Brendan walked for a few strides until he felt he had put a good distance between him and the substitute teacher. Satisfied he’d left it long enough, he took a sneaky glance over his shoulder to find that Mr. Greenleaf was gone. He was nowhere to be seen. Brendan stopped and scanned the park, right to left, but there was no sign of Mr. Greenleaf anywhere. How could he have left the park so fast? That’s just weird. But he’s weird, so what was I expecting? Suddenly, a tiny bird zipped down from the trees in a streak of colour aimed directly at his face. Brendan held up an arm to shield himself, but there was no impact. He carefully lowered his arm to see a hummingbird hovering a metre away, the same hummingbird Mr. Greenleaf had conjured from a piece of chalk in chemistry class the day before. The minute creature hung in space for a few seconds, its wings humming, then darted up into the branches of a tree and disappeared. Feeling totally freaked out, Brendan set off across the park.
^33 The grey squirrels of Queen’s Park are notoriously fat and friendly. There are more wild and fearsome squirrels in other parts of the city, most feared of all being the albino white squirrels of Queen West who haunt the grounds of the mental health facility. Or at least, I am told they are frightening by the people who live at the mental health facility.
“I see it in you now!”
Brendan hurried across Spadina and followed it as it curved around the island of university buildings stranded in the centre like stone ships.
Leaving the university behind, he passed the elementary school with its paved playground. His thoughts returned to Mr. Greenleaf, who had saved him from a fall moments before. He stopped. How had he managed that? Not that Brendan was big and heavy, but still, Mr. Greenleaf was no giant. He’d flung Brendan around like a bag of feathers.
He found himself stopped beside the huge rock that stood in front of the school. Why did he like to pass it every day, run his hand over it? He could have easily taken a different route home. He wasn’t really sure. The rock had always held a certain fascination for him. Its bumpy black surface was out of place on this busy street. When he was younger, he’d liked to pretend that it was magical and had transported itself to its present spot for a dark purpose.
Brendan snorted. “Yeah, right. That’s one dangerous rock!” he murmured to himself. “You’re just having a freaky day and you’re all freaked out.”
Nevertheless he felt an urgent need to lay his hand on the surface of the stone. He looked right and left. There was no one in the yard or on the sidewalk. The cars rushed by, oblivious. He shifted his books to his left hand and reached out his right hand, leaned over the low metal fence that surrounded the rock, and laid his fingers on the cool, bumpy surface.
Nothing. Just a stone. Idiot. Of course it’s just a stone. What else would it be? Fortunately, the sidewalk was still empty.
“You’re losing it,” he mumbled to himself. “It’s been a weird day, and now you’re mumbling to yourself. Snap out of it.”
His scar itched fiercely. He fought the urge to dig under his hoodie to scratch the spot and set off again on his normal route past the mission and the Silver Dollar. The line of street people was forming, and there, again, was Finbar, sitting on his milk crate. He felt reassured by the old man’s presence.
“Hey, Finbar,” Brendan called with a wave. Finbar just looked at him, head cocked to one side. Brendan slowed down and stopped. “What?”
“I can see it,” Finbar said. “I can see it in ye now, no mistake. You’re becoming your true self.”
Brendan’s heart sank. Was everybody going crazy? He had never seen the old man behave so strangely before. Maybe he’d had a stroke. He didn’t look right. His blue eyes were fever bright.
“Are you okay, Finbar?” he asked.
Without warning, Finbar reached out with a rough hand and clamped down on his wrist. Though he was old, he was not feeble. The grip was vise-like, the skin calloused and rough. It was not painful but it felt firm. He pulled Brendan close. Brendan’s nose wrinkled at the intense smell of the old man’s body. “You’ll be wanting to find it. I know where it is, My Prince. I know. Only I can show ye.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brendan said, trying to pull away, but Finbar wouldn’t let him go. “Cool it, okay, Finbar? You’re freaking me out.”
“Remember. If you want to find it, ye have to find me!”
“Hey!” a harsh voice barked. “Let go of that kid.”
A uniformed police constable suddenly appeared, grabbed Finbar, and pulled him away from Brendan. The old man didn’t struggle. He just stared at Brendan with the same fevered intensity. “Remember!” he said once more and then tore free of the policeman’s grasp. The policeman tried to grab him again, but the old man was surprisingly spry and evaded the cop, hopping out of range of his clawing hand. That’s when things went from bad to worse.
Finbar stumbled and staggered out into the road. Although the traffic was stopped for the light, a bicycle courier was weaving through the stopped cars. He crashed into the old man, sending them both to the pavement. Finbar struck his head against the curb with an audible crack.
A crowd of pedestrians immediately gathered. The policeman hauled out his radio and called for assistance and an ambulance. “Give him some air,” the cop was shouting. The cyclist was cursing at the state of his bent wheel.
“Crazy old man! What was he doing? He’s totally wrecked my bike!”
Brendan stood in shock, looking down at the slack face of the old man he’d been saying hello to every day for the last two months. Finbar’s cap was off, lost under the crowd’s feet. Brendan could see he was still breathing. An off-duty nurse was lending a hand, cradling his head in her lap and pressing on a cut that oozed blood between her fingers.
Brendan felt sick. He couldn’t help feeling responsible. He had no idea what Finbar had been raving about and the old man had kind of scared him, but he didn’t like to see him hurt.
The ambulance arrived, and the emergency workers brought out a stretcher. They placed a backboard on the ground and carefully lifted the unconscious man onto the board and then onto the stretcher, strapping him safely into place. Someone found Finbar’s cap and placed it on his chest.
The policeman lowered his radio. “Where ya takin’ the old guy?”
“Western General,” one of the ambulance workers replied. In all the confusion, the policeman had forgotten about Brendan and got into a police cruiser to lead the ambulance to the hospital. Brendan was left to wander home on his own.
He arrived at his house to find that dinner was almost ready.
When he came into the kitchen, his mother didn’t see him at first. She was bent over the stove, her face inches from the steaming saucepot, sniffing and critical. She nodded once and straightened up, obviously satisfied. Seeing Brendan, she pointed a warning finger at him. “You better not have piled your books on the hall table.”
When Brendan didn’t answer, his mother looked at him more carefully. The expression on his face immediately put her on the alert. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”
Brendan shook his head. “I was walking home, and I saw this old man get knocked down by a cyclist.” He was reluctant to tell her everything, how he knew Finbar and what the man had said.
“Is he all right?”
“I don’t know. They took him to the hospital.”
“Oh, dear.” She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. “I know this must be hard for you. You’re such a sensitive little boy.”
“Mu-um! I’m fourteen. I’m not a little boy!” But she was kind of right. He had never liked seeing anybody hurt. When he was really little, she’d found him crying while watching an episode of The Three Stooges.
“I’m sorry. I just worry about you. Can I get you anything?”