."

He looked back at me and hugged me.

"I'm sorry I was late," he said lowering his voice so it ended in only a mere whisper, accompanied by a playful wink, "though you didn't mind much, did you?"

After the elbow hit, as a measured response, he stood up as if nothing had happened. Luanne was quick to come down the stairs and tell us to hurry. Looking at the view, she didn't think it would rain until the afternoon, as the storm seemed far away at the moment. That would allow us to be in the woods for a while before the rain preceded the night.

"And you carry all the paintings in this bag?" I tried to make conversation by pointing at the long bag that caught my eye.

"Oh, yeah, all rolled up," she replied, sticking out her tongue at me as Charles drowned out a laugh.

I was perplexed at my friend's reaction and how quickly the girl, with only a smile, changed the subject by addressing my friend.

"So, what happened to your father?" Luanne asked, picking up the conversation as we followed the path to the little wood behind my house.

"He gave me a curfew," he said annoyed, shuffling around on the floor.

Mr Berger had always been strict. Mrs Berger had died shortly after the boy was born, so the father had had to take care of Charles since he was a baby. Although it was a tragedy with a different origin, we could both understand each other. I couldn't remember my mother well, but I missed her. Her memory had made a dent in me, though much more so in Sasha. Charles had never met her: he had no memory of her. That's why our childhood had been different. Mrs Berger had died in a car accident. A car had run off the road when it ran into an animal. The police had confirmed that the driver was drunk and that, if he had been in full possession of his faculties, he might have had a better chance of avoiding the woman.

That accident made my best friend's education severe, and his father was always talking about what one should do, about rigour and values. He worked as a security guard in itinerant service, although he had already been assigned to the municipal water tank building a few kilometres from town for several months. The discipline required by his job had also been in place at the Berger's for as long as I could remember. However, it was the first time since we were children that we had both seen a curfew. We had been through it at a younger age, but as we were about to come of age, it was quite strange.

"What have you done?" It was the first thing that came to my mind, making my friend give me a murderous look.

"Not a thing!" he gave off a snort. "I have to be at home before dark, for my safety."

"And what's going to happen to you here in town?" I asked perplexed. "Nothing ever happens here."

Charles breathed out, as he told us the story his father had said to him that morning. He had made him promise to be home before ten o'clock, no matter what. It was a blind trust, for Mr Berger was working late into the night and wouldn't be able to tell whether his son would have kept his curfew or not. Nevertheless, he had always been true to his word. For him, it was the most important legacy he brought with him. It was true that he had never failed me, even though I had grown accustomed to his loyalty. It was vitally important to him, so he was annoyed that he had no choice but to obey him, even if it wasn't to his liking. His word was something significant to him, and only something more serious could make him break it.