Chapter 11. The Rabbit and the Python

August 18, 1938

Friday

A succession of rains inexorably sang its monotonous song to London and tapped with an insistent rhythm on the window cornice of my room. I carefully placed the stones I'd confiscated from Irene on the windowsill. Everything must be in perfect order.

When Irene said she was going to collect unnecessary pebbles, I thought at least they would be different. But everything turned out to be simple: snow-white, different shapes. To the question whether this collection will be replenished, the answer was categorical — no. When I asked why, I heard that 'even Buddha was sitting under the fig tree with seven fruit swaying on it.' I had to look up who Buddha was in the encyclopedia. How did Irene know so many myths and funny stories about fantastic beasts? She once assured me that the boggarts were not fiction at all, but purely true. The only boggart in my surroundings was her. However, I refrained from uttering the thought aloud. There was, of course, no evidence that she was right.

She's really special. Just like me. However, her fairy tales sometimes sounded so that if Mrs. Cole had heard them with half an ear, there would have already been two potential clients for the house of the mentally ill in Wool's orphanage.

A black-and-white photograph of a rocky shore, surrounded by endless choppy waters, moved behind the iron pipe that carried the heating in winter. I brought this picture from the beach where we vacationed with the kids, although I hadn't seen the place that was pictured. Probably, somewhere in the middle of the sea it really was.

"Tom," Irene said at the same time as the door creaked open.

"Don't they teach you to knock?" I didn't have time to turn around, because the picture wouldn't stay where it was supposed to be.

"I'm sorry," Irene said mechanically, feeling no remorse for what she'd done. "I want to show you something!" She tried to sound calm, but her excitement was palpable.

"Finally," I muttered.

The picture was securely wedged between the wall and the pipe. After a loving glance at my little composition, I decided to turn around after all.

"You certainly haven't seen this yet," the last phrase was stifled by the lack of air, which Irene had successfully exhaled on the first two words.

I gave her the most skeptical look I could muster. With a shake of her head toward the exit, she disappeared down the hallway, leaving the door open, inviting me to follow her. Looking at the window sill and the pipe once more, I smiled involuntarily. The picture made me feel warm at heart. Raindrops pounded monotonically on the ledge, and the gray brick wall was still depressing with its mute existence. I don't care. I would watch those black and white waves crashing against the impregnable cliffs. One day I would be there for sure. Loud clanking and rumbling. Irene cursed like a trucker. My eye! And I was beginning to think that she would never trip over that dislodged square of tile. Out into the corridor, I noticed that Irene had already turned the corner and was hurrying down the stairs, which could be heard on the second floor. Slowly following, I pushed the tiles into place with my foot. Irene definitely needed to be re-educated. One minute her dress was stained, the next minute her sandals were in the dust, the next minute she was breaking the floor and wouldn't fix it. She acted as if... She was allowed to do anything? When did she become so bold?

Thinking that being near me gave her a sense of confidence, I slowly made my way down to the first floor. Two dark braids flashed through the front door of the orphanage. 'Not outside. It's raining out there!' I thought and confidently pushed the door open. Irene stood under the roof canopy and patiently waited for my appearance.

"I will not run barefoot through puddles again. I tried it once, and I didn't like it. Thank you."

Irene clucked loudly and rushed around the corner of the building. I frowned, wrapping myself more tightly in my jacket. Whatever it was, it was a priori a stupid idea. I jogged after her with a disgruntled look. How that little half-vampire-like body had so much energy was a mystery. Irene was already cowering at the ground level, in the brick nook of the building. Raindrops trickled down the eaves of the roof, hitting the ground and flying right back onto the skinny legs and the dark hem of her dress. Irene silently beckoned with her hand, without once looking at me. I approached slowly; I leaned over, peering through the darkness of the window that led to the basement of the building, which had long been cluttered with junk and abandoned. Through the sparse iron bars something huge was visible.

"Wow," I whispered.

A large and massive snake, three meters long at least, stretched out lazily and watched us. The yellowish-olive body showed large dark brown spots of various shapes, forming an intricate pattern. Through the eye was a dark band that began at the nostrils and passed into the spots on the neck. Another stripe ran from the eye downward and passed through the upper lip flaps. On the upper part of the head there was a dark arrow-shaped spot.

"Hello," it hissed.

"Hello," I hissed. "Where did you come from?" I couldn't hide the surprise in my voice. How could it be here?

"I just happened to be here... I got away from the circusss..." The python wiggled its head.

"You have to get out of here before the others see you... They are cruel. They will kill you."

"I know... I need strengthhh. I'm hungry."

Irene looked back and forth between me and the giant python, and then she blurted out:

"I know what to do."

The next thing I knew, I could hear the sound of hurried footsteps. Where was that girl going again? I bowed before the huge, truly beautiful snake and headed back to the orphanage. I must admit, Irene surprised me again. I had to speed up my stride to avoid losing sight of her. A spiral staircase up the stairs. Was she in a hurry to get to her place? But Irene turned sharply to the second floor. I was on my way to my room when I heard loud voices in room number 20. I had to go back. The door wasn't closed all the way, so I leaned against the wall and just listened carefully.

"Billy, I said," Irene's voice sounded quiet, but it was pressing and threatening.

"Irene, no! I'll tell Mrs. Cole everything!" The boy entered into a clear confrontation. Fool. There followed a ringing girlish laugh.

"Billy, honey, if I said give it back, you'll give it back."

"No!"

There was a rumble. There was another creepy laugh that sent shivers down my spine.

"I said give it back!" Irene barked.

"No!" wailed Billy Stubbs.

The sounds of scuffling, the indistinct shouts of children's voices. It was time. I pushed the door open. Irene and Billy were exactly in the center of the room. Billy was sitting on the floor, both hands clutching zealously at the cage, the other side of which Irene was pulling with all her might. Her pale face showed a blush I'd never seen before. It suited her. She looked even prettier this way. At least she didn't look like a ghoul living in a cave.

"Billy, stop it!" she grumbled.

But Billy just shook his head in denial. His ability to take on the color of the ripest tomato always amazed me.

"That's my rabbit!"

Even to my appearance he reacted fearlessly, desperately defending his pet. I wondered who would win. The tension was so intense that it looked like the whole living sculpture was about to burst like a balloon. I leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over my chest. There was a rumble of a falling cage. The door opened. A little white fluffy rabbit hopped into the corner of the room by the door, obviously stressed out. I gently picked it up. The room fell into silence, broken by the heavy breathing of the two across from me. I stroked the critter. It was amazing how quickly they obeyed me, with absolutely no training. Billy froze, unmoving for sure. Irene smiled.

"That's it, Billy!" She pulled down the hem of her dress, threw her braids back, and stalked toward the exit, where I was standing.

"Billy, let's go!" Someone stopped behind me. "What's going on here?"

Eric Wall, Billy Stubbs' friend, walked slowly into the room. His face showed surprise and incomprehension.

"She wants my rabbit!" Billy immediately pointed his finger at Irene. Oh, Billy, it's not nice to point the finger...

Eric gave Irene a baleful stare, then looked at me.

"I'll tell Mrs. Cole everything. Give me the rabbit." If he hadn't swallowed at the end of his sentence, you might have believed him to be confident. He obviously didn't want to confront me, but he and Billy were friends.

"No!" Irene objected sharply.

I didn't say anything. A decision had to be made, and I mentally asked a single question: what would be best for me personally in this situation?

"Yes, Irene!" Eric continued, helping his friend up from the floor.

"No!" she cried out again, glaring at me.

She understood that the decision was mine. Perhaps, choosing between Billy and Irene, the latter was more interesting to me. I shook my head. The redness retreating from Billy's face came with renewed force. He moved swiftly forward and pushed Irene as hard as he could. Not expecting it, Irene lost her footing and flew at me. I threw the rabbit to the floor and grabbed her, saving from hitting the wall and the concrete floor. Her emotions changed before my eyes. Fury flashed like fire in her emerald eyes. She rushed forward with a yell, ready to gouge out the eyes of the boy opposite with her bare hands. A couple of cherished steps and Billy was dead. Little hands reached forward.

Anger was replaced by a nasty taste of frustration. Skinny legs twitched nervously in the air and hit me painfully in the thigh. Bitter disappointment corroded the consciousness. Irene felt like screaming. The boys' figures began to recede.

"If that rabbit isn't mine, it won't be yours either, Billy!" She hissed through her teeth, digging as hard as she could into the bottom edge of my jacket.

I stepped out into the hallway, and then leisurely turned to face the boys to close the door.

"I hope you heard that," I said calmly, and pulled up the hem of Irene's dress to cover her childish, but still girlish, thighs. I adjusted the frail body I'd thrown on my shoulder and headed away.

Irene slumped on my shoulder, meekly accepting the will of fate, or rather, mine, and let go of the flaps of my jacket, with her pale arms and head hanging down. She slapped my buttock exhaustedly and muttered something, seemingly in another language. Only when we were in the room I did get her on her feet. She sighed as if she could die of frustration.

"Tom, why?"

"Because that would be a stupid thing to do, Irene. You should be thankful."

She said nothing and sat on the edge of the bed, placing her hands on the table, where she soon bowed her head. I sat down next to her.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Irene said softly, looking at the stones on the windowsill.

The black braids were disheveled. I gently began to untangle the one closest to me. The curls flowed down her frail shoulders.

"Beautiful," I exhaled.

My chest felt like iron hoops, tightening tighter and tighter, preventing me from breathing in. My fingers were tangled in thick curls that I was never ready to let go of.

"Irene, do you still want to find your parents?"

I watched her intently, not wanting to lose the slightest expression of true emotion in her face and gestures. Irene suddenly straightened, and then turned her head toward me. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her eyes seemed to go blank.

"Tom, I want to know who I am and what happened to me. It seems like I was born in this orphanage. But we both know that's not true."

"If you want to know that, then you don't want to be here."

"Do you?" she grinned.

Of course, the last thing I wanted was to live in a shitty orphanage. Why did my mother come here? Abandoned me here? How could she be so weak?

Unpleasant goosebumps ran down my skin. I could do nothing about that fact, which always caused a feeling of nausea. However, in the here and now it was Irene who worried me, giving me reason to think that she was like that, that she would just run away as soon as her parents showed up on the doorstep.

"I don't want to," I answered calmly, straightening the curls on the girl's shoulders.

"Neither do I," Irene said.

Heart was in my throat. For a second it felt like my eyes went black. So, I was right. An all-consuming impulse took over me completely. My hand clenched on the lock of hair and I yanked on it with force, pulling Irene closer.

"Ouch, Tom!" she cried out, as she grasped my hand with pale, thin fingers. "What are you doing?"

"If you can't have the rabbit, no one can," I muttered through gritted teeth in the ear of the rebellious girl.

Eye to eye. She froze, no longer resisting. I felt her heart begin to beat faster. Was it... Fear? My face froze like a mask with a smile that looked more like a grin. So, I was the only one she was afraid of in this orphanage? That's right, Irene. You're smart, after all. I pushed the frail body back onto the bed and left the room, wanting to disappear into the embrace of the twilight corridors of the dull, brick building. I don't want to see her.

At the end of the corridor, closer to the stairs, was Miss Blair. She was lighting the last kerosene lamp. It was another ten minutes before lights out, so I had time to go downstairs and get that welcome breath of fresh air that was vital here and now. I opened my mouth to utter a polite evening greeting as Billy Stubbs loomed behind her.

"I told Mrs. Cole everything, Tom."

How Billy had grown bolder since the last conflict at the beginning of the summer... Is there any point in having mercy if people don't understand you? He obviously hadn't considered the fact that I could have been in a very bad mood, and I was. My fist clenched so hard that my knuckles began to turn white, my lips turned into a thin band. I didn't have answer that. A slow exhale.

"Good evening, Miss Blair," I smiled sweetly, studiously ignoring the white-haired bedbug.

"You're mentally ill, Riddle," Stubbs whispered as I passed between him and the woman.

The taut string of emotions broke. I grabbed the pretty boy by the chest and slammed him into the wall.

"Back off, Stubbs!" I hissed. "Just leave me alone! You think I can't hear your filthy thoughts about me? Stop it!"

The boy screamed like I'd just killed him, no less. Miss Blair rushed to break us up.

"Stop it, Riddle! Stubbs, get in the room!"

Hurried footsteps were heard behind us, which made me turn around. Irene was hurrying to the third floor. One braid was braided, but in place of the other was a tousled mop of curls, fluttering from her quick movements. Irene didn't look at me once, which made it worse. The blood rushed to my face. I felt like I was in a vise. All the oxygen was gone, and suffocation was about to follow imminent death. I shoved the boy with force, turned back and went to my room.

☾

I woke up late the next day, just before breakfast. I slept very badly, but I cleaned myself up anyway and hurried to the dining room, where everyone had been sitting in their seats for a while.

Billy and his friend, Eric Wally, were sitting at the table closer to the entrance. The first boy was slumped and didn't even seem to be eating. My gaze went immediately to the corner table, where the dark-haired girl sat, wiggling her legs that didn't reach the floor. She smiled weakly at me and waved her hand, inviting me in. My food was already on the table.

"Good morning."

"Good morning. I was waiting for you, so I brought your food," Irene smiled sweetly.

"Thank you." I took my spoon and stuck it into the thick porridge.

"Tom, I meant to say..." Irene spoke carefully, watching my every move. "Even if my parents are alive... I'm not leaving without you. Do you hear me?" She put her hand on top of mine.

"Neither will I if my father comes for me. I told you." My answer was indifferent.

"I remember."

I stared into my distorted reflection in the spoon. Yesterday's feelings of her willingness to leave, to abandon me like my... mother, echoed faintly. If I voiced it out loud, it would scare her, push her away, and then I would lose control and trust. I must be silent.

Irene shook her head negatively. Thin fingers dug harder into my hand. I put the spoon down on my plate and finally looked up into the gaunt face across the table. Her eyes were puffy.

"Have you been crying?"

"No!" Irene smiled. "I just woke up last night with a strange creaking sound in the hallway, and then I couldn't fall asleep for a long time."

I mumbled something in reply and went about my morning meal. The idyll was interrupted by a loud scream from Miss Blair at the other end of the first-floor corridor, where the mop closet was located. Mrs. Cole threw a white towel on the table and ran down the small hallway. The boys, dropping their spoons, rushed after. Irene and I looked at each other in silence, and followed the others slowly.

A pale Miss Blair stood in the small room, her eyes covered with the palm of her hand. A rabbit that belonged to Billy Stubbs was hanging from the rafters, right under the ceiling. Mrs. Cole cast a horrified look at the dead animal. The boys, who had crowded the room, froze in place, shaken by fear. There was a loud sob that turned into a bitter cry, and then a stomp toward the stairs. Apparently, some of the kids, unable to bear the ominous picture, simply ran to their rooms, bursting into tears.

"But how?" Mrs. Cole whispered. "How could a rabbit go up that high and hang there... He didn't hang himself, did he?"

"What is it? Did you find my rabbit?" Stubbs said, pushing the boys aside as he tried to get forward.

Silence.

Billy shouted:

"It was you, Riddle! You're the one who hung him!"

There was no direct evidence to implicate me in any way in this death. I looked at him as if he was insane.

"Do you think I can control animals or fly? Idiot..."

Irene stared indifferently at the hanging rabbit, not blinking once. She took my hand gently, squeezing it hard, and pulled me along. We headed for the storeroom exit, not wanting to hear any silly tantrums or baseless accusations.

"Where are you going?" Billy screamed hysterically, and then just cried. "It's you, Riddle..." he sobbed, wiping the tears that ran down his cheeks with his fists. "Or your girlfriend," he whispered, choking on the salt water.

Billy Stubbs had lost a beloved pet who had been hanged mercilessly. And this little rabbit had been an outlet and joy in this horrible gray reality, branded by the absence of warm maternal and paternal love.

With complete indifference to the suffering of the orphan boy, Irene, squeezing my palm harder, said apathetically:

"Praesumptio innocentiae."

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