They nodded. Nick’s face flushed with embarrassment.
“You are so lucky,” she said. “At Christmastime, there wasn’t too much for all the children in the orphanage. We all got some special treat, a slice of fruitcake and some roast turkey, but only one present, you see—there wasn’t too much money. And all the other girls, they wanted a doll, perhaps, or maybe a teddy bear or something they could hold and carry around like little mothers. But not me. Do you know what I wished for?”
The boys looked down into their teacups and had no answers.
“I saw a picture in a magazine about a windup fish. It was a koi, with a tiny key and golden scales and jade eyes. The most magnificent thing ever. So I prayed for it, and told the nuns about it, and would you guess, bless them, there was the windup goldfish for my Christmas gift, and it was as lovely as I had imagined. The special thing was that if you wound the key and put it into the water, the fish would really swim. All through that winter, I would play with the windup fish in a basin, or when they would give us a bath it would circle round the tub, and I never tired of it. Often I dreamt of it at night, swimming in my dreams. When spring came, I took it outdoors. There was a stream behind the orphanage, and one day, I wound it up and put the koi in the water, and it could swim just like a real fish. The most astonishing thing. But then the fish kept going down the stream and I ran beside it, chasing from the banks, but I was not fast enough. It swam out into the river and from the river into the sea and across the sea to America, and though my heart was broken, that is how I knew I would one day end up here in this country.”
When she had finished her story, Miss Tiramaku folded her hands in front of her atop the table. The boys fidgeted in their seats, freed from the spell.
“I like to draw,” Jack said.
“So I hear,” said Miss Tiramaku. “What do you like to draw?”
“What is in my head.” His right hand began to twitch, as though he could not control the impulse to draw even at this moment.
Tim tapped a spoon against his teacup. “I think that’s enough, Jip.”
Miss Tiramaku unfolded her hands and placed one on each side of Jack’s teacup, and in a near whisper, she asked, “What do you imagine in that mind of yours?”
“Monsters,” said Nick. “He draws monsters.”
She reached out to still Jack’s hands, and he did not even flinch.
“Would you mind if I talked alone with your son?” Miss Tiramaku asked. “Somewhere the two of us could have a private chat. Give us the chance to speak frankly. I’ll come get you when we are through. It won’t be long, but I feel certain that Jack wants to say some things, if he could take me into his confidence.” She raised one eyebrow, and Holly took the cue, and pushed Tim and Nick into the living room, shutting the door behind them with a firm click.
“Why is she here?” He was simmering anger just below the surface. “What are you doing in church, Holly? You mean more than just at Christmas?”
Holly frowned at him. “I needed to talk with someone. About Jack.”
“So you went to see a priest without saying anything, and he sent his … minion over here to plant ideas in our son. She kicked me out of the kitchen, my own kitchen.”
“Would you keep your voice down? They’re right in the next room.”
He raised his voice. “I will not. What sort of monkey business are you trying to pull, Holly? I don’t approve—”
“Please don’t shout.”
“I’m not shouting,” he shouted.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Nick pretending to inspect the ornaments on the Christmas tree, as if he were oblivious to their conversation, but those boys heard everything, noticed every little detail. Turning her back on her husband, Holly went straight to the stereo cabinet and chose an album from their collection, and then put the record on the old-fashioned turntable and switched it on. The stereo had belonged to her parents, and it was one last link to her childhood and family. The arm swung in motion and dropped the needle precisely in the groove for the first track. “Jingle Bells” by Frank Sinatra. The music was loud enough to drown out their conversation.
“I don’t like this,” said Tim. His tone had changed, his manner much calmer. “Did you ever see such a creature? That eye. There’s no call to bring in strangers to talk to our son. Especially without my permission.”
“I don’t need your permission, Tim.”
“He’s my boy, too.”
“I’m going out of my mind, and if you won’t do something, I will.”
Tim perched on the arm of the sofa. “How long has this been going on?”
“For years,” Holly said. “He’s going to be out of control one day. And despite what you think, he’s getting worse. Not worse, but more difficult.”