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Description
Inlé sat breakfasting when his mother walked into the kitchenette in tousled hair and a robin-egg blue bathrobe. "Good morning, Inlé," she mumbled, rubbing sand from her eyes. "Was everything fine, last night?"

"Of course, mother," Inlé answered, smoothly gathering bowl and utensils to set in front of his mother as she sat across from him. "And how was your date?"

"Fine, fine," she yawned. "He is a wonderful man. I think you'll like him?"

"I?" Inlé asked.

Looking up in mock-surprise, his mother said, "Oh, didn't I tell you? He'll be here at eleven. We're having a brunch. You're welcome to join us if you'd like."

"I think I will pass," Inlé replied, "but shouldn't you be getting ready? You have fifteen minutes until eleven."

"Ah! Why didn't you warn me earlier?" his mother cried, leaping from her seat and running for her room. "Oh, I'm going to have to just throw something together!"

Inlé finished his meal calmly, listening as his mother loudly fretted. He was putting his washed bowl away when their guest arrived as a crisp, polite knock.

"Mother, someone is at the door," Inlé said through the bathroom door.

"Can you get it, Inlé? I still need five minutes," she replied.

Inlé walked toward the door saying, "Coming. One moment."

"Have you seen the opal necklace?" his mother called. "It was your father's favorite ..."

"No, mother. I do not handle your jewelry. Choose another one." He got to the door and opened it.

The man at the door wore a matching dark grey set of slacks and blazer over a light grey shirt and a black tie. A large, black leather-bound book was cradled in his left arm, place held with the index finger. A glimmer of recognition lit in Inlé's mind just before he heard a familiar voice.

"Well, well," Mr. Selina said, "look who we have here."

Inlé met Mr. Selina's gaze emotionlessly. "Hello, sir. Are you here for something? My mother is expecting a visitor, so ..."

Peeking in from another room, Inlé's mother said, "Cecil! Hi, come in. Inlé, let him in," and rushed off to finish getting ready.

Following Inlé into the living room, Mr. Selina said, "Well isn't this a pleasant surprise. How are you, Inlé?"

"I am well, sir," Inlé replied. "And yourself?"

Mr. Selina sighed. "Well enough. Still won't talk outside english to me?"

"English allows all present parties to understand the conversation, sir," Inlé explained blandly as he gestured for his guest to sit, then stood beside his seated teacher.

"Inlé," his mother called from her room, "see if our guest would like a drink!"

"Yes, mother," he said. "Sir?"

"Thank you, but no," Mr. Selina said. "I should be fine. So does she know you speak gaelic?"

"There are many things," Inlé said, "my mother does not know. Is she aware that you smoke?"

Mr. Selina looked surprised, then said, "Hm. Well played. I suppose there are many things she need not know. Thank you for the warning."

"Be good to her, sir," Inlé said, "and we will work well together."

Their conversation paused for a moment, they heard something heavy drop in the other room. Inlé's mother said she would be out momentarily.

Mr. Selina resumed the conversation. "So how much doesn't she know about you?"

"And you?" Inlé returned.

"That's different," Mr Selina protested. "We met only a few days ago. She's known you since your birth."

"This is true," Inlé agreed. "But I am not what I was when she birthed me."

"All right, I'll give you that. So is there anything else I should know about her?"

"Whatever you do, do not mention my father. The subject is sensitive to her. If you wish, I can disclose the extent of my knowledge on the situation at another time."

Mr. Selina leaned back and began rifling in his inner breast pocket. "If she wants me to know, she'll tell me. I'd as soon think you parthenogenetic." He paused. "No offense."

"None at all," Inlé said. "And no smoking in the house."

"Ah!" Mr. Selina caught himself. He looked up at Inlé, "Maybe you should take them, just in case."

"I am still of minority, sir."

Mr. Selina held the cigarettes out. "I'm not asking you to smoke them, Inlé. Just to hold them to keep me in your mother's good graces. A favor? Please?"

Inlé slowly accepted the pack of cigarettes, and they disappeared up his sleeve. "Fine, but find another method next time."

"You think I want to give my students my cigarettes all the the time?" he asked. "Those aren't exactly free."

Inlé's mother walked into the room then, wearing a simple black dress and a necklace of roughly marble-sized opals. "Ah, you found it," Inlé said.

"I did. Hello again, Cecil," his mother cheerily greeted her guest.

Mr. Selina stood. "Ah, Emilia, you look lovely this morning. The necklace is exquisite."

"It's something I've had a long time," she said, blushing. "There are a lot of memories in these stones."

"Well then, sir, I will leave her in your capable hands."

"You know, Inlé, you needn't always be so formal with me," Mr. Selina said.

"As you say, sir," Inlé responded.

Confused, Inlé's mother asked, "Do you two know each other already?"

"We do," Mr. Selina chuckled. "Do you remember my mentioning I was a teacher? It appears your son is one of my better students."

"The better students?" Inlé's mother repeated, trying to hide a smile. "Well this is a pleasant surprise, to learn you know each other. Although, you must not pay much attention to my boy if you think he's one of the better students."

"I only say it because he's not wrongly answered a single question I've asked yet," Mr. Selina said.

Inlé's mother smiled proudly. "I'm glad to hear that," she said. Embarrassed, she turned and headed out of the room, saying, "I'll only be a moment longer, then we can leave."

"Take your time, Emilia," Mr. Selina assured. "The food will wait for us."

The men watched the entrance to the hallway as she left. Once she was gone, Inlé said, "One of your better students?"

"It makes her feel good and isn't too far from the truth," Mr. Selina said. "At least you know your stuff."

Inlé stood quietly impassive, continuing to watch for his mother's return.

Mr. Selina chuckled to himself. "That right there is what keeps you from being the best. You don't really participate so much as fill the seat with a brain. Participation, Inlé. I'm sure you could help me teach the class if you'd just use that mouth of yours."

"All right, I'm ready," Inlé's mother said, rushing in. "Are you sure you don't want to join us, Inlé?"

"Yes, mother, I am. Other activities demand my attention today. Perhaps another time. Enjoy your date. I will see you when you return," Inlé said. With a nod to his teacher, Inlé retired to his room.

As Mr. Selina and Inlé's mother headed out the door, Mr. Selina said, "That boy seems quite self-sufficient. Almost too much so."

"Yes," Emilia agreed. "He acts so aloof, even toward me."

"That may just be the age, I suppose," Mr. Selina said.

"No. He's been like this for years," she said, lost in thought. "One day, he was a regular kid, and the next, he was ... I don't know, different. Changed.

"I used to blame his father's disappearance, but it came after he started to ... Oh! Listen to me rattle on. Sorry, can we talk about something else?"

"Certainly," Mr. Selina said. "What do you like to read?"

They stepped onto the elevator, and the date began.

Inlé sat cross-legged in the center of his room, and read through the books lent him by Mr. Selina. The leather-bound tomes were thick, old. On opening them, Inlé was pleasantly surprised--though only a brief glimmer in his eye betrayed this--to find that they were originals. Or at least seemed to have been written before the printing press's invention. Cramped, spidery writing crawled across the page in small, uneven gaelic lettering. Old gaelic, not the modern manifestation.

Despite these apparent challenges, Inlé quickly read each page, poring over them as though devouring the information. Every minute, he turned to the next page, spending exactly thirty seconds, loving running his finger below the word he read without touching the page. Things this old were worth more than a diamond with a face as large as their covers. And were perhaps barely less rare.

The sun dragged by, climbing to the peak of its ascent, then began its slow fall to the far horizon. Inlé sat unmoving, save in switching from one book to the other. As he was finishing the second tome, he heard the door to the apartment close, as his mother's laughter echoed down the hall.

By the time he had risen and entered the living room, the two were seated on the couch, caught in lively conversation. The two sat close, but--Inlé noted--Mr. Selina remained at a gentlemanly distance. Inlé greeted the pair, "Welcome back."

"Inlé!" Emilia said. "Have you been here all day?"

"I have."

She stood quickly asking, "Have you eaten? What do you want to eat? I'll go make something, anyway." And rushed off to the kitchen.

Inlé called after her, "Mother, I am fine. Surely I am capable enough to feed myself."

"Capable to do something and having done something are not one and the same," chuckled Mr. Selina, now standing beside Inlé.

"You want me to lie to her?"

"Not at all," Mr. Selina answered, as the two stood, watching Emilia bustling about in the kitchen. "I just find it funny is all. You're cold, to be sure. But you're also more worried about her than yourself. It's sweet of you."

Impassively, Inlé said, "If ever you should repeat that statement, I may be forced to kill you, sir."

Mr. Selina looked down at the unmoving boy beside him in surprise, then grinned as he looked back into the kitchen, following the other's gaze. "I wonder sometimes how serious you are when you say such things."

"And no more gaelic in front of the woman."

"Bean?" Mr. Selina echoed.

"I mean it," Inlé said coldly.

"There," Emilia said, smiling. "A sandwich for you, Inlé. Come on."

Mr. Selina chuckled. "Best to eat it, she'll be hurt otherwise."

Inlé ate in silence.

Description
Inlé sat breakfasting when his mother walked into the kitchenette in tousled hair and a robin-egg blue bathrobe. "Good morning, Inlé," she mumbled, rubbing sand from her eyes. "Was everything fine, last night?"

"Of course, mother," Inlé answered, smoothly gathering bowl and utensils to set in front of his mother as she sat across from him. "And how was your date?"

"Fine, fine," she yawned. "He is a wonderful man. I think you'll like him?"

"I?" Inlé asked.

Looking up in mock-surprise, his mother said, "Oh, didn't I tell you? He'll be here at eleven. We're having a brunch. You're welcome to join us if you'd like."

"I think I will pass," Inlé replied, "but shouldn't you be getting ready? You have fifteen minutes until eleven."

"Ah! Why didn't you warn me earlier?" his mother cried, leaping from her seat and running for her room. "Oh, I'm going to have to just throw something together!"

Inlé finished his meal calmly, listening as his mother loudly fretted. He was putting his washed bowl away when their guest arrived as a crisp, polite knock.

"Mother, someone is at the door," Inlé said through the bathroom door.

"Can you get it, Inlé? I still need five minutes," she replied.

Inlé walked toward the door saying, "Coming. One moment."

"Have you seen the opal necklace?" his mother called. "It was your father's favorite ..."

"No, mother. I do not handle your jewelry. Choose another one." He got to the door and opened it.

The man at the door wore a matching dark grey set of slacks and blazer over a light grey shirt and a black tie. A large, black leather-bound book was cradled in his left arm, place held with the index finger. A glimmer of recognition lit in Inlé's mind just before he heard a familiar voice.

"Well, well," Mr. Selina said, "look who we have here."

Inlé met Mr. Selina's gaze emotionlessly. "Hello, sir. Are you here for something? My mother is expecting a visitor, so ..."

Peeking in from another room, Inlé's mother said, "Cecil! Hi, come in. Inlé, let him in," and rushed off to finish getting ready.

Following Inlé into the living room, Mr. Selina said, "Well isn't this a pleasant surprise. How are you, Inlé?"

"I am well, sir," Inlé replied. "And yourself?"

Mr. Selina sighed. "Well enough. Still won't talk outside english to me?"

"English allows all present parties to understand the conversation, sir," Inlé explained blandly as he gestured for his guest to sit, then stood beside his seated teacher.

"Inlé," his mother called from her room, "see if our guest would like a drink!"

"Yes, mother," he said. "Sir?"

"Thank you, but no," Mr. Selina said. "I should be fine. So does she know you speak gaelic?"

"There are many things," Inlé said, "my mother does not know. Is she aware that you smoke?"

Mr. Selina looked surprised, then said, "Hm. Well played. I suppose there are many things she need not know. Thank you for the warning."

"Be good to her, sir," Inlé said, "and we will work well together."

Their conversation paused for a moment, they heard something heavy drop in the other room. Inlé's mother said she would be out momentarily.

Mr. Selina resumed the conversation. "So how much doesn't she know about you?"

"And you?" Inlé returned.

"That's different," Mr Selina protested. "We met only a few days ago. She's known you since your birth."

"This is true," Inlé agreed. "But I am not what I was when she birthed me."

"All right, I'll give you that. So is there anything else I should know about her?"

"Whatever you do, do not mention my father. The subject is sensitive to her. If you wish, I can disclose the extent of my knowledge on the situation at another time."

Mr. Selina leaned back and began rifling in his inner breast pocket. "If she wants me to know, she'll tell me. I'd as soon think you parthenogenetic." He paused. "No offense."

"None at all," Inlé said. "And no smoking in the house."

"Ah!" Mr. Selina caught himself. He looked up at Inlé, "Maybe you should take them, just in case."

"I am still of minority, sir."

Mr. Selina held the cigarettes out. "I'm not asking you to smoke them, Inlé. Just to hold them to keep me in your mother's good graces. A favor? Please?"

Inlé slowly accepted the pack of cigarettes, and they disappeared up his sleeve. "Fine, but find another method next time."

"You think I want to give my students my cigarettes all the the time?" he asked. "Those aren't exactly free."

Inlé's mother walked into the room then, wearing a simple black dress and a necklace of roughly marble-sized opals. "Ah, you found it," Inlé said.

"I did. Hello again, Cecil," his mother cheerily greeted her guest.

Mr. Selina stood. "Ah, Emilia, you look lovely this morning. The necklace is exquisite."

"It's something I've had a long time," she said, blushing. "There are a lot of memories in these stones."

"Well then, sir, I will leave her in your capable hands."

"You know, Inlé, you needn't always be so formal with me," Mr. Selina said.

"As you say, sir," Inlé responded.

Confused, Inlé's mother asked, "Do you two know each other already?"

"We do," Mr. Selina chuckled. "Do you remember my mentioning I was a teacher? It appears your son is one of my better students."

"The better students?" Inlé's mother repeated, trying to hide a smile. "Well this is a pleasant surprise, to learn you know each other. Although, you must not pay much attention to my boy if you think he's one of the better students."

"I only say it because he's not wrongly answered a single question I've asked yet," Mr. Selina said.

Inlé's mother smiled proudly. "I'm glad to hear that," she said. Embarrassed, she turned and headed out of the room, saying, "I'll only be a moment longer, then we can leave."

"Take your time, Emilia," Mr. Selina assured. "The food will wait for us."

The men watched the entrance to the hallway as she left. Once she was gone, Inlé said, "One of your better students?"

"It makes her feel good and isn't too far from the truth," Mr. Selina said. "At least you know your stuff."

Inlé stood quietly impassive, continuing to watch for his mother's return.

Mr. Selina chuckled to himself. "That right there is what keeps you from being the best. You don't really participate so much as fill the seat with a brain. Participation, Inlé. I'm sure you could help me teach the class if you'd just use that mouth of yours."

"All right, I'm ready," Inlé's mother said, rushing in. "Are you sure you don't want to join us, Inlé?"

"Yes, mother, I am. Other activities demand my attention today. Perhaps another time. Enjoy your date. I will see you when you return," Inlé said. With a nod to his teacher, Inlé retired to his room.

As Mr. Selina and Inlé's mother headed out the door, Mr. Selina said, "That boy seems quite self-sufficient. Almost too much so."

"Yes," Emilia agreed. "He acts so aloof, even toward me."

"That may just be the age, I suppose," Mr. Selina said.

"No. He's been like this for years," she said, lost in thought. "One day, he was a regular kid, and the next, he was ... I don't know, different. Changed.

"I used to blame his father's disappearance, but it came after he started to ... Oh! Listen to me rattle on. Sorry, can we talk about something else?"

"Certainly," Mr. Selina said. "What do you like to read?"

They stepped onto the elevator, and the date began.

Inlé sat cross-legged in the center of his room, and read through the books lent him by Mr. Selina. The leather-bound tomes were thick, old. On opening them, Inlé was pleasantly surprised--though only a brief glimmer in his eye betrayed this--to find that they were originals. Or at least seemed to have been written before the printing press's invention. Cramped, spidery writing crawled across the page in small, uneven gaelic lettering. Old gaelic, not the modern manifestation.

Despite these apparent challenges, Inlé quickly read each page, poring over them as though devouring the information. Every minute, he turned to the next page, spending exactly thirty seconds, loving running his finger below the word he read without touching the page. Things this old were worth more than a diamond with a face as large as their covers. And were perhaps barely less rare.

The sun dragged by, climbing to the peak of its ascent, then began its slow fall to the far horizon. Inlé sat unmoving, save in switching from one book to the other. As he was finishing the second tome, he heard the door to the apartment close, as his mother's laughter echoed down the hall.

By the time he had risen and entered the living room, the two were seated on the couch, caught in lively conversation. The two sat close, but--Inlé noted--Mr. Selina remained at a gentlemanly distance. Inlé greeted the pair, "Welcome back."

"Inlé!" Emilia said. "Have you been here all day?"

"I have."

She stood quickly asking, "Have you eaten? What do you want to eat? I'll go make something, anyway." And rushed off to the kitchen.

Inlé called after her, "Mother, I am fine. Surely I am capable enough to feed myself."

"Capable to do something and having done something are not one and the same," chuckled Mr. Selina, now standing beside Inlé.

"You want me to lie to her?"

"Not at all," Mr. Selina answered, as the two stood, watching Emilia bustling about in the kitchen. "I just find it funny is all. You're cold, to be sure. But you're also more worried about her than yourself. It's sweet of you."

Impassively, Inlé said, "If ever you should repeat that statement, I may be forced to kill you, sir."

Mr. Selina looked down at the unmoving boy beside him in surprise, then grinned as he looked back into the kitchen, following the other's gaze. "I wonder sometimes how serious you are when you say such things."

"And no more gaelic in front of the woman."

"Bean?" Mr. Selina echoed.

"I mean it," Inlé said coldly.

"There," Emilia said, smiling. "A sandwich for you, Inlé. Come on."

Mr. Selina chuckled. "Best to eat it, she'll be hurt otherwise."

Inlé ate in silence.