Gary Paulsen: Brian's Return

‘‘Don’t let it up,’’ he said. ‘‘I have to keep it down . .’’

Police came to the pizza place. They called an ambulance and took Carl to the hospital, where it was found that the skin around his eyes was severely bruised, as were his ribs and his stomach. Though it was not really necessary they kept him in the hospital overnight for observation, which made his condition seem much more severe than it was.

The police handcuffed Brian and put him in the backseat of the car while they interviewed witnesses. Susan came to the car but the police pulled her away.

‘‘No talking,’’ they told her. ‘‘No talking to the boy.’’

‘‘But he didn’t do anything wrong. Carl attacked him. Brian was just—’’

‘‘No talking to the boy.’’

In a short time the police came back and removed the handcuffs but they wouldn’t let Brian go. Instead they drove him home and he had the unpleasant experience of having police with him when his mother opened the door. She was thin, and dressed for work in her real-estate blazer.

‘‘Brian? What…’’

‘‘There was a fight at Mackey’s Pizza. Your boy was beating up on another boy.’’

‘‘Brian? Is that true?’’

Brian said nothing.

‘‘Brian, is that true?’’ she repeated. ‘‘Were you fighting?’’

He looked at his mother. He thought briefly of trying to tell her the truth: that it hadn’t been the Brian she knew but a different one, a totally different person; that it hadn’t been a fight but an automatic reaction. It hadn’t happened because it hadn’t been him — it had been some kind of animal. A boy animal. No, an animal-boy. I am animal-boy, he thought, and tried not to smile.

‘‘It is most definitely not funny.’’

He shook his head. ‘‘I know. I didn’t mean it’s funny. I don’t know exactly what happened. .’’

‘‘Did you fight? Like the policeman says?’’

He thought a moment. ‘‘I was. . reacting. Protecting myself.’’

‘‘The boy was beaten senseless,’’ the policeman said. ‘‘He didn’t know his name.’’

‘‘He attacked me.’’

‘‘We were told several versions,’’ the policeman said to Brian’s mother. ‘‘Apparently they were fighting over a girl.’’

‘‘A girl?’’ She looked at Brian. ‘‘You have a girl?’’

Brian shook his head. ‘‘No — it wasn’t that way at all. I was coming in the door and he slammed the door open and Susan was knocked down and he hit me and I. .’’

But they didn’t hear him. Even if they had listened they wouldn’t have heard him, not really. They would never understand him.

So he shrugged and played dumb and let them think what they wanted. It didn’t matter because he was starting to understand it now, was starting to see what had to happen, what he needed to do.

I know someone, a counselor,’’ the policeman said. ‘‘He’s a retired cop and works with boys. I’ll give you his name.’’ The policeman took out a notebook and wrote a name and number on a page, tore it out and gave it to Brian’s mother. ‘‘Here. Call him and he can talk to your boy. .’’

Animal-boy, thought Brian. Not boy, animal-boy. But he didn’t smile.

‘‘. . maybe he can straighten him out.’’

Not unless he can see into my heart, Brian thought.

The sign was hung on the side of an office attached to a house.

CALEB LANCASTER

Family Counseling

Please Come In

It wasn’t really an office as much as it was a room stuck on the corner of a two-car garage. It had probably been a workshop, Brian thought. He stopped at the door. This cop retired and is making money on the side by counseling boys in his old workshop. Great. Just great. He’ll tell me to get good grades, don’t fight, don’t do drugs, obey my parents— and the police — and send me on my way. After getting a check from Mom, which is really a check from the money I’ve saved, since Mom doesn’t have any money. Great.

He had talked to a counselor briefly the first year after he’d come back but there hadn’t really been anything wrong then. He hadn’t started to miss the woods as much as he would later — and football players hadn’t attacked him yet either, he thought, looking at the sign.

For a moment he played with the idea of turning and leaving. This was so stupid. There was nothing wrong with him. He had come back at somebody who was attacking him. He had come back a little hard, maybe, but just the same. .

His hand turned the knob without his really meaning it to and the door opened.

‘‘Hello. You must be Brian.’’

Brian stopped just inside the door and his eyes moved and in two seconds he had taken in everything in the room. Plain white walls, some cheap pictures of woods and mountains that didn’t seem to match the rest of the space, a framed document of some kind. The desk was gray-green metal. There was one chair facing the front of the desk — an old iron office chair. Along one wall was a gray-green metal bookcase filled with books so heavy the shelves sagged. The floor was clean gray concrete.

It was maybe the ugliest room he had ever seen.

Behind the desk sat what Brian could only think of as a wall of a man. He wasn’t fat, just enormous and richly black, with a smile that grew wider as he stood and held out his hand. Brian almost moved back. This man had to be nearly seven feet tall. He literally almost filled the room.

‘‘I’m Caleb.’’

Brian took his hand and felt himself being moved toward the chair across from Caleb.

‘‘Take a seat, any seat.’’ He laughed. ‘‘As long as it’s this one.’’

Brian sat, waited.

‘‘They tell me you’re the boy who lived in the woods. The one who was all over television a couple of years ago.’’

Brian nodded.

‘‘Is that right?’’

Brian nodded again and realized with a start that Caleb was blind. ‘‘Yes. .’’

Caleb laughed, deep and booming. ‘‘You were nodding.’’

‘‘Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. .’’

‘‘Don’t be sorry. It’s flattering that you took so long to see it.’’

‘‘Did it happen when you were a cop?’’

Another laugh. ‘‘Not really. I got a headache one day, a really fierce one while I was working, and three days later I was blind.’’

‘‘Just like that?’’

‘‘Just like that. The doctors had some fancy names for what happened but I like to keep things simple. I had a headache. I went blind. That’s it. But we’re not supposed to talk about me. We’re supposed to talk about why you beat the hell out of that football player.’’

Brian leaned back.

‘‘If you want to.’’

Brian took a breath.

‘‘Or we could talk about something else.’’

‘‘I didn’t beat the hell out of him.’’

‘‘They took him to the hospital. .’’

‘‘He attacked me.’’

‘‘Over a girl,’’ Caleb said.

‘‘No. Or maybe. I don’t know. He just slammed out the door and hit me.’’

‘‘And you hit him back.’’

Brian nodded, then remembered. ‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘Tell me about the woods.’’

‘‘Pardon?’’

‘‘The woods. Tell me about them. I’m a city boy and don’t know anything about woods. What are they like?’’

‘‘I. .’’ Brian shrugged. ‘‘They’re all right.’’

‘‘All right? That’s all? After all you did that’s all you can say? I heard you had to eat bugs and almost died. What was it like— really like?’’

Brian paused, remembering. A blade of grass that moved, the way a rabbit turned its head just before an arrow hit it, a flash of color when a fish rolled in the water.