Kit de Waal - My Name Is Leon

“Are you planting Scarlet Emperor?” asks Leon. “Sowing time is April or May.”

The man looks at Leon and then at the seed box.

“I am. But not today.”

“You have to transplant outdoors when the frosts have gone,” says Leon. “That’s in the summertime.”

“Not quite that late, young man. Nearly.”

Leon can see another small knife with a short blade on the chair next to the seeds.

“Is that Japanese as well?” he says.

“That is a pruning knife. Needs oiling.”

Leon shrugs. “I know how to oil a bike, my dad showed me.”

Mr. Devlin walks to the chair, puts the seeds and the small knife on the ground, and sits down. He puts the big knife on his lap and picks up a bottle of linseed oil. Leon puts his bike on the grass and walks over.

“Move that bicycle out of the way. It’s a hazard.”

Leon picks up the bike and rests it carefully against the brick wall of the hut. He stands by Mr. Devlin and watches.

“Linseed oil,” he says, “is for the handle here.”

He shows Leon the handle. It’s smooth, black wood with a blue line running through it and a silky blue tassel on the end.

“Oil the handle. Never the blade.”

“Is it sharp?”

“Pick that dandelion and pass it to me.”

Leon picks the yellow-headed flower and gives it to the man. Up close, Mr. Devlin has hair in his ears and nose. He has dirt deep in the lines on his face and crusty, dry lips that make Leon thirsty.

“The Kanetsune is the name for a group of knives. They have steel blades. Sharp as a witch’s tongue. Stroke the blade with the stem of the dandelion. Softly, now. Gently, like so.”

He holds Leon’s hand and draws the stem of the flower all along the edge of the blade but before it gets to the end, the stem splits open; half of it falls on the grass. Mr. Devlin takes a little breath in.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly. “Imagine the damage it does.”

Leon pulls his hand away. Loads of knives can cut dandelions. The little knife is on the grass and Leon picks it up and hands it to Mr. Devlin.

“You’re a very determined boy, aren’t you? What are you, twelve? Eleven? Sit down and take a piece of that cloth now.”

Leon looks around.

“The T-shirt,” says Mr. Devlin, “that there.”

He points at a pile of cloth and Leon picks it up.

“No,” he says with a sigh. “A piece of it, a piece.”

He grabs it off Leon and with a swish of the big knife he separates a sleeve from the pile. Leon stares at the man.

“Wow!” he says.

“Yes, wow, as you say.”

Leon uses the linseed to oil the handle of the pruning knife. It’s very sharp and Mr. Devlin keeps reminding him, saying “careful” and “slowly.”

“Do you have a name?” says Mr. Devlin after a while.

“Leon Rycroft. And I’ve got a brother. I know your name. You’re called Mr. Devlin.”

“Just Devlin. I used to be Señor Victor. Can you say Senhor Victor?”

“Senhor Victor.”

Mr. Devlin stares at Leon and then whispers, “Or Papa.”

“Papa.”

“Ah,” says Mr. Devlin.

Leon shows him the handle of the knife.

“Now wipe it over with a clean cloth.”

Leon rubs it all over with the T-shirt while Mr. Devlin watches. “That’s it,” he says.

“Are you from America?” Leon asks.

“I’ve been called some bad things in my time. That’s one of the worst. I am an Irishman, child. Dungannon is where I was born but I haven’t seen it for many a year.”

Mr. Devlin stops suddenly and turns his head like he hears something. Leon stops as well. Mr. Devlin mutters, “Twenty years precisely.”

Leon wipes the knife along his leg.

“Don’t do that,” says Mr. Devlin. “You’ll pierce your jeans and your mother will be after me.”

Leon doesn’t want to tell him about Sylvia or Maureen, so he finishes the knife and gives it back.

“You’ve used too much oil, look,” says Mr. Devlin, wiping it off on his jacket. “On the other hand, you’ve been thorough and it hasn’t leaked onto the blade itself. Use mineral oil for the blade. Or rapeseed oil.”

He stands up suddenly and goes inside his hut. He is gone for so long that Leon gets on his bike. He goes round in a few circles and when Mr. Devlin still doesn’t come out, Leon pedals back home with his new things in his backpack.

It’s a long walk from the parking lot to the hospital. The Zebra walks fast and Leon has to trot to keep up with her. They go up in the elevator and Leon presses the button. Lots of people get in and squash him at the back, then they all get out at the same place and do lots more walking until they find Maureen. She is sitting up in bed with a white tube in her nose.

“At last,” she says and she holds her arms open for Leon.

She smells different, she looks different, and she sounds different but when she snuggles him and rubs his back she is the same. Leon hugs her back and she laughs.

“Missed me, eh? Well, I’ve missed you as well. Can’t wait to get home.”

The Zebra starts walking away.

“I’m going down to the café. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes, all right, Leon? All right, Maureen?”

Maureen waves her off and then looks at Leon.

“She all right? Does she get along with Sylvia?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “She got me a BMX.”

“Did she now?”

“Yeah, a real one. It’s red. It goes really fast.”

“That’s lovely, pigeon. And what about you? You getting along with Sylvia?”

Leon says nothing.

“She treating you all right?”

Her mouth is smiling but her eyes are sad.

Leon looks around the ward. There are lots of old ladies in nighties and dressing gowns. The room is too hot and smells of school dinners. All the visitors are looking at each other and chairs keep scraping across the floor. He can’t see any nurses.

“The doctor said you’re not dying,” he says, “so why can’t you come home and then I can live with you again?”

“I might not be dying but I feel like it sometimes.”

Maureen lies back on her three pillows and closes her eyes but she keeps hold of Leon’s hand.

“I’ll be home soon. Don’t you worry.”

“I can go out on my bike whenever I want. I go everywhere. I found the allotments.”

“Did you?”

Maureen’s voice is far away.

“And there’s lots of people up there that wave at me.”

“Is that so?”

“Jake hasn’t written to me yet.”

“No, love.”

“I don’t know where he lives.”

“No, love, nor me.”

“When I’m in bed at night, I can’t sleep properly.”

“Really?”

“And I have to go to bed when it’s still light.”

“Yes, I know.”

“The wind blows the curtains and it looks like someone’s coming into my room.”

“Well, they’re not.”

“My mom hasn’t come back.”

“I know, love.”

The time goes slowly. Maureen’s hand gets hot and sticky and he can hear the wind in her chest; it whistles like a recorder. A nurse walks up the middle of the ward and bends over him, whispering.

“Has your nana gone asleep, love?”

Leon looks at Maureen and realizes she is very, very old. She has lots of white in her hair now and soon she will look like the other old ladies and soon she will die.

“Is someone else here with you, love? Is your mom here?”

The nurse looks up and down the ward and takes his hand.

“Shall we go and find her? Or do you want to stay with your nana?”

The Zebra will come and take him back to Sylvia’s. The Zebra will tell him not to worry. The Zebra will tell him he can’t see Jake. That Carol isn’t well. That’s all anyone ever says to him.