Boots in a Flowerbed

4. The Archer

Fingers of climbing ivy reach upwards along the seemingly smooth surface of a pedestal, their tips narrowing into barely visible threads. They look delicate, feeble even, but that only masks their tremendous tenacity. He knows it after scraping ivy from a stone wall, some three-four days earlier. His hands are still sore, two knuckles raw, from the task. He knows he should tear those slim stalks away now that they're still small, but he deliberately turns his head away and pretends he hasn't noticed them.

And actually they look rather pretty, he decides, as they creep higher as if wanting to touch the toes of the little marble archer boy standing on his stone, head tilted, frozen there for a breathless moment, listening to the movements of his prey. He looks like he'd just leaped on the boulder, to stand there instead of the rustling grass. His hair is curly, round loose curls, his eyes large and slanted. Stone lips are parted slightly. He's almost smiling, the archer.

A wisp of cigarette smoke drifts to the dark boy, and he too almost smiles. Yes, he has known that the man is there again, he's seen that blonde head already a couple of hours ago. The man is sitting on a bench nearby, but not too close. Never too close.

It's a little funny how the man never even tries to look like he's here for something else. He doesn't carry a book or a folded paper, nothing he could use as an excuse for lounging in this of that park. Maybe he doesn't need to excuse his actions even to himself, the dark boy muses. He's wary, always on his guard, but he admits he's got used to the presence. After all, the man has only come close to him once, when he dropped those shears some weeks ago. They haven't spoken to each other since. The man hasn't done anything, and the boy has got used to his being around, almost waiting to see the tall figure. And, on a rainy morning, he knows he felt distinctly upset, working there all by himself.

The fact that he's used to this, it makes him slightly nervous. He remembers how they'd break in the new horses, the ones just caught from the half-wild herds, back home. The horses would be put in sturdy enclosures and people would come and go, in and out, doing their various tasks nearby but never really paying attention to the animals. Gradually their presence, their movements, would be an everyday thing, nothing to be scared of. The boy can't help wondering whether or not the man is using the same technique on him, and it both amuses and unnerves him. What does the man want?

His blonde co-worker keeps asking if his 'admirer' has been around, and looks at the same time revolted and jealous when he says yes. The boy doesn't understand what there is to be jealous of - he's not exactly happy to have a weird millionaire stalking himself, and besides, the blonde gardener always has a girlfriend to hang out with on the weekends. So it can't be that other thing either, the thing he's warned the dark boy about.

The boy shakes his rake. Dried leaves and grass fall into a neat heap at his feet. Does the man want to look at people working? Maybe he doesn't know what it's like? The boy almost laughs aloud at the thought. He frankly doesn't understand this at all. More than once he's looked into the mirror, trying to comprehend. All he can see is his own face. Dark blue eyes in a perfectly ordinary face framed by black curly hair. He looks just like the rest of his family. His girlfriend says he's awfully cute, but of course she'd say so, right? So he doesn't understand. Is it because he looks exotic here, like an animal in a zoo?

DelChaim. He's thought of the name often. He likes the sound of it, perhaps because it reminds him a little of home. Chademien... DelChaim. It's not a Chademieni name, but something in it falls easy and sweet on his tongue. It's a name that tastes good. DelChaim.

Has he said it aloud? He glances surreptitiously at the man, then quickly looks away again. He doesn't see the smile on the man's face when he turns, for a moment mimicking the pose of the marble boy on his little pedestal.