An Episode of Remnants.
Episode Content Warnings
- Please bear in mind that this work has content some listeners may find distressing, including themes of war, violence, and grief. This episode contains:
- Child abuse and neglect (non-sexual)
- Implications of domestic violence
- Medical abuse of a woman (forced drug-use)
- Infanticide
Transcript
AS THE APPRENTICE SPEAKS, HIS VOICE OSCILLATES ODDLY, EERILY.
APPRENTICE
I follow the path. I know the way. It is made as I walk it.
FOOTSTEPS. THE SOUND OF FLAMES IS GROWING.
APPRENTICE
There are many before me and many behind. I have walked this path a thousand times and I have walked many others. I know the way. This is my path. I make it as I walk, and I follow it.
SKITTERING SOUND NEARBY
APPRENTICE
What— what. What the fuck. Where am I?! Shit! Hello?!
SKITTERING SOUND NEARBY
APPRENTICE
Who is that?! Who’s there?!
SKITTERING, FURTHER AWAY
APPRENTICE
Where am I?
A FEW HESITANT STEPS. FURNACES ROAR.
APPRENTICE
Why do I feel so– so alone?
MORE FOOTSTEPS
APPRENTICE
Hello? Is anyone there? Anybody?
CLUNK, MUSICAL SOUNDS
APPRENTICE
What the fuck? A little box. Shaped like a heart.
HE OPENS THE BOX. MUSIC PLAYS. HE GASPS AND THE BOX CLATTERS TO THE GROUND.
A PAUSE.
MOVEMENT. THE BOX OPENS AGAIN, MUSIC PLAYS.
APPRENTICE
Music. And there’s a mirror. And that’s… that’s me. That’s me in the mirror.
Oh.
What is that tune? Why does it feel so… familiar?
Is that what I look like?
I look so. Tired. I— I don’t.
Ach. My head. Again. Ugh.
THE MUSIC STOPS
THE APPRENTICE SNIFFS. HIS BREATH CATCHES AS THOUGH HE IS CRYING.
APPRENTICE
God. What is wrong with me? I can’t, I– I can’t remember. I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m reaching for something and it’s just. Smoke. It’s gone. Nothing. It’s frightening. And I just. I find these holes in my thoughts, but I don’t even notice them, all the gaps, all the bits where there’s empty space and there should be… what? Me?
Who the fuck am?
MOVEMENT. THE MUSIC BOX SCRAPES ON THE FLOOR. THE APPRENTICE WINDS IT UP, SETS IT PLAYING, AND SITS IT DOWN
APPRENTICE
Is that me, in there? Is that really me?
THE APPRENTICE SOBS.
SKITTERING NEARBY
THE APPRENTICE GASPS
APPRENTICE
Hello?
SKITTERING AGAIN. AND THEN THE SOUND OF PAPER FALLING.
APPRENTICE
What?
THE PAPER FALLING GETS MORE AND MORE AGGRESSIVE
APPRENTICE
Shit!
RUNNING. THE APPRENTICE SLAMS INTO A DOOR. THE HANDLE RATTLES BUT DOESN’T OPEN
APPRENTICE
Oh, come on, come on!
THE SOUND OF PAPER AND FIRE IS MASSIVE NOW
APPRENTICE
The key! The key!
THE KEY RATTLES IN THE LOCK. THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN AND SLAMS SHUT. THE SOUND OF THE FIRE AND THE PAPER IS COMPLETELY GONE.
THE APPRENTICE BREATHES HEAVILY.
APPRENTICE
What the fuck.
SIR
Ah, there you are.
THE APPRENTICE YELPS
SIR
I did not mean to startle you.
APPRENTICE
I was, I had just, it–
SIR
No matter. What is that, in your hand?
APPRENTICE
A– a music box.
SIR
Give it to me.
APPRENTICE
But I wondered if–
SIR
GIVE IT TO ME.
APPRENTICE
Okay fine!
SIR
Thank you.
Where did you get this?
APPRENTICE
I found it.
SIR
Where?
APPRENTICE
In the– in the c-corridor.
SIR
That is where you have come from?
APPRENTICE
Um. Yes.
SIR
I see.
APPRENTICE
I wondered if maybe it would be relevant.
SIR
No. It does not serve our purpose here.
APPRENTICE
Oh. Can’t I– can I look at it anyway?
SIR
No.
APPRENTICE
Why?
SIR
Because I have decreed it, that is why!
APPRENTICE
God, I’m sorry!
SIR
Ha. You do not even know the meaning of the word!
APPRENTICE
‘Sorry’?
SIR
‘God’.
APPRENTICE
Explain it then.
SIR
I could not, not adequately. And it is not important.
APPRENTICE
I’m sorry.
SIR
No. You’re not. I have seen you sorry. And it is not this.
APPRENTICE
I– I don’t know how to prove it to you that I am.
SIR
You cannot.
APPRENTICE
Right.
SIR
I have a remnant for you to read.
APPRENTICE
Oh?
SIR
Yes. Here.
APPRENTICE
It’s a little yellow bear.
SIR
Yes.
APPRENTICE
It’s… soggy.
SIR
Yes.
APPRENTICE
There’s a ribbon around its neck, like it used to be a bow, but now there’s just a knot with a stitch through it. One side of the ribbon is frayed, the other is almost stiff? Crinkled? Like it might’ve been chewed. The stuffing of its belly is firm, and there’s a nice weigh to it for such a little bear, I think there are beans or grains of rice or something in the bottom, and the nose, thread embroidered on, is coming lose, stray threads hanging and– and—
WHOOSH
Max’s mother’s bedroom is so dark after the brightness of the hallway that for a moment he cannot see anything at all. He hears the rustle of blankets as his mother shifts in bed, turning towards the light pouring into her darkness.
‘Max?’ she croaks.
‘Sorry, mother,’ he whispers.
His eyes are adjusting now. He can make out the shape of her in the bed, her head turned. She’s lying on her side, but he can still tell how round her belly is.
‘Is the baby hurting you?’ he asks.
‘No, darling,’ his mother says softly. ‘It’s not the baby’s fault. I was this sick with you, too.’
Max chews his sleeve.
‘Darling, what did we say about chewing our clothes?’
Max drops his arm to his side. ‘Sorry, mother.’
‘Oh, darling, no, don’t sound so sad. Don’t we feed you enough? Why do you feel the need to eat so much cotton?’
Max doesn’t know what to make of it.
‘You’re like a little moth, fluttering about, chewing great holes in all your clothing,’ mother says, softly. ‘Flutter a bit closer, little moth.’
Max takes a few hesitant steps forward. ‘I brought you Mr Custard.’
‘Oh?’
Max holds out his small, plush bear. ‘I always feel better when I have Mr Custard.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you, darling,’ says mother. Her voice is already quieter than before.
‘Are you sleepy?’ asks Max.
‘Not exactly, darling. It’s a dreadful kind of tiredness where I can’t get up or bear to do anything, but I also can’t sleep a wink.’
‘Sometimes I can’t get to sleep at night.’
‘I know, darling.’
‘Maybe you should have a cup of hot milk and honey like Aunt Pearl makes me. The kind that tastes all tingly on your tongue.’
‘Tingly? Oh dear,’ mother chuckles softly. She rolls onto her back. The dome of her belly is huge, like the princess cakes at the bakery Aunt Pearl goes to for their bread. Mother runs her hands over it.
‘Is it wiggling?’
‘Yes,’ says mother. ‘Come up. Let me show you.’
Max clambers onto the bed. His mother takes his hand and guides it to her stomach. Through her nightdress, her skin is scalding hot.
‘I can’t feel it,’ says Max.
‘She likes it when you talk, see?’ says mother.
Under Max’s hand, he feels a tiny point of pressure and gasps, snatching his hand back. He giggles.
‘It is funny, isn’t it?’ says mother. She sounds very small.
‘She must be nearly as big as me,’ says Max.
‘No, darling. She’ll be very small. You were about as long as my forearm when you came out of me,’ says mother, holding out her arm as an example.
Max frowns. ‘So why is your belly so big and round if she’s so little?’
Mother hums thoughtfully. ‘Babies grow in their mothers inside a warm, cosy bath. You know how you like to go in the bath because it’s so toasty and slippery? That’s what it’s like where the baby is growing.’
Max frowns even deeper. ‘You haven’t got a bath in you,’ he says, certainly. ‘Your belly is big but not that big. And I can’t feel the taps.’
Mother laughs, softly. ‘Oh, darling, you are funny. It’s all a bit complicated. But I promise the baby will be very small, nowhere near as tall as you.’
Max considers this for a moment, then lays next to her on the pillow. ‘Mr Custard wants to stay with you to make sure you’re okay like he does with me. But I don’t like leaving him behind.’
His mother brushes his hair back from his forehead.
‘Mr Custard can stay a little while if you promise to make sure he’s very quiet.’
Max nods earnestly.
‘You’re such a kind boy, darling. Stay that way, won’t you?’
Max nods again.
His mother sighs. She closes her eyes.
Max watches the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes slow and deep.
WHOOSH
‘You overwatered it,’ says Aunt Pearl, propping up the orchid’s sagging head with her finger. ‘I told you to be precise in your care of this.’
‘I’m sorry, Aunt Pearl,’ says Max. It’s hard to concentrate on what she’s saying, though, because in the next room his little sister, Eliza, is screaming so much.
Aunt Pearl seems not to be able to hear it. She lays out her protocol for orchid care again, and then dumps Max’s orchid into the bin, pot and all.
Max gasps.
‘We start again,’ says Aunt Pearl.
Max bites his bottom lip to stop it from quivering and nods.
Eliza’s screaming ratchets up a notch and finally Aunt Pearl acknowledges it. Her eye twitches, her hands ball up. She walks silently out of the orchid room, across the hallway, and into the parlour.
Max follows.
Eliza is lying on the floor on the blanket his mother’s parents sent for her. It’s crochet, interweaving flowers. Eliza’s face is about as pink as the wool, through her fine blonde hair her scalp is pink too. She is kicking her little legs in frustration, her hands in fists just like Aunt Pearl’s.
‘Harriet!’ Aunt Pearl shouts of the din.
Eliza is startled into a temporary silence.
Max’s mother is sat on the chesterfield next to the empty fireplace. Her mouth is slightly open, her eyes half-lidded. When she looks up at Aunt Pearl, she moves slowly, like she’s moving through honey.
‘Do something about your hell spawn!’ Aunt Pearl barks.
Mother looks down at Eliza, who has recovered from the shock of Aunt Pearl’s harsh tone and is screaming again. As she looks at Eliza, tears spill over mother’s cheeks, dripping from her chin and into the carpet.
‘Move, you useless cow!’ says Aunt Pearl.
Max hurries forward. He does the best he can at hoisting Eliza up off the floor. It’s difficult because her body is much longer than his arms. She’s staring up at him with her big blue eyes, her face streaked with tears and still bright pink.
Aunt Pearl snatches the baby out of Max’s arms and she screeches again.
Aunt Pearl drops the baby onto mother’s lap. Slowly, again like she’s moving through honey, she raises Eliza too her chest and holds her close, swaying side to side, eyes closed, tears some how still squeezing out of them.
‘You, out!’ Aunt Pearl shouts at Max.
Eliza starts screaming even louder.
Max stares at her, confused, until she grabs him by the upper arm and shoves him out into the hallway so hard he falls onto his back.
The door slams.
On the other side Max can hear Aunt Pearl shouting, and Eliza screeching and screeching. Aunt Pearl talks about the baby like she’s an orchid, like mother has not followed the proper protocol, like she is going to throw her in the bin to start over.
Max’s arm hurts where Aunt Pearl grabbed it. He sniffles.
He trails back into the orchid room and fishes his pot out of the bin. He had painted it with mother, a splotchy rendering of the gardens at Grenville hall. Max painted the blue sky and the green grass and the yellow sun and the fluffy clouds that were supposed to be white, but he started on them too soon after finishing the sky so they ended up a pale blue.
‘Not to worry. It matches your eyes,’ mother had said. ‘So like your father’s.’
WHOOSH
Sleep clings to Max the way bath water does when he gets out of the tub.
‘Come on, darling,’ mother whispers to him, pulling him out from under his covers and standing him upright before he’s full conscious. She’s opening his wardrobe, stuffing things into a hamper.
‘What’s going on?’ Max asks.
Mother comes over to him. ‘Arms up, darling!’ she instructs.
Sleepily, Max obeys. Mother tugs a jumper over his head and lifts him up onto the side of the bed again to pull on some socks.
‘I don’t have on any trousers,’ says Max.
‘We’ll put your trousers on on the train, we’ve got to hurry.’
Max frowns, rubbing his eyes as his mother laces his shoes. ‘The train? Are we going on holiday?’
Last summer they’d caught the train to Cornwall and spent a month there. Max had got an ice cream almost every day.
‘Not quite a holiday. More like an adventure,’ mother whispers.
Max glances at his bookshelf. ‘Like Treasure Island?’
Mother smiles. ‘Sort of, darling! But we need to get moving if we want to get the train it’s the last one out of the station until the morning, so quick, quick!’
Max nods. ‘Is Eliza coming too?’
‘Of course,’ says mother. ‘She’s in her pram in the hall already, fast asleep.’
Max giggles. ‘Sleeping on an adventure!’
‘Shh!’ says mother. ‘You’ve got to be quiet, darling. Aunty Pearl is still asleep and she’d be jealous if she knew we were going on an adventure without her.’
Max nods earnestly. He helps mother with the bags and they creep carefully down the stairs.
Eliza is fast asleep in her pram, her cheeks pink, holding a bottle up next to her chin as though she fell asleep mid-suckle.
They step out into the chilly April evening air, hurrying down the path. All the way, mother is looking anxiously back at the house over shoulder. Max copies her, not sure what they’re looking for.
It’s a long walk to the train station. Max’s feet are hurting by the time they get there, and his pyjama trousers are damp and heavy with mud from the dirt tracks they’ve walked on. They arrive just as the train is pulling in. A guard helps hoist Eliza and her pram on board and lifts Max up over the steps.
The train carriage is almost empty. It’s just Max, mother, Eliza in her pram, and two old ladies sat shoulder to shoulder near the back, dozing as they lean on one another.
Mother sags against the window.
Max tucks Eliza’s blankets closer around her and she scrunches her nose, clenching her little pink hands. He brushes his fingertip over her tiny knuckles.
‘Max, darling,’ says mother, softly, exhaustedly.
Max sits back down next to his mother. She puts her arm around him.
‘Why don’t you try to get a little more sleep?’ mother asks him.
Max shrugs. ‘I don’t want to miss it.’
‘Miss what?’
‘The adventure.’
Mother laughs softly. Max feels the sound echoing inside her chest. ‘This adventure is going to be forever,’ she says. ‘You won’t miss it.’
Max frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s complicated, darling. But I promise things are going to be alright.’
Max shakes his head. ‘You mean, we won’t be going home?’
Mother sits up from the window, frowning at Max a little. ‘Darling. Of course we’ll be going home. It’ll just be a different one. One where it’s just me, and you, and Eliza.’
‘But what about Mr Custard?’ asks Max.
Mother smiles. ‘He can live with us too.’
‘But we didn’t bring him,’ says Max. his throat feels tight, his eyes are prickling. ‘We didn’t bring him!’
‘Oh, darling, he’ll be alright!’
Max can’t breathe. ‘She– she’ll put him on the shelf with the other bears. He doesn’t like it on the shelf because it’s cold!’ says Max.
‘We can write to Aunty Pearl, tell her to tuck him into bed, how about that?’
Max shakes his head. He’s crying, tears hot on his cheeks. ‘No! She– she’ll! She’ll throw him in the bin! Like our orchid pot!’
Mother is stricken. ‘Max, I’m sorry!’ she says. ‘I didn’t think. We were in such a hurry, I’m sorry.’
‘We have to go back for him!’
‘Darling, we can’t!’ says his mother. Her voice is high and thin, her eyes wide. ‘We can’t ever, ever go back. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!’
Max’s insides feel like they’ve been torn to pieces. He curls his knees up to his chest and sobs until the warm velvety blanket of sleep wraps around him. He dreams about his home, about Mr Custard, about sailing the seas with mother and Eliza, about sinking to the bottom of the ocean, never to be found.
WHOOSH
Mother hold’s Max’s hand as he balances on a low wall in Regent’s Park.
‘Are there parks in America?’
Mother hums. ‘I think so? Probably very different to this one, though.’
‘Do they have squirrels?’
Mother laughs. ‘Yes, they have squirrels. Actually, the grey squirrels that live here, they actually came from America.’
‘Really?!’ asks Max. He wobbles and jumps down from the low wall. ‘Did you hear that, Lizzy? The squirrels are yanks!’
Eliza claps her hands at him. ‘Ma!’ she says. It is the only word she says. Mother insists it’s Max’s name, and not mama, that’s she’s going for. Max doesn’t believe her, really, but it makes him feel fuzzy when she says it so he lets her.
‘Did you know in America they have some roads which are so long that they have to put bends in them to account for the curvature of the earth?’ says Max.
Mother blinks at him. ‘No. I didn’t know that, darling! Wherever did you learn that?’
‘Mr Matzner across the street telled me it,’ says Max.
‘Told you,’ says mother.
Max blushes. ‘That’s what I said.’
Mother sighs. ‘Alright. Shall we get back to the hotel? I thought perhaps we’d get room service as a treat instead of sandwiches, so we have full bellies for our big trip tomorrow.’
Max nods eagerly. Since they left their house in April, they’ve stayed at four separate hotels, and they usually only get room service on the first night. Max is dreadfully bored of ham and cheese sandwiches, which is all they have for dinner most of the time. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t also what they had for lunch. Breakfast was toast with a bit of butter if they had it. Sometimes they have jam.
‘Ma!’ says Eliza.
They walk through the hotel lobby and the receptionists greet them by name. They ride up in the lift and mother tells Max more about the squirrels and he listens and makes faces at Eliza so she laughs. Mother gives him the key to their room and he skips down the corridor ahead of them to unlock the door, as is customary.
When he opens the door there is a man standing next to the bed.
He’s in front of the window so for a moment he’s just a man-shaped thing and Max gasps. Then he moves and he’s real and alive, and Max thinks he recognises him.
‘Father?’ he says. He’s not entirely sure he’s right. He’s only met his father a handful of times. He doesn’t like to be at home. He travels a lot. He has business to do, he says.
‘Maximus,’ says Max’s father, nodding at him in greeting.
‘Are you coming on our adventure?’ Max asks, frowning.
When mother gets to the doorway, there’s something about the sound she makes that makes Max afraid. He shrinks against the wall.
‘Stephen. How did you find us?’ she asks. Her voice is all washed out, like a drawing that hasn’t been coloured in.
Mother shuts Max and Eliza in the bathroom. Max makes faces for his sister. On the other side of the wall, he hears his parent’s voices, a thud. A scream.
The door opens. Mother’s face is streaked with tears. ‘Come on, darlings,’ she says. Her voice is shaking.
They go down in the lift. Father packs them all up into a car.
It is a long drive back to the house. Nobody says a word, not even Eliza.
Father gets out of the car and leaves the door hanging open.
Mother’s shoulder’s are shaking.
‘So we’re not going on our adventure?’ asks Max.
Mother shrinks in her seat. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Ma,’ says Eliza. She’s crying too.
WHOOSH
Mother does talk anymore. She sits in her chair in the parlour.
She hardly moves, except sometimes she smoothes her hands over the dome of her belly.
Max sits on the floor in front of her. ‘She’s all safe in there, mother, in a nice cosy bath, isn’t she?’ he says. The baby does not kick about as much as Eliza did. Sometimes he can hardly feel her at all.
He overheard the doctor talking to Aunt Pearl about it. It’s the pulls they’re giving mother, the ones that stop her screaming. They’ve been giving them to her every morning and every lunch time since she tried to jump out of her bedroom window. Aunt Pearl pinches mother’s nose and covers her mouth until she swallows.
The pills make mother sleepy. They make the baby sleepy, too.
‘But she’s okay,’ Max promises mother. ‘And when you have her you’ll be happy and me and Lizzy will help you with her, won’t we, Lizzy?’
Eliza is sat on her knees on the rug a few feet away, building her train set.
‘Aunt Pearl says we’re going to call her Stephanie,’ says Max.
Mother turns her attention from the window that looks over the gardens. Her hands, which had been smoothing her belly, freeze in place.
‘Stephanie?’ she whispers.
Max nods. ‘Do you like it?’
Mother shakes her head once.
Max chews his lip. ‘You don’t? Um. Aunt Pearl says it’s definitely a girl. So. Hmm. Maybe. Um. Mary? Like Jesus’s mum?’
Mother does not respond to this.
‘No,’ says Max. ‘Um. I don’t know many girl’s names. Oh! I know! We could call her America, like our adventure!’
Mother’s mouth falls open at this. She makes a soft, mewling sound. She smoothes her hands again.
‘You like that?’ asks Max.
Mother nods, closing her eyes. She reaches out, touches Max’ head. ‘Love,’ she says, very quietly.
Max leans his head on his mother’s round belly. ‘It’s okay, little America,’ he whispers. ‘It’s all gonna be okay.’
WHOOSH
Max feels cold fingers on his cheek. He stirs under his covers, blinking in the darkness. Mother’s face is close to his.
‘Mother? Are you alright? Is it the baby?’
Mother smiles. ‘I’m fine, sweetheart. It’s all going to be fine.’
Max sits up, rubbing his eyes. ‘It’s not morning is it?’
‘No, darling.’ She presses a warm mug into Max’s hands. ‘Milk and honey, to warm you up.’
Max takes a sip. It’s very sweet, and there’s something odd about it. Aunt Pearl sometimes stirs in a tablespoon of whiskey when there are guests in the house to make sure Max doesn’t wake up in the night, but this is different to that. It isn’t fiery in his throat, it’s something else.
‘Drink up,’ says mother, encouragingly. She goes over to the wardrobe and takes out a jumper. ‘Arms up, darling,’ she says.
Max obeys, shivering with recognition. ‘We’re going on another adventure?!’ he asks.
‘Yes!’ says mother. ‘And this time your father won’t stop us, and we’ll all be safe forever. You and me and Lizzy and little baby America.’
Mother smooths her hand over the now incredibly large dome of her stomach.
Max grabs Mr Custard from under his pillow. ‘Can Mr Custard come too?’ asks Max.
‘Of course, darling,’ says mother. She scoops something up from the top of Max’s chest of drawers. He thinks at first that it’s a pile of blankets, but when her hand comes free, Max realises it’s Eliza. She usually hates being carried when she’s asleep, but she’s relaxed in mother’s arms as she arrangers her on hip. Mother smoothes Eliza’s blonde curls back from her pink cheeks.
‘Ready, Max?’ asks mother.
He nods and stands up from the bed, but he feels oddly wobbly, like he’s just got out of a very hot bath.
‘Whoops!’ says mother. She grabs his hand and helps him stay upright. He leans against her, feeling her hand on his shoulder as they go down the stairs.
Mother opens the front door and they step out into the dark. Max’s shoes crunch on the gravel. He stumbles a little as they step up onto the lawn. As he looks at his feet to steady himself, he notices his mother does not have shoes at all.
He looks up at her, and she’s almost glowing in the moonlight. All the stars seem twice as bright, and they’re spinning in the sky and everything looks pretty and magical. He tries to ask mother where her shoes are but he can’t say any words, and just a funny little sound comes out of him instead, and suddenly the cool grass is against his cheek.
‘Oopsy daisy,’ says mother, softly. She scoops him up onto her other hip. Eliza is so asleep against mother’s other shoulder. Max reaches out and touches her warm pink cheek.
He feels something on his feet, like puddles soaking into his trousers, and then it climbs and climbs up his body, up over his nose, his eyes. Mother’s hair is like a halo around her, and the stars above them are rippling now. Max closes his eyes, warm and safe with his nose against his mother’s throat. The world sounds just like he’s laying flat at the bottom of the bath tub, totally submerged. He’s curled up close, and very sleepy. It’s quiet here.
WHOOSH
SIR
Apprentice?
APPRENTICE
Sorry I just. I need a moment.
SIR
Alright. Was it because he was young?
APPRENTICE
He trusted her.
SIR
Ah. Most people who are killed are killed by those they know.
APPRENTICE
Yeah. Yeah.
SIR
By people they love and trusted.
APPRENTICE
I get it.
SIR
Yes.
APPRENTICE
Just. Give me a minute, would you?
SIR
My apologies.
APPRENTICE
Please. Please stop.
A MOMENT OF QUIET
SIR
May I sit beside you?
APPRENTICE
Yeah.
SIR
Thank you.
APPRENTICE
Shelve him.
SIR
You think so?
APPRENTICE
I have no idea what I think. But. Shelve him.
SIR
Alright.
APPRENTICE
Yeah.
SIR
I am corporeal enough that you might lean on me, if you wish.
APPRENTICE
Oh.
SIR
Would you like that?
APPRENTICE
No. No thank you.
SIR
I understand.
APPRENTICE
Sorry.
SIR
No need.
APPRENTICE
The boy’s father?
SIR
Yes?
APPRENTICE
He was Stephen Grenville, wasn’t he?
SIR
Yes.
APPRENTICE
Why do you keep showing me things connected to him? Why not just show me his remnant? Is he alive, still?
SIR
It is because of what you said after you read the last one.
APPRENTICE
What do you mean?
SIR
Much like Adelaide, Stephen Grenville thinks he knows which criteria he would like to be judged upon.
APPRENTICE
I don’t think anything could convince me to take his side.
SIR
Not after what you understand of him now.
APPRENTICE
No. But isn’t that the same thing? You’re picking these remnants for me, choosing which sides of him I see.
SIR
I suppose.
APPRENTICE
What gives you the right to choose that criteria?
SIR
Nothing.
APPRENTICE
I. But. What?
SIR
I will not show you Stephen Grenville. I sense that you will ask. That you assume, now, that your purpose here is tied to him. It is not. Not in a way you might understand.
APPRENTICE
I hope he suffered.
SIR
How illuminating.
APPRENTICE
It’s true.
SIR
Would you like to read another? Or would you rest, first?
APPRENTICE
I’d like to rest.
SIR
Very well. Shall I leave you?
APPRENTICE
No. No… Last time, I–
SIR
What?
APPRENTICE
Last time, I–
SIR
What?
APPRENTICE
Nothing. Just. Promise you’ll watch over me.
SIR
Of course. Of course.
END
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Hanging Sloth 