After the beating he felt that half his head was in the clouds. But worse than the beating was the bullying, the taunts of the other children who at the village school sang the word repeatedly. A leech of a word. Idiot. It sucked away all hope of anyone seeing him in a different light. The lack of love isolated him and because of his inability to hear he lived half in his head with his own thoughts for company, refusing to listen to the storm of words. Misha wondered at the God who had created this world and then put such an imperfect species on it as man.

Whenever he could, he would escape to the mountain, climbing through the birch forest to where the mighty pines stood tall and straight, guardians of the mountain range beyond. From sunrise to sunset he would wander without meeting another living soul. In the time he spent on the mountain he became accustomed to the daily companionship of eagles. Here, near the clouds, the air was so sweet – a heady wine – and he was free of the pettiness that whirled around his ferocious mother in the village below.

It had been late summer when he’d met the shepherd again.

‘Do you remember me?’ Misha had said when he’d come across him, high on the mountain one fine evening.

‘Yes, Misha,’ said Demetrius. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

He’d greeted him as if they were old friends.

‘I’ve read the book you gave me – fourteen times.’

Demetrius laughed. ‘Then you need another.’

Misha would not forget that night. They talked about everything: about God, the mountain, and about Demetrius’ love for Edith. He said he counted himself richer than any prince to have found her. When he played his violin, Misha was entranced. How could such a heartbreaking tune come from this instrument? The violin in the village band grated even his poor hearing. Played well, it was the music of the angels.

He asked Demetrius if there were words that went with the melody. They were sitting round the dying fire, the moon shining brightly, the sky still starry as the ghostly green light of dawn crept across the horizon. Not a sound anywhere, the flock quiet, the air alive with phantoms. The silence was almost unbearable. Nature held its breath and the heartbeat of the world stopped for an unimaginable second. The shepherd whispered into the birth of a new day:

Full moon, high sea,

Great man thou shall be.

Redding dawn, cloudy sky,

Bloody death shalt thou die.

Before they parted Demetrius had given Misha a letter for Edith. That day was the only day in Misha’s life that he felt that the word ‘idiot’ was his to wear.