Science, Eternal Life, and a Traveling Circus |1|

Chapter Seven

July 25th, 2815

Abraham was well aware there was a complacency developing in him. Complacency was a dangerous trap, but it was, regrettably, comfortable to fall into. In his four days in the care of the kindly Octiennes, he had already grown attached to the small luxuries he received. All the luxuries they had to offer.

As though reverted to adolescence, he slept until noon. As though aged a century, he napped between meals and retired before eight every night. He woke to eat, and he ate as much as his gut would take. His body was starting to adjust to the regular meals, but he could not yet finish a full portion.

There was little for him to do at his hosts' little hovel. The day before, he'd taken to shuffling through cupboards while William and Jen were at work. Anything with words he had to hold close to his face, for Jen had taken his glasses to be repaired. He'd found useless trinkets like knitting needles and steel wool, and he'd found interesting things, like the liquor cabinet and map. He'd been very tempted to bring out a half-empty whiskey bottle that was labeled as "Hughes' choice", but overcame the urge when he realized that his hosts would be home in a brief matter of time. It had reminded him of his purpose. Hughes.

It was mid-morning when Abraham, pulling on his shirt—which he had left buttoned when he had stripped it off the previous night—trudged out of his guestroom yawning. While the shirt was still stuck on his nose, he remembered his eyeglasses and turned back into the room. He heard a chuckle behind him, and jumped, so startled that he forgot his footing and crashed backwards into his bed, shoulders braced against its mattress, with his bony rear end bruised on the packed dirt floor.

He gasped and forced his shirt down the rest of the way, then scrabbled to fetch his glasses on his hands and knees. Still close to the ground, he peered out his door, eyes wide and trembling.

"William!" Abraham exclaimed, and leapt to his feet, feeling scarlet flush his face. He looked to the old clock that hung over the kitchen sink, and back to the teacher, who lowered his parchment. "Shouldn't you be at the elementary?"

Octienne regarded Abraham's socks and pajama bottoms—tied with string around his stick-thin waist— with amusement. The teacher had not owned a spare pajama top to give his guest, so Abraham slept bare-chested. He pulled on his black button-up every morning when he rose, but was used to not changing into his trousers until after breakfast.

"It is Saturday, Mr Walters," said the teacher.

Abraham had not yet figured out what it was that William taught, or what his wife taught. It confused him when they called each other 'Master'. It made him question their sanity. The man queasily chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Is it?" He pointed to the parchment in Octienne's hand. "Is that a newspaper?"

Octienne tapped the page with his finger, and it made a hollow sound, unlike the sound of paper. "Alas, friend, we have no more paper than we have news. Yesterday I took stock of what we have in the elementary trade school's lab, on a papyrus sheet. I'm just reviewing it." He pointed to the dining table. "Breakfast is just there. And if you would like any tea, Jen is just at the well, now."

"Oh," Abraham said. "Thank you."

He folded into the chair at the table that he had laid claim to since his arrival. It was the same as the other three chairs. He took a bite of bread. All the food in this place, he found, was plain and simple. There were no perishables. No fresh meat or vegetables. Meals consisted mainly of grains, oats, rice, and sometimes bread. For dinners, whichever Octienne that was cooking—they took turns—would open a can. Usually beans.

"So... William," he refused to call the man 'master', "I've been meaning to ask. About the man that cured me... his name was Drew Hughes, was it not?"