Soldier at the Door(42)

Poe’s eyes were enormous.

“I bet the scouts didn’t like him writing on them,” he said soberly. “Their mothers would get very angry.”

Mahrree nodded and suppressed a smile. “You’re right, they did not like it. They thought he was losing his mind. He wouldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t eat. He would merely mumble as he ran from stone to stone. Sometimes he would cry out and jump up and down in excitement!”

“Like I do on the last day of school!”

Mahrree was momentarily diverted by that comment, but then decided she’d too feel that way if she was forced into full school. “Well, all right, I suppose. But Terryp felt such a need to understand what he saw, and he felt he couldn’t waste a moment. When he began to write on his flesh in desperation for a way to record all he saw, the scouts were convinced something evil was in that place making him crazed. They decided that since he was the only one among the ruins all day long, only his mind was affected. I’m sorry to say they hit him over the head and dragged him away from the ruins. By the time he woke up, he was two days’ ride from the ruins and in extremely poor health. He nearly died from being so tired and hungry.”

“He nearly died from trying to write down what he saw?” Poe asked in astonishment.

“He nearly died from trying to understand what he thought might be new truth,” she clarified. “Something he thought could benefit everyone. People have given up their lives for far less important things than that.”

Poe was silent for a moment. “So Terryp saw elephants?”

“He saw carvings of them, on the ruins. And he wondered, why would there be carvings of something pretend? We’ve always had stories of elephants and other fantastic beasts, but here were actual pictures made by someone who may have seen them. Terryp saw depictions that showed twenty people could sit on top of one elephant!”

Poe was completely awestruck.

Mahrree continued, “They had these long noses that water could come out of, and ears taller than you, and it seemed like they could flap. Terryp wondered if maybe they could fly like an enormous insect. Maybe the people that lived there even flew away on the elephants.”

“That would help keep the world up, wouldn’t it?” Poe considered. “Big flying elephants?”

“Maybe,” Mahrree said. “And those weren’t the only animals he saw.”

Poe’s eyes lit up even more, if that were possible. “What else?”

“He saw drawings of tall animals with long necks that could eat from the tops of trees.”

“Wow!” he breathed.

There were moments that Mahrree missed teaching. She missed watching a child’s imagination erupt. Oh, there was so much to tell him, and full school—fool school—had no idea how to do it.

But it really was easy. Since children naturally enjoy learning, simply lay before them the world with all its mystery and wonder, and they’ll gobble it up. No need to force-feed it.

“There were horses that had stripes,” Mahrree continued, her own enthusiasm building when she considered how eagerly her own children would feast on these ideas in a few years, “and—”

“I remember, I remember!” Poe cried, jumping to his feet. “There were those hairy little things, with long tails that would swing from tree to tree! Like little fuzzy children!”

“Yes!” Mahrree grinned. She knew having them act out the animals would help them remember. Poe had been a perfect mon-kee when he was six. He laughed, and he remembered.

“Now why don’t they teach us things like that at school,” Poe said, his grin fading, “instead of just making us remember boring things over and over?”

His question stung Mahrree. She didn’t know how to answer him, but he deserved a response. “We did teach those things, and you’re supposed to be learning them again, in greater detail. I’ll be sure to ask the parents if you can discuss Terryp,” she promised.

“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that,” Poe sat down again, carefully straightening his wool trousers. “My mother says the men in Idumea do all that now. Parents don’t have to bother. It’s better that way,” he added matter-of-factly.

Mahrree bit her lower lip, trying to make sense of why parents no longer decided what their children would learn, and how that was better.

Poe brightened. “Can I borrow the book of Terryp, I mean, all of the stuff he saw and wrote about?”

Mahrree always hated this part of the story.

She shook her head. “There’s no book of Terryp, besides his stories for children. That’s all he wrote in his later years.” She didn’t want to explain the rest, but she believed children deserved the truth, no matter how disgraceful.