Able
The boy dreamt of blue grass meadows and red trees. He was searching for something. There was a stone room, and as dream logic often works, he was now in the room, which was dark and cool. He could feel the sandstone under his bare feet. In the center of the room stood an obelisk. It was calling to him. Calling in a voice he could not hear. Etchings in the stone glowed green, then blue, then red. The boy reached out to touch the obelisk, and suddenly he was floating above a vast city, filled with specters. The ghost forms floated about their daily un-lives, unaware of the boy gaze. At the center of the city was a giant dead tree, its branches seeming to stretch for miles into the heavens. At the very tallest point on the tree, a single black leaf fluttered in the wind.
“This is your home.” said a man floating next to the boy. “Why don't you go home?” And then the boy was looking at the man from the end of a long tunnel that was getting longer by the minute, until all the boy could see was a tiny dot of light, and then even that was gone. All was black. The boy realized that this blackness was the inside of his eyelids, and that he was now awake.
Opening his eyes, the boy saw that he was lying on a low bed, in a tiny room. The walls were unpainted drywall, and the floor was poured concrete. Small windows high up in the walls allowed pink light to hit the opposite wall, but the angle of the light indicated either morning or evening. Above the boy's bed hung a simple wooden cross. If this meant anything to the boy, he didn't show it.
Just then, the brown wooden door opened, and a large burly man in a simply rough-spun habit backed into the room carrying a tray with a steaming bowl and a cup. The bowl appeared to hold soup, and the cup, water. The man turned around and seemed to be taken by surprise by the boy's eyes on him.
“Ho! It looks like you're finally awake!” he bellowed. Everything about this man was big. His size, his features, his beard, his voice, and his very presence in the room seemed to be larger than normal. The man set the tray down on a small table beside the boy's bed. "I was worried you would never wake up! You've been asleep for 3 days." The boy just looked at the man. His stare seemed to make the man uncomfortable, so the large monk (the boy was beginning to understand who he was talking to and where he was) began pacing the tiny cell. He turned back to the boy. "I'm called Brother Peregrine. What's your name?"
"Boy."
"Boy? Just boy?"
"That's what everyone calls me."
Brother Peregrine looked a little flustered. "Well, what do your parents call you?"
"I never knew them."
The calm stony demeanor of the boy unsettled Brother Peregrine. "Well, I can't just call you boy."
"Why not?"
Again, the boy's calm acceptance of the world around him, and his place in it agitated the blusterous monk. "Well, because boy isn't a name. It's a word that describes a fact about you that you also share with many others like you. A name is something that is yours alone, and makes you an individual. Mankind has been giving names to themselves since before recorded history.
"..."
"I shall give you a name then, if you are so unwilling to do so yourself."
"OK."
"Your brothers cast you down and killed you for something you had that they did not, so therefore I will call you Able."
It wasn't until Brother Peregrine said this that Able remembered the severe beating he had received 3 days earlier. He became aware of the bruises and scratches that covered his body, and he began to ache. "I don't have any brothers."
"I didn't mean literal brothers. But we're all brothers and sisters of mankind."
"OK."
"Now, Able, I think should eat this soup before it gets cold, and then rest yourself, as you haven't quite healed." Then Brother Peregrine walked to the door and gave Able a smile before closing it behind him.
Able began spooning the soup into his mouth. It was a thick broth with chunks of vegetables floating in it. When it reached his belly, and satisfying warmth filled him. He shoveled more soup into his mouth until his belly felt distended. Able gave a satisfied burp, and then farted. He smiled with satisfaction. Able began to feel drowsy, until sleep finally took him, spoon still in hand.
Brother Peregrine, formerly known as Doug, a lifetime ago it seemed, grasped the worn spade and began tilling the soil around the tomato plants. His usually cheery mood was shaken. Peregrine was aware of the harshness of life for those poor unfortunates living in the underbelly of the city. Hadn't he joined the brotherhood to escape such a situation himself? But the flat dead look the boy had given him, the one he had dubbed "Able"...
The slow monotonous task of tilling the earth usually calmed Brother Peregrine when he was upset. It allowed his usually active mind to concentrate on this simple task, so that what he thought of as "the back of his brain" could mull over more complex issues. Today, however, it wasn't helping. He was still upset, and his mood wasn't improving. The brother who was Doug wondered why the Abbot had asked him to go into the city. Wondered why he would ask him return with the first child he encountered. It was a strange request indeed, and eerie in its results.
But these were not matters that took up to much of Brother Peregrine's thinking. The vast bulk of his thoughts rested on Able. Able, who didn't seem to care whether he was being beaten to death or safe in a bed. Able, with those cold, flat eyes. Those eyes disturbed him most.
Brother Peregrine was brought out of his reverie by a light touch on the shoulder. He had been so deep in thought, he had not noticed the newcomers approach.
"Abbot Ulder! H-h-how are you this morning?" Brother Peregrine stammered past his initial shock of having someone come upon him unawares.
"Fine! Fine indeed!" The abbot smiled, but it looked a little forced. "And how are you this day Brother Peregrine?"
"I am..." Brother Peregrine thought about lying to the abbot, but decided that it would not be proper, and the abbot always seemed to know when he was lying. "I am troubled, sir."
"What is it that's troubling you? It's a beautiful morning, and you have pleasant work to do. What is it that weighs on your mind."
"It's Able, sir. I..."
Abbot Ulder looked confused. "The son of Adam? What could possibly be troubling you about him? I would be more worried about Cain!"
"Oh no, sir! Sorry, I did not mean him! I-I named the boy Able, the one I brought in last night."
The abbot's demeanor stayed serious, but his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "Ah, I see. It is a fitting name. And what troubles you about the lad?"
"Everything! The boy just doesn't seem to care that he's been saved! I'm not sure if it would matter to him whether he was in here eating a feast or out there starving!"
Abbot Ulder looked off past Peregrine's left shoulder, staring at nothing, and pursed his lips. "The world is a harsh place, and different people react to this harshness in different ways. Our young friend has had the worst of it, so it is no wonder that he has closed himself off. It is better to feel nothing, then to feel pain, some would say. Give him time. He will heal on his own."
"But..."
"And another thing, Brother Peregrine. This boy is very important. To us, to this planet, and perhaps possibly to the whole universe. I am tasking you with his care and protection."
Brother Peregrine's face twisted and he began to make another outburst. "Do not question my instructions." Abbot Ulder preempted him. "Just do as I have asked, and everything will be fine." Abbot Ulder smiled and patted Brother Peregrine on the shoulder. The he left the apprehensive monk to his gardening.