_______________________________________________
Looking at this pitiful boy, her throat tightening, blinking
back tears once again, feeling even more helpless than she
had felt before. But also, beyond pity, beyond anger… The
lady sensed a deeply felt hatred. A hatred for the man. A
hatred for the system that held this sad, beautiful boy in
bondage. Beyond words. At a complete loss for words,
turning away, the lady left the room.
________________________________________________
Climbing Boy 10: Mousy
London, England
December 24. 1843
All that was left for him to do was to sweep the pile of
soot on the fireplace floor into the ash bucket, dump it in
the trash bin, and take whatever equipment was left inside
outside and wait for Johnson to return for him.
Scuttle in hand, Zachariah was about to put the ash
bucket into the fireplace when he noticed movement in the
back corner. Dropping onto his hands and knees he looked.
Two gray mice looked back. The larger mouse scampered
through a chink in the masonry, but, standing on its hind
legs, its nose twitching, sniffing the air, the smaller mouse
remained.
Moving slowly so as not to frighten the creature,
Zachariah shifted the steel scuttle from his left hand to his
right. Holding it loosely, testing its weight, his wrist moving
up and down slightly… slowly… slowly he brought his
hand up.
Its nose twitching and its black eyes watching, the mouse
remained in place.
Zachariah brought the scuttle higher, and down…
But, stopping in mid-swing, laying the small shovel aside,
putting both hands onto the hearth, he leaned into the
fireplace in order to better see this fearless rodent.
Dropping onto its four paws, the mouse slowly, carefully,
approached Zachariah’s outstretched hands. Stopping just
short of his right index finger, it sniffed. Moving to the left,
it stopped again, smelled the thumb and, as through sensing
approval, looked up, climbed onto the web of flesh between
the boy’s thumb and forefinger, looked up again, then
crawled under the loose cuff of Zachariah’s shirt and up
his arm.
“Ai, that tickles!” Zachariah was more than astonished,
he was amazed at the creature’s courage and dumbfounded
by its friendliness.
Reaching the collar of his shirt, the mouse walked across
the back of his neck and, rising onto its back paws, gently
nibbled on Zachariah’s earlobe.
“‘ey, what kind’a mouse are ya?” Taking the mouse off
his shoulder, holding it in his open hand in front of his face,
the boy and mouse regarded each other closely.
“Wait a minute!” Zachariah looked to where he’d sat
while eating.
There, on the hearth, was a large cookie crumb. Picking
it up, putting it onto his palm, he held it in front of the mouse.
Sniffing a moment, picking the crumb up with both front
paws, the mouse ate it.
Delighted, Zachariah scratched the bumpy surface
between the mouse’s ears for a few seconds, then stopped.
Causing the boy to giggle, the mouse lifted its head against
Zachariah’s outstretched finger and wiggled it back
and forth.
“Aye, ya wanna be me friend do ya? Well, little mouse,
me name’s Zachariah. An’ what might your name be?”
Looking over his shoulder to be sure the lady hadn’t
returned, Lordy, he thought, she’d think me daft, talkin’ to
a mouse.
“I know what!” Bringing his hand closer to his mouth he
whispered into the mouse’s pink ear. “You’re a mouse, right?
So’s I think I’ll call ya Mousy. Yeah, Mousy! That’s your name
from now on. An’ I ain’t gonna tell no one ‘bout ya. It’ll be
our secret, just you an’ me. Master Johnson, ‘e never looks
by me bed, so tonight, when we gets ‘ome, I’m gonna find
ya a box or somethin’ so’s ya can live in it. An’ I’ll make ya a
bed outta some piece a’rag an’ I’ll save ya some crumbs
out’a me food to feed ya, an’ we’ll find somethin’ to put water
into so’s you’ll have somethin’ to drink, an’… an’, you’n’me,
we’ll be… friends.
Sitting on Zachariah’s palm as thought actually listening,
Mousy’s ears stood straight up.
The boy looked about for some means of transport. Seeing
nothing, “Mousy,” still whispering, “‘ow can I get ya, ‘ome?”
His coat! “Me coat’s got a top pocket.” Putting it on,
spreading the breast pocket open, Zachariah carefully
dropped Mousy inside.
Falling to the bottom of the deep pocket, standing on its
hind legs, Mousy scratched at the material until it got a
toehold, then, pulling itself up, poked its head through
the slit.
“There ya be! You’ll be safe an’ warm there till we gets ya
‘ome an’ then I’ll find ya a proper place to live.”
Thinking, best be done a’fore ‘e gets back ‘ere. Scratching
between Mousy’s ears, the boy gave his pocket a friendly pat.
Containing ammonia and nitrogen, valued as a fertilizer,
his arms straining under the weight, holding the handle with
both hands, lugging brim-full buckets of soot, he made two
trips to the compost bin.
Finished with his work, looking about the room one final
time, Zachariah’s eyes lingered on the Christmas tree for a
few moments, then, sighing, not at all happy to be leaving
this house, nor the lady—especially the lady—he carried the
toolbox outside and put it by the door alongside the stack of
drop cloths and the equipment that had been left by Johnson.
Going to the kitchen door, “Mum,” he called, “I’ve
finished!” and stood back, waiting for her to come out.
The door opened.
Coming to him, the sad look returned to her face and,
once again obeying a maternal compulsion, without saying
a word, putting her arms around Zachariah, the lady
hugged him.
His arms held at his sides, the boy did not know what
to do.
Other than the remembrance of the feel of her hand
rubbing his head before he’d eaten, in his memory, besides
‘getting what for’ from his master, the closest Zachariah
had come to the touch of another human had been earlier
on this day when his head had rested upon the shoulder of
Marcos the fishmonger, and he’d been asleep then and only
became aware of it at the moment, and for the moment,
that he’d awoken.
He ached to hug the lady back, but didn’t want to make
her any dirtier.
But, Oh! The feel of the starched apron upon his face,
the odors of the kitchen and the soft, warmth of the lady
reminded him of…
“Mama,” he whispered into the crevice of her bosom.
Loosening her hold so she might look at him, the lady
pulled back slightly.
Teeth biting lower lips, both fighting to hold back tears,
each looked at the other.
Giving in to an uncontrollable urge, Oh! he thought again
as, brushing his hand over the lady’s cheek, leaving a streak
of dirt, It’s soft, just like Mama’s. And Zachariah’s eyes
became shiny at the thought of never again seeing this
beautiful, kind lady. This lady who was so much like his
Mama—like the Mama of his dreams.
“Oh, Mum, I’ve made your face dirty. I’m sorry!” He tried
rubbing the streak with a finger, but only succeeded in
making her cheek dirtier.
“No, Zachariah,” taking hold of his hand, squeezing it,
“it’s all right.”
Backing to the fireplace, bringing him with her, the lady
sat on the hearth facing him so that she and the boy might
be at eye level.
Reaching into the pocket of her apron, “Zachariah, here.
This is for you to give Mr. Johnson for the sweep.” Handing
him three coins. “It’s a bit more than the agreed price, so as
to make sure he is in a good mood when he comes for you.”
Looking at the coins, “Thank ya, Mum.” he put them into
his trousers, left side pocket.
“And, Zachariah,” taking his hand, “this is for you.”
turning it palm side up, she laid a large, silver coin into his
dirt-caked hand.
Looking at the coin, “Lordy!” trying to hand it back. “No,
Mum! I can’t be takin’ this from ya!”
“Yes!” Ignoring his effort to force the coin back into her
hand. “Yes, you can. And you must! Zachariah, I want you
to hide this from him. Save this for when you want to…”
wanting to say, “run away,” “...leave Mister Johnson, or when
you see something you want very badly for yourself. But it
is for you! When you need it! For something very important!”
Looking into his eyes. “Do you understand me?”
Nodding his head, “Yes, Mum.”
“You try to remember where I live, if for any reason you
need me, or if you wish to speak to me.”
Looking into her eyes, Zachariah felt happy with the
knowledge that he could see the lady again if he wanted to,
and he knew he would want to. “Yes, Mum.” He put the
coin into his right side pocket.
Looking at him a moment longer, not knowing what more
to say, not knowing what more to do, “May the Lord bless
you, Zachariah.” Standing, she swiped the palms of her
hands over her eyes, looked hard at the boy one last time,
then walked out of the room, into the kitchen, where she
closed the door behind her.
Zachariah watched the lady walk away.
He looked at the closed door a moment, then went
through the living room to the front door, opened it, stepped
through, started to close it, stopped, opened it again, looked
about one last time and, “Bye, Mum.” he said softly.
Concentrating, fighting to hold back tears, the boy closed
the door.
He made three trips carrying the equipment down
the stairs.
Stacking it neatly on the bottom step, he sat on the step
to wait for Johnson.
As he waited he thought about the lady, also about the
man that comes down chimneys, the man the lady called…?
Saint Nicholas.
She said all good children get presents. He thought, I ain’t
never been bad. I’m a good boy, ain’t I? ‘ow’s come ‘e forgets
me? ‘e ain’t never come to my ‘ouse! ‘ow’s come I never gets a
present? I always do what Master Johnson asks, an’ sometimes
I don’t even cry when ‘e ‘its me when I ain’t even done nothin’.
The more he thought, the more depressed he became, then…
Skeek… Skeek.
Zachariah looked down. “Blimey!” There, poking through
his pocket was a small nose and two pink ears. “I’d forgotten
‘bout ya, Mousy.” Smiling, he scratched the little
creature’s head.
***
For a brief period of time the heavy cover of clouds had
opened allowing the sun to shine through. Now though, at
midday, heavy, dark clouds were once again filling the
blue void.
“Where is ‘e?” Standing, shivering, tightening the scarf
about his neck, Zachariah wrapped the long-coat tighter
about himself.
Leaving his post at the bottom of the staircase, walking
past the seven row houses to the corner, looking up and
down the street, Where is ‘e? the boy returned to the stairs.
Having no idea where Johnson had gone, Zachariah had
no idea from what direction he’d return, so, as walking
helped to keep him warm, he walked to the corner again,
then back, past the lady’s staircase to the far corner, then
back again.
As the sky grew darker, the air became colder, and on
the boy walked, from one corner to the other.
