When Martha gets over to them, she sees a man sitting in the thicket. He’s old, his eyes are a grayish white, pale. He smiles, and says, “I’m blind, and yet I see many things. I’m what stays in the shadows while the light falls elsewhere. You must be Martha. Big sister Martha.”
“Why’s Joseph crying?” Martha asks him.
The man is still smiling as he turns toward Joseph.
“I told Joseph a little story,” he says, “but I don’t think he liked it.”
΅
Martha puts her arms around Joseph and strokes his hair.
“Joseph told me that you like telling stories too,” the man says.
Martha looks for her father, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Listen to me when I’m talking to you,” the man says, and something in his voice makes Martha feel cold. She looks at him.
“Have you got a story to tell me?” the man asks.
Martha shakes her head.
“Well, I’ve got another story,” the man says, “and since you’re all gathered here, you can all hear it.”
“We don’t want to hear your story,” says Martha.
She puts her arms around Joseph and signals all her other siblings to leave.
΅
“Your mother and father aren’t here,” the man says. “I could take one of you and leave, never to return.”
Martha feels like she’s freezing now, and something’s pressing right at the top of her stomach. Joseph won’t stop sniffling.
“Or we could make a deal,” the man continues. “I’ll tell you a story, and then you can tell a story, Martha. If I make you cry, then I win. But if you can get your brothers and sisters to stop crying and to smile, then you win.”
Martha nods.
“Good,” says the man. “I’ve got a story I’ve been saving for you.”
΅
“Far, far away from here, there’s a lake so black, so black. And out in the middle of that lake is an island. Every summer, children went out to that island. Their parents rowed them across the water and waved good-bye when they left. The children taught each other songs, they made each other food. And when the summer was over, their parents came to get them. Nobody knew exactly what it was, but the children used to be different when they came back from the island. It was as if they’d been filled with a strange light.”
΅
“But what’s light without darkness? What’s the morning sun without the black carpet of night?
“One day, a father went out to the island. He wanted to check if everything was all right out there. What he didn’t know was that there was a snake in the boat. A very bad snake. When the father’s boat came alongside the island, the snake bit him, and the father fell down dead. The children who came to see what had happened were also bitten. The snake went across the island and bit everyone it found. Nobody really knows how long the snake went on like this. But when the first adults went back out to the island, it was totally silent. There was only the sound of the waves, and the wind in the trees. They found none of the children alive.”
΅
“The grown-ups couldn’t understand it. Then they found the snake. The snake told them everything. How he’d sneaked onto the boat. How he’d bitten all the children. How he’d writhed and slithered.
“‘But I’m a snake,’ he said. ‘I’m doing what snakes are supposed to do.’
“And the adults agreed. A snake is a snake. So they threw him away, and then they went home, without their children.”
΅
The man starts smiling, raising his hands up in the air. He looks at Joseph, at Jehoahaz, at Jacob, at Jehu, at Omri, and then back at Joseph. Joseph is crying, and Jehoahaz is reaching his arms out toward Martha, saying, “Mommy, Mommy.” Jacob tries to look away, while Jehu and Omri stare down at the ground.
“Right, Martha,” says the man. “Now it’s your turn.”
΅
Martha closes her eyes. She can hear the man smacking his lips, she can hear him breathing. Martha closes her eyes even tighter, and then she can hear her mother’s voice. She can hear the giggling of her brothers and sisters as they crawl and roll around her in the evening.
“Come on,” says the man. “I want to hear my story.”
Martha opens her eyes.
“It’s not your story,” she says. “It’s ours.”
And then Martha begins.
΅
“Far away from here, there’s a lake so blue, so blue. And in the middle of that lake is an island. Every summer, children went out to that island, with flowers in their eyes. Their parents gave them a hug, let them go, gave them another hug, then let them go again. ‘Take care of each other!’ they told them. ‘We’ll come and pick you up in a few days!’”
΅
“The children waved back, trying not to smile too much. As they were so excited. They were looking forward to hearing their own soft voices soaring like birdsong between the trees. They were looking forward to teaching each other songs and holding each other’s hands. Those days on the island were like a summer breeze. Warm and light, soft and good.”
΅
“But a snake made its way out to the island. One day, there he was, flourishing his tongue.
“‘Ssss,’ he went. ‘Ssss, ssss.’
“The children could see that this was a poisonous snake.
“‘Dear snake,’ one of the children said, ‘what are you doing here?’
“‘Ssss, I’m here to warn you,’ said the snake. ‘You must be careful of the wolf.’
“‘Wolf? What wolf?’ the children asked him.
“‘Ssss, you must be careful of the bear,’ said the snake.
“‘Bear? What bear?’ the children asked him.
“‘Ssss, you must be careful of the snake,’ said the snake.
“And then he slithered straight toward them.”
΅
“The children ran off. Some of them hid among the trees. Some hid in a little cabin. Some tried to swim away in the water, but they had to give up and turn around. And there, at the water’s edge, the snake was waiting for them.
“‘Ssss,’ said the snake. ‘Come to me.’
“But just then, out from the woods behind the snake came a soldier called Cato. He was carrying a sword, and with one blow he cut the snake in two.
“‘Come ashore,’ Cato shouted to the children out in the water. ‘Come out, come out,’ he shouted to the other children hiding among the trees and in the cabin.
“And the children came flocking to Cato, they put their arms around him, and he put his arms around them.”
΅
“‘Dear children,’ said Cato, ‘I heard your screams all the way from where I was, so I stole a boat I found at the water’s edge to come out here.’
“‘But you’re from the army of darkness,’ said one of the children. ‘Why are you saving children like us?’
“‘I’ve been waiting to do some good,’ said Cato. ‘I’ve done so many bad things.’