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Back The Third Brother Save as PDF
Chapters (116)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by the Author
  3. The Third Brother
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. PART I
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. PART II
  67. 60
  68. 61
  69. 62
  70. 63
  71. 64
  72. 65
  73. 66
  74. 67
  75. 68
  76. 69
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. 80
  88. 81
  89. 82
  90. 83
  91. 84
  92. 85
  93. 86
  94. 87
  95. 88
  96. PART III
  97. 89
  98. 90
  99. 91
  100. 92
  101. 93
  102. 94
  103. 95
  104. 96
  105. 97
  106. 98
  107. 99
  108. 100
  109. 101
  110. 102
  111. 103
  112. 104
  113. 105
  114. 106
  115. 107
  116. 108

The class came by as I was looking at the bear. They were following a grad student who walked with the wide and friendly waddle of an herbivore. She wasn’t the archaeology girl, but she was eloquent and informative. Polar bears are as intelligent as apes, she explained. A polar bear might travel the whole Svalbard Archipelago, or cross Canada, padding calmly over the blindingly white ice to Alaska, and then walk back. Sounded like a good trip to me. I started trailing behind the class.

* * *

It was a particularly beautiful group of children, from some Catholic school, I think. The boys still seemed like children in their ties, with their thin, almost elfin complexions. Even the fat ones seemed young, and not sticky or vulgar. The girls seemed older, of course, in their plaid skirts and polo shirts.

After a couple of exhibits a security guard, whom I saw all the time coming in and out of the museum, approached me and asked me to follow him. I said sure, of course, what’s the problem, and I realized that the herbivore guide was eyeing me as she was explaining about monkeys. She had called this guy. He said I wasn’t supposed to follow the kids. I said I wasn’t following the kids, I was just listening to the lessons. It was absurd. I had stolen a look or two at the older girls in the back but I wasn’t stalking them. I didn’t even care about the kids; I was just half hoping that the archaeology girl might be around.

I went with the guard and felt the kids watching my back as I left. No harm, I said, trying to make conversation, I understand, what with the terrorists and all, you have to protect the children. This seemed to make the guard clam up even more. I couldn’t believe it. He saw me all the time, he saw me just coming in to look around, not causing any trouble, all the time. But now he thought I was a creep, probably a pervert criminal.

So I left the museum forever that day, which is no good, because I went there all the time. I have to start finding new places to go.

105

I knocked on Dr. Hunt’s door again today. I knew it was Christmas Eve, but I thought he might be in and that we could have some friendship, some small warmth if I came clean and apologized for lying. Why did I think he would be there on Christmas Eve? When I walked across the packed snow to his office I didn’t see anybody, and I didn’t even see anybody on the way back to my room.