Chapter 4

I froze for a long moment, and then accepted the can. What in hell do you think you're doing? Ursus asked.

This is clearly a dare, I thought back at him. I took a small sip but held the beer to my mouth long enough to make it look like I was taking more. I thought it tasted like rectum. I passed the can to Terry.

To the extent that I had access to his memories, Ursus appeared to be a teetotaler. I thought to him, I've always had trouble fitting in, and with you in my head, it's going to be even harder. I'm either going to have to work at not being so remote, or just acknowledge that I'm going to become a hermit.

I noticed that the other three guys were staring at me in shock. "Shit," said Mike. "I never thought you'd drink any."

"Heh," said Danny. "He's been hanging around with us too much."

"Yep, you guys are corrupting me."

Terry took a couple of swallows and handed the can back to Danny, who finished it. He said, "We better get back downstairs." The topic of discussion as we descended was my uncharacteristic behavior, but we all shut up as we went back outside.

Mary was still listening to Jenny, but when the boys all sat down on the porch furniture, the girls joined us. Everyone else began shooting the breeze about the things kids that age talk about. Mike was saying how much he would love to have a motorcycle when I turned my attention inward. You surprised me, I said to Ursus.

How's that? As soon as he asked, he actually started to get the answer, but I thought it out word for word anyway. It seemed to help me keep my thoughts straight.

You being a thousand-year-old-plus man and not drinking alcohol.

Well, the water was good where I grew up, so I didn't have to drink.

The answer confused me for a second, but the explanation immediately started coming to mind. Ursus continued: In some places, the water is contaminated with germs or evil spirits, but alcohol helps kill or drive them off, so even children drink. Furthermore, fermentation works as a preservative. People don't always have good ways to keep food from spoiling, so they dry it, salt it, or ferment it. I grew up in a place with good water, and we preserved food with magic, so as a kid, I never got a taste for alcohol.

I was flooded by memories of the home of Ursus's youth. I thought to him, Yeah, well, the kids around here have good water, but most adults still drink.

People like feeling good, and will consume intoxicants to do so. Still, I don't like losing control, and before my recent assassination, I was a powerful wizard, so it was unusually dangerous for me. Too, I had some drunken uncles. More memories came to mind. Their experiences made me wary.

"Yo, Artie, you awake?" Terry asked.

"What?"

"You were totally zoned out."

"Oh. You want something?"

"Mike asked you, who do you think would win in a fight between Russ and Greg?" Russ was Danny's next older brother, and Greg lived around the other corner at the end of our street. He didn't hang out much with the younger kids, but he was usually friendly, and we all thought he was cool.

Ursus's knowledge about fighting filled my consciousness. Soldiery wasn't his thing, but he had received training by experts and had picked up some practical experience, usually involuntarily, along the way. "Are you talking survival fighting or sport fighting?" I asked.

"No rules, all out."

"Russ is a year older and a little bigger. Both are in great shape. In an all out fight, though, the winner is usually the guy who first gets in a totally ruthless attack."

They all considered my opinion for a moment, but then Terry asked, "But who do you think would win?"

"Didn't Greg beat the crap out of a high school student when he was in grade eight or something?"

"That's what I heard," said Mike.

"If it's true, that tells me he's pretty tough."

"Russ has been practicing some moves, too," said Danny. "He knows his shit."

"Like I said, it probably would come down to who got really dirty first."

"That's a total wimp out," Mike said.

I turned a palm up. "What can I say?"

"What if they weren't trying to kill each other?" Terry asked. "I don't mean like boxing, but maybe a fight like a couple of friends might get in?"

"In that case, Russ would have the advantage," I answered.

"I still think Greg would win," opined Mike.

"Who do you think would come out on top, a karate guy or a boxer?" Terry asked.

The discussion of who could kick whose ass continued for a while. Mary braided Jenny's long hair, and the two mostly ignored us. After about an hour was up, I got up to head for my bike. "I'd like to hang around, but I really have a lot of work to do."

"You should take care of your homework the way we do," Mike said.

"You guys just ignore it when you don't feel like doing it."

"That's right."

"My parents might get upset at that."

"What are they going to do, beat the crap out of you?"

"I don't know if they would go that far, but my mom could sure make my life unpleasant."

"Just tell her the work is too hard," said Danny.

"My parents already know that I can get straight As; they wouldn't believe me."

"See, that was your first mistake."

"You're probably right," I said as I climbed on my bike.

"I better go, too," Mary said. "Mom might want some help with supper, and I have my own work to do."

When we were about half way home, Mary said, "Are you sure you should be hanging out with those guys, Artie?"

I suppressed the urge to say something sarcastic and instead said, "You know they are pretty normal for guys around our age."

"I know they don't do things or talk about things any worse than a lot of people, but you are always so much better behaved than they are."

"Am I?" We drove our bicycles into the garage but didn't get off them.

"Yeah. You always do your homework. You don't lie or steal things or swear. Or at least you've never been caught. Your friends, though, can be awfully foul mouthed, and I don't trust Danny at all."

"I've been thinking a lot since I woke up Monday," I said. "You're right that I've usually followed the rules and stayed within the parents' boundaries, but have I really been a good person?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what do I do when you talk to me when I'm reading or studying?"

"You usually yell at me, or at least say, 'What?' in an angry voice."

"And what do I do when the parents tell me to do something?"

"You do it, but you move slowly, grumble to yourself, and scowl a lot."

"Do either you or Mom or Dad deserve that kind of treatment?"

"I've never thought we did," she said in a soft voice.

I looked at her face. She wasn't crying, but I could see tears piling up on top of her eyelids. I got off my bike and moved my head close to hers. "Now," I said quietly, "would you rather have a brother who said 'fuck' or 'shit' once in a while but actually tried to get along, or would you rather have one who followed the rules but went around all the time like an angry porcupine?"