Diaspora, Part 3
Title: Diaspora, Part 3
Author: Skull_Bearer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,297
Warnings: None
Summary: What if Erik's family got out of Europe while they still could?
This is sort-of where I imagined the end to this fic to be. However, as this is fanfic I'll probably keep going anyway. I would appreciate any suggestions if you want me to continue though. I have some ideas, but more are always welcome.
Diaspora
Chapter 3
The house is in a cobbled street, full of piles of snow and crushed boxes, stray cats and old women staring out of the windows with bowls of hot soup. The houses are close together, shutting out the sun, and the door is sandwiched between two others, all long and thin and crammed in as though the people who built them wanted to get as many in as possible.
There's no courtyard or garden, it opens straight onto the street. Erik sees his father's face twitch, but he doesn't speak. It's worse than that. He just looks at the house with a horribly dead expression that makes Erik feel sick to the bone. "Is this the place, Maria?"
Erik's mother pauses from searching for the keys. "It is." She gives him a sad tired look. "Maybe we could get a window box."
"There's not enough light." Father looks up at the encroaching buildings and sighs. "Come on then."
Inside is dark and musty, there are no electric lights like in the ship or the hotel, they're back to gas lighting. A round faced woman with scrubbed pink arms smiles at them and hands them a key. They go up the rickety stairs from one floor to another, and there's their door, with pock marks in it to show where a number was once displayed.
Mother lights a lamp and the yellow glow feels like back home. Everything's rough wood and bare brick with some whitewash here and there. The door opens to a narrow dining room with a table so large it had to have been built there: no one could have gotten it through the door. An even narrower kitchen to the left, a washroom, then at the back, more stairs going up.
"Well go on, pick your rooms." There's a general stampede towards the stairs, and Erik just catches Mother continuing, "There's not even a living room and not enough rooms, but really there's barely going to be any space-" Then he's up a floor where the twins have already grabbed the second largest room (largest went to Mother and Father, of course) and Elsa is arguing with them, "I'm going to be sharing with Rachel, you can have the other room, we're going to need more space-"
There's only one room left and Moshe has already bagged it for himself, a nasty, smelly, narrow garret with only one high window that make the place look more like a prison cell. There are no other rooms up here and Moshe gives Erik a cold and alarmed look, horrified at having to share this tiny room with his older brother.
But wait, here. There's another staircase, leading up again. Erik clatters up eagerly, and reached a trapdoor. Heart pounding -finally an adventure!- and having completely forgotten about finding a bedroom, he pushes the trapdoor open.
The room it opens to was, if anything, even smaller than the garret, but that didn't matter. The ceiling slanted down on both sides, he must be under the roof, and there's a bed pushed up under one eave, a big window overlooking the street with a school desk in front of it and some shelves on the far wall. And above his head, just over the bed, is a second window, a skylight.
Erik can't scramble in fast enough, kicking down the trapdoor to stop anyone else coming up. This is his room. He couldn't bear the idea of the twins deciding they wanted it instead once Elsa kicked them out of the second bedroom. He drops his bags on the floor, puts his coat on the desk - there's no chair, but that's fine- and jumps on the bed.
The slats creak and the springs go poing, the blankets are rough and full of holes but that's fine too. Erik brought the patchwork quilt Great-Grandmama made him, and it would be great here. He can see the grey skies over his head, and on clear nights he'll be able to take out the star charts Grandfather gave him and make out constellations. He gets up and tries pushing at the skylight hopefully, remembering the night he spent on the school house roof with uncle Karl's binoculars. It was one of the best times. The skylight's locked, but there'll be a key somewhere.
"Erik? Are you up- Ah." It's Father. He pushes the trapdoor open and frowns at Erik, who gets guiltily off the bed. "If you want this room you will have to swear never to open that skylight."
Erik opens his mouth to protest- What happens in summer when it gets really hot-
His father raises a hand, and he still looks so grey and tired Erik can't bring himself to complain. "I mean it. You might like to climb everything that stays still long enough, but you're six stories up. We haven't come all this way to have you fall to your death in New York."
Erik looks at the floor. Father sighs. "Well, come on, get your things up here and settled in."
The first few nights are awkward and uncomfortable, with so many in too small a house. Erik counts himself lucky that as the one with the smallest room he doesn't have to share. They live off street vendors for a while until mother can gather enough supplies to start putting together meals again. But they get used to it, and their uncle and his family get a flat just a few streets - Blocks, Erik corrects himself, they're called blocks here- away, and they have meals together almost every night and definitely every shabbos, and things start feeling more normal.
Erik hasn't dared go far from the house at first, afraid he'll get lost in the huge sprawling maze too high for any landmarks. But he quickly learns that the city itself is full of landmarks, each building is different, sounds different, and if he keeps one or another in sight he can find his way home.
Home. It's getting to be like home. His room had felt like home from the beginning, but the rest of the narrow, gloomy flat is starting to feel more welcoming. The dining room usually has a fire going - as do all the bedrooms, in this cold- and meal times are a crowded, noisy affair, all elbows and spoons and shouting as everyone tries to make themselves heard at once in the cramped space.
Erik's birthday comes and goes, he's finally thirteen. It's not much of a celebration, and certainly not when Erik remembers how he'd imagined the Big Day being back in Poland. There's not much money for food, and he doesn't have any friends here. They haven't even really joined a synagogue yet so there's no Bar Mitzvah -later, his mother says, his father says nothing- Erik almost wishes it had been entirely forgotten, just a day like all the others.
Erik spends most of his time in his room, despite it being one of the coldest. He wraps himself in Great-Grandmama's quilt and reads his English books, sounding the words out, it's fairly easy, but the grammar is a nightmare. It's getting easier and easier to understand what he hears in the streets, although he has to go a few blocks away as almost everyone in their area speaks Yiddish too. And yesterday he found a library tucked away between a diner and a shoeshop, and spent most of the day there until Elsa had to come and fetch him.
"I just asked where the nearest library was," She laughed to mother when Erik had been scolded and order to go to bed without supper. "And he was there."
Now it looks as though it'll be Elsa who'd be sent to bed without supper, and maybe even Rachel. They're all at the table, the stew's ready, and the potatoes, mother is staring at the door, and neither of them are here. The church bells they can just about hear struck seven quite a while ago.
Erik's mother sighs, staring at the pot in her hands, and starts serving. Moshe blinks at her. "Aren't we going to wait-"
"Your sister's a big girl," Mother's voice is harsher than usual. "And Rachel knows the city."
As though waiting for those words, the door swings open and the two come in with a flurry of slush.
"And where have you been!" It's not so much a question as a shout. Erik grabs his spoon and hunches his shoulders. His mother glances at him and softens.
"I," Elsa says, pulling her scarf and coat off in a flourish, "Have gotten a job."
There's a stunned silence. So far their only money has come from Rachel's paintings, which has been erratic at best. This is News.
Mother blinks, "A job? Where?"
"A friend at a local grocers." Rachel brushes snow off her hat and hangs it up to dry. "He's looking for a shop girl and, thank goodness, being a regular customer has finally paid off."
"The pay isn't so bad, and I'll be able to bring any old food we can't sell back with me." Else puts in.
Erik's mother and father exchange a look. Erik smiles at his sister, who grins back.
Erik misses the next row, thank god, as he was in the library at the time. He walks into the aftermath coming in for dinner at seven and freezes in the door. The atmosphere is thick enough to cut with a knife and father is nowhere to be seen. Mother is pounding potatoes with rather more force than usual and everyone else is very quiet. Erik puts down his bag under the table and pulls on the chair, wincing when one of the legs snags on a cracked tile and shoots back with a shriek.
The plates are in front of them and Erik looks down at the food, all hunger forgotten in the tension. Mother sits down and glances sharply at him, and he starts eating quickly. The food doesn't taste like anything.
"We'll have to see about finding you all places in school." It's a mark of how cowed they are that even the twins don't dare protest. "I've been given a position as a telephonist, I don't like the idea of having you all cooped up here all day."
Erik nods, and swallows his mouthful. The potatoes have parsnips mashed in with them, Mother must be feeling guilty about leaving them.
She sighs, "Well, it's three of us now with jobs, we should be able to afford to send you somewhere nice." She smiles at Erik, who tries to duck behind his plate. One of the twins - Misha probably- kicks him. He glares at her and she gives him a sweet smile. Mother hasn't noticed.
"What about father?" Moshe asks.
"What about your father?" The icy temperature is back. Mother sees them all cringe and sighs again. "I'm sorry. Your father and I had a disagreement over my taking on work. He and Rachel can look after the baby perfectly well while I'm away."
"Can't he work?" Erik offers.
"Your father is used to working outside, in the fields." Mother smiles sadly. "Moving here was a wrench for him, and there isn't much work in the city for a country man." She looks down for a moment, then straightens and smiles. It looks a bit wrong. "Anyway, I've been looking into schools for you all and hope to have you all safely settled in before I start working on Monday."
Monday? It's Wednesday now. Erik hadn't realised it would be so soon. He'd hoped for a few more days in the library and exploring the city, reading his books and playing chess with anyone he could convince. Then again, he has been bored here. Maybe school would be- what? Fun? Even in Poland school had never been fun, and most of the pupils and teachers were related. He can't imagine what it would be like here.
Mother keeps her word, and Erik is pulled out of bed at the unnatural hour of eight in the morning to visit a potential new school. Mother scrutinises everything he's wearing, from his shoes -is that mud Erik?- to his coat - too old, put on that new one Aunt Adna gave you. It's worse than Saturdays in Poland. They even catch a taxi, which is a shock. Every since they moved in, they've been deemed too expensive and been replaced with buses and trams. Mother sees his expression and smiles, pulling his coat straight. "We want to make a good impression."
Erik frowns. "Am I starting today?" He doesn't have anything with him, no pens or books or... anything.
"No, of course not. But it's a very exclusive school we're visiting, and we need to look our best." She pauses, and bites her lip slightly. "Erik, I want you to speak English while we're there, okay? No German, no Polish, even just to me. And it would be best if you didn't mention we're Jewish either. Can you do that?"
Erik nods, although he doesn't really want to go to this school any more. What's the point if he's going to have to lie all the time? His mother sees his face and smiles. "Just for today Erik." She pats his shoulder. "It's a very, very good school, we're lucky to be getting an interview, but I told them you were very bright and they're willing to give you a chance."
Erik's breakfast is a cold lump in his stomach, he doesn't know whether to feel angry that they're going to have to lie, if only by omission, or sick with worry that if he doesn't get in, his mother is going to be very disappointed.
The school is a large grey building surrounded by a concrete playground. There are only a few trees, standing in their little islands of earth. Mother pays the taxi driver and gives Erik a slight push towards the large wooden doors, welcome colour in all this grey. Inside, he can feel the metal humming inside the building, but even that sounds more like a drone, bored and unwelcoming.
The man waiting for them in the office is as grey as the building, grey hair, grey eyes, grey suit. His eyes pass over Erik and his mother, assessing and dismissing them in the same glance. "Ah, Mrs Lehnsherr. I assume this is the boy?"
Erik's mother seems to have gotten a lot smaller in all this grey, her lips thin to the point of disappearing. "Yes Mr Hallham, this is my son." There isn't so much as a good morning, Erik frowns.
The Mr Hallham just shuffles a few papers on his desk and pushes them towards Erik's mother. "Well, assuming he is as bright as you say, he should be able to go through there easily."
Erik picks up the papers, they seem to be full of questions. "Do you have a pencil?"
Mr Hallham frowns. "Did you forget yours?" He speaks slowly and clearly, as though to an idiot. Erik feels his face getting hot.
He wants to say I'm not stupid, but his mother quickly hands him a pencil, "Here Erik."
"The next room." Still in the talking-to-idiots voice. Hallham points to an adjoining study. He closes the door behind him on Mr Hallham's "Now, if you are more prepared than your son and brought the paperwork-"
Erik walks in and sits down, chewing absently on the end of the pencil, around the rubber. The questions are quite easy, although it takes a while to translate the words from English into Polish and the answers back again. Some of the words are coming more easily, but his writing is slower and more careful than usual, getting used to the curves and angles of this new language. The voices from the other room are through dimly, but Erik can't make out any words. He finishes the first sheaf, and moves on to the second, which are quite a lot harder. He's fighting his way through the third when his mother and Mr Hallham come back in. Mr Hallham picks up the first sheaf, then frowns. The second, and frowns harder. He snatches the third from Erik's hands and flicks through them too. Erik opens his mouth to protest angrily, but his mother shoots him a sharp look and he subsides.
"Well, Mrs. Lehnsherr. It appears your son has your gift with languages. His English is excellent." He ignores Erik's blinked surprise and his mother's dazzling smile and continues to go through the papers. "In fact, I would say," He's still frowning, expression flickering from displeased to pensive. "Yes, you would probably best be taken up a few grades, say with the fifteen year olds. It will require an extra fee of course" - Mother's face falls, but she composes herself quickly and nods. "In which case Mrs Lehnsherr, if you bring your son back through, we can discuss fees and while it is unusual for any student to start during a term, he should be able to catch up-"
Erik considers the dinner that night to be a belated birthday celebration.
The school is only for boys from eleven and up, so it sinks in on Erik, when he arrives at the school the next Monday, at for the first time he will be completely alone in school. He always had his siblings before, and a cousin or second brother in a class. Now, Elsa isn't going any more, the twins have been sent to a different school, and Moshe to a more local (and religious, on his insistence) institution. Erik is going to be alone here.
He almost wishes he'd let his mother come with him.
The bell has gone already, and Erik hurries inside, breaking into a cold sweat at the thought of being late on his first day. It had been made very clear that he was here on Mr. Hallham's sufferance, and he doesn't want to imagine what would happen if he was expelled on his very first day.
Everyone is already in the classroom when he comes in, although - thank god - no teacher yet. They all turn when he comes in, and Erik is pinned under the gazes of more than a dozen boys, all far older and much, much bigger. He walks down between the desks, trying to ignore the whispers and snickers and how the other boys nudge each other when he walks by. One tries to trip him up, Erik sees the leg just in time and sidesteps, his heart banging in his ears. The few desks with spaces on are quickly filled as boys shift over to cover more room, or bags are placed in the way. He's almost at the front of the class now, and the teacher is going to come in at any moment and see him looking lost and small in the middle of the classroom and will report to Mr Hallham and he'll be sent home-
Then, there in front of him, in the front row, right in the middle, is a space. The boy sharing the desk is about Erik's age, a little shorter and broader, with brown hair tumbling over his face and eyes which, while curious, aren't unfriendly.
As Erik approaches, the boy shifts over and pushes the spare chair out with his foot, inviting. Erik takes the chair and sits just as the teacher enters the classroom. Sanctuary. A port in a storm. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and the boy next to him smiles. When the teacher turns to write of the blackboard the boy ducks his head closer to talk.
"Hello." His tone is friendly, with a much lighter accent than most he's met here.
Erik gives him a nervous smile back, he shouldn't talk in class, particularly now, but- "I'm Erik." He whispers back.
The boy's smile is a broad grin now, "Pleased to meet you, I'm Charles."
Author: Skull_Bearer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,297
Warnings: None
Summary: What if Erik's family got out of Europe while they still could?
This is sort-of where I imagined the end to this fic to be. However, as this is fanfic I'll probably keep going anyway. I would appreciate any suggestions if you want me to continue though. I have some ideas, but more are always welcome.
Diaspora
Chapter 3
The house is in a cobbled street, full of piles of snow and crushed boxes, stray cats and old women staring out of the windows with bowls of hot soup. The houses are close together, shutting out the sun, and the door is sandwiched between two others, all long and thin and crammed in as though the people who built them wanted to get as many in as possible.
There's no courtyard or garden, it opens straight onto the street. Erik sees his father's face twitch, but he doesn't speak. It's worse than that. He just looks at the house with a horribly dead expression that makes Erik feel sick to the bone. "Is this the place, Maria?"
Erik's mother pauses from searching for the keys. "It is." She gives him a sad tired look. "Maybe we could get a window box."
"There's not enough light." Father looks up at the encroaching buildings and sighs. "Come on then."
Inside is dark and musty, there are no electric lights like in the ship or the hotel, they're back to gas lighting. A round faced woman with scrubbed pink arms smiles at them and hands them a key. They go up the rickety stairs from one floor to another, and there's their door, with pock marks in it to show where a number was once displayed.
Mother lights a lamp and the yellow glow feels like back home. Everything's rough wood and bare brick with some whitewash here and there. The door opens to a narrow dining room with a table so large it had to have been built there: no one could have gotten it through the door. An even narrower kitchen to the left, a washroom, then at the back, more stairs going up.
"Well go on, pick your rooms." There's a general stampede towards the stairs, and Erik just catches Mother continuing, "There's not even a living room and not enough rooms, but really there's barely going to be any space-" Then he's up a floor where the twins have already grabbed the second largest room (largest went to Mother and Father, of course) and Elsa is arguing with them, "I'm going to be sharing with Rachel, you can have the other room, we're going to need more space-"
There's only one room left and Moshe has already bagged it for himself, a nasty, smelly, narrow garret with only one high window that make the place look more like a prison cell. There are no other rooms up here and Moshe gives Erik a cold and alarmed look, horrified at having to share this tiny room with his older brother.
But wait, here. There's another staircase, leading up again. Erik clatters up eagerly, and reached a trapdoor. Heart pounding -finally an adventure!- and having completely forgotten about finding a bedroom, he pushes the trapdoor open.
The room it opens to was, if anything, even smaller than the garret, but that didn't matter. The ceiling slanted down on both sides, he must be under the roof, and there's a bed pushed up under one eave, a big window overlooking the street with a school desk in front of it and some shelves on the far wall. And above his head, just over the bed, is a second window, a skylight.
Erik can't scramble in fast enough, kicking down the trapdoor to stop anyone else coming up. This is his room. He couldn't bear the idea of the twins deciding they wanted it instead once Elsa kicked them out of the second bedroom. He drops his bags on the floor, puts his coat on the desk - there's no chair, but that's fine- and jumps on the bed.
The slats creak and the springs go poing, the blankets are rough and full of holes but that's fine too. Erik brought the patchwork quilt Great-Grandmama made him, and it would be great here. He can see the grey skies over his head, and on clear nights he'll be able to take out the star charts Grandfather gave him and make out constellations. He gets up and tries pushing at the skylight hopefully, remembering the night he spent on the school house roof with uncle Karl's binoculars. It was one of the best times. The skylight's locked, but there'll be a key somewhere.
"Erik? Are you up- Ah." It's Father. He pushes the trapdoor open and frowns at Erik, who gets guiltily off the bed. "If you want this room you will have to swear never to open that skylight."
Erik opens his mouth to protest- What happens in summer when it gets really hot-
His father raises a hand, and he still looks so grey and tired Erik can't bring himself to complain. "I mean it. You might like to climb everything that stays still long enough, but you're six stories up. We haven't come all this way to have you fall to your death in New York."
Erik looks at the floor. Father sighs. "Well, come on, get your things up here and settled in."
The first few nights are awkward and uncomfortable, with so many in too small a house. Erik counts himself lucky that as the one with the smallest room he doesn't have to share. They live off street vendors for a while until mother can gather enough supplies to start putting together meals again. But they get used to it, and their uncle and his family get a flat just a few streets - Blocks, Erik corrects himself, they're called blocks here- away, and they have meals together almost every night and definitely every shabbos, and things start feeling more normal.
Erik hasn't dared go far from the house at first, afraid he'll get lost in the huge sprawling maze too high for any landmarks. But he quickly learns that the city itself is full of landmarks, each building is different, sounds different, and if he keeps one or another in sight he can find his way home.
Home. It's getting to be like home. His room had felt like home from the beginning, but the rest of the narrow, gloomy flat is starting to feel more welcoming. The dining room usually has a fire going - as do all the bedrooms, in this cold- and meal times are a crowded, noisy affair, all elbows and spoons and shouting as everyone tries to make themselves heard at once in the cramped space.
Erik's birthday comes and goes, he's finally thirteen. It's not much of a celebration, and certainly not when Erik remembers how he'd imagined the Big Day being back in Poland. There's not much money for food, and he doesn't have any friends here. They haven't even really joined a synagogue yet so there's no Bar Mitzvah -later, his mother says, his father says nothing- Erik almost wishes it had been entirely forgotten, just a day like all the others.
Erik spends most of his time in his room, despite it being one of the coldest. He wraps himself in Great-Grandmama's quilt and reads his English books, sounding the words out, it's fairly easy, but the grammar is a nightmare. It's getting easier and easier to understand what he hears in the streets, although he has to go a few blocks away as almost everyone in their area speaks Yiddish too. And yesterday he found a library tucked away between a diner and a shoeshop, and spent most of the day there until Elsa had to come and fetch him.
"I just asked where the nearest library was," She laughed to mother when Erik had been scolded and order to go to bed without supper. "And he was there."
Now it looks as though it'll be Elsa who'd be sent to bed without supper, and maybe even Rachel. They're all at the table, the stew's ready, and the potatoes, mother is staring at the door, and neither of them are here. The church bells they can just about hear struck seven quite a while ago.
Erik's mother sighs, staring at the pot in her hands, and starts serving. Moshe blinks at her. "Aren't we going to wait-"
"Your sister's a big girl," Mother's voice is harsher than usual. "And Rachel knows the city."
As though waiting for those words, the door swings open and the two come in with a flurry of slush.
"And where have you been!" It's not so much a question as a shout. Erik grabs his spoon and hunches his shoulders. His mother glances at him and softens.
"I," Elsa says, pulling her scarf and coat off in a flourish, "Have gotten a job."
There's a stunned silence. So far their only money has come from Rachel's paintings, which has been erratic at best. This is News.
Mother blinks, "A job? Where?"
"A friend at a local grocers." Rachel brushes snow off her hat and hangs it up to dry. "He's looking for a shop girl and, thank goodness, being a regular customer has finally paid off."
"The pay isn't so bad, and I'll be able to bring any old food we can't sell back with me." Else puts in.
Erik's mother and father exchange a look. Erik smiles at his sister, who grins back.
Erik misses the next row, thank god, as he was in the library at the time. He walks into the aftermath coming in for dinner at seven and freezes in the door. The atmosphere is thick enough to cut with a knife and father is nowhere to be seen. Mother is pounding potatoes with rather more force than usual and everyone else is very quiet. Erik puts down his bag under the table and pulls on the chair, wincing when one of the legs snags on a cracked tile and shoots back with a shriek.
The plates are in front of them and Erik looks down at the food, all hunger forgotten in the tension. Mother sits down and glances sharply at him, and he starts eating quickly. The food doesn't taste like anything.
"We'll have to see about finding you all places in school." It's a mark of how cowed they are that even the twins don't dare protest. "I've been given a position as a telephonist, I don't like the idea of having you all cooped up here all day."
Erik nods, and swallows his mouthful. The potatoes have parsnips mashed in with them, Mother must be feeling guilty about leaving them.
She sighs, "Well, it's three of us now with jobs, we should be able to afford to send you somewhere nice." She smiles at Erik, who tries to duck behind his plate. One of the twins - Misha probably- kicks him. He glares at her and she gives him a sweet smile. Mother hasn't noticed.
"What about father?" Moshe asks.
"What about your father?" The icy temperature is back. Mother sees them all cringe and sighs again. "I'm sorry. Your father and I had a disagreement over my taking on work. He and Rachel can look after the baby perfectly well while I'm away."
"Can't he work?" Erik offers.
"Your father is used to working outside, in the fields." Mother smiles sadly. "Moving here was a wrench for him, and there isn't much work in the city for a country man." She looks down for a moment, then straightens and smiles. It looks a bit wrong. "Anyway, I've been looking into schools for you all and hope to have you all safely settled in before I start working on Monday."
Monday? It's Wednesday now. Erik hadn't realised it would be so soon. He'd hoped for a few more days in the library and exploring the city, reading his books and playing chess with anyone he could convince. Then again, he has been bored here. Maybe school would be- what? Fun? Even in Poland school had never been fun, and most of the pupils and teachers were related. He can't imagine what it would be like here.
Mother keeps her word, and Erik is pulled out of bed at the unnatural hour of eight in the morning to visit a potential new school. Mother scrutinises everything he's wearing, from his shoes -is that mud Erik?- to his coat - too old, put on that new one Aunt Adna gave you. It's worse than Saturdays in Poland. They even catch a taxi, which is a shock. Every since they moved in, they've been deemed too expensive and been replaced with buses and trams. Mother sees his expression and smiles, pulling his coat straight. "We want to make a good impression."
Erik frowns. "Am I starting today?" He doesn't have anything with him, no pens or books or... anything.
"No, of course not. But it's a very exclusive school we're visiting, and we need to look our best." She pauses, and bites her lip slightly. "Erik, I want you to speak English while we're there, okay? No German, no Polish, even just to me. And it would be best if you didn't mention we're Jewish either. Can you do that?"
Erik nods, although he doesn't really want to go to this school any more. What's the point if he's going to have to lie all the time? His mother sees his face and smiles. "Just for today Erik." She pats his shoulder. "It's a very, very good school, we're lucky to be getting an interview, but I told them you were very bright and they're willing to give you a chance."
Erik's breakfast is a cold lump in his stomach, he doesn't know whether to feel angry that they're going to have to lie, if only by omission, or sick with worry that if he doesn't get in, his mother is going to be very disappointed.
The school is a large grey building surrounded by a concrete playground. There are only a few trees, standing in their little islands of earth. Mother pays the taxi driver and gives Erik a slight push towards the large wooden doors, welcome colour in all this grey. Inside, he can feel the metal humming inside the building, but even that sounds more like a drone, bored and unwelcoming.
The man waiting for them in the office is as grey as the building, grey hair, grey eyes, grey suit. His eyes pass over Erik and his mother, assessing and dismissing them in the same glance. "Ah, Mrs Lehnsherr. I assume this is the boy?"
Erik's mother seems to have gotten a lot smaller in all this grey, her lips thin to the point of disappearing. "Yes Mr Hallham, this is my son." There isn't so much as a good morning, Erik frowns.
The Mr Hallham just shuffles a few papers on his desk and pushes them towards Erik's mother. "Well, assuming he is as bright as you say, he should be able to go through there easily."
Erik picks up the papers, they seem to be full of questions. "Do you have a pencil?"
Mr Hallham frowns. "Did you forget yours?" He speaks slowly and clearly, as though to an idiot. Erik feels his face getting hot.
He wants to say I'm not stupid, but his mother quickly hands him a pencil, "Here Erik."
"The next room." Still in the talking-to-idiots voice. Hallham points to an adjoining study. He closes the door behind him on Mr Hallham's "Now, if you are more prepared than your son and brought the paperwork-"
Erik walks in and sits down, chewing absently on the end of the pencil, around the rubber. The questions are quite easy, although it takes a while to translate the words from English into Polish and the answers back again. Some of the words are coming more easily, but his writing is slower and more careful than usual, getting used to the curves and angles of this new language. The voices from the other room are through dimly, but Erik can't make out any words. He finishes the first sheaf, and moves on to the second, which are quite a lot harder. He's fighting his way through the third when his mother and Mr Hallham come back in. Mr Hallham picks up the first sheaf, then frowns. The second, and frowns harder. He snatches the third from Erik's hands and flicks through them too. Erik opens his mouth to protest angrily, but his mother shoots him a sharp look and he subsides.
"Well, Mrs. Lehnsherr. It appears your son has your gift with languages. His English is excellent." He ignores Erik's blinked surprise and his mother's dazzling smile and continues to go through the papers. "In fact, I would say," He's still frowning, expression flickering from displeased to pensive. "Yes, you would probably best be taken up a few grades, say with the fifteen year olds. It will require an extra fee of course" - Mother's face falls, but she composes herself quickly and nods. "In which case Mrs Lehnsherr, if you bring your son back through, we can discuss fees and while it is unusual for any student to start during a term, he should be able to catch up-"
Erik considers the dinner that night to be a belated birthday celebration.
The school is only for boys from eleven and up, so it sinks in on Erik, when he arrives at the school the next Monday, at for the first time he will be completely alone in school. He always had his siblings before, and a cousin or second brother in a class. Now, Elsa isn't going any more, the twins have been sent to a different school, and Moshe to a more local (and religious, on his insistence) institution. Erik is going to be alone here.
He almost wishes he'd let his mother come with him.
The bell has gone already, and Erik hurries inside, breaking into a cold sweat at the thought of being late on his first day. It had been made very clear that he was here on Mr. Hallham's sufferance, and he doesn't want to imagine what would happen if he was expelled on his very first day.
Everyone is already in the classroom when he comes in, although - thank god - no teacher yet. They all turn when he comes in, and Erik is pinned under the gazes of more than a dozen boys, all far older and much, much bigger. He walks down between the desks, trying to ignore the whispers and snickers and how the other boys nudge each other when he walks by. One tries to trip him up, Erik sees the leg just in time and sidesteps, his heart banging in his ears. The few desks with spaces on are quickly filled as boys shift over to cover more room, or bags are placed in the way. He's almost at the front of the class now, and the teacher is going to come in at any moment and see him looking lost and small in the middle of the classroom and will report to Mr Hallham and he'll be sent home-
Then, there in front of him, in the front row, right in the middle, is a space. The boy sharing the desk is about Erik's age, a little shorter and broader, with brown hair tumbling over his face and eyes which, while curious, aren't unfriendly.
As Erik approaches, the boy shifts over and pushes the spare chair out with his foot, inviting. Erik takes the chair and sits just as the teacher enters the classroom. Sanctuary. A port in a storm. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and the boy next to him smiles. When the teacher turns to write of the blackboard the boy ducks his head closer to talk.
"Hello." His tone is friendly, with a much lighter accent than most he's met here.
Erik gives him a nervous smile back, he shouldn't talk in class, particularly now, but- "I'm Erik." He whispers back.
The boy's smile is a broad grin now, "Pleased to meet you, I'm Charles."