Alan left him alone during the days, in the company of their parents and
the golems, went down the mountain to school, and when he got back, he'd
take his kid brother out on the mountain face and teach him what he'd
learned, even though he was only a little kid. They'd write letters
together in the mud with a stick, and in the winter, they'd try to spell
out their names with steaming pee in the snow, laughing.
"That's a fraction," Brad said, chalking "3/4" on a piece of slate by
the side of one of the snowmelt streams that coursed down the springtime
mountain.
"That's right, three-over-four," Alan said. He'd learned it that day in
school, and had been about to show it to Billy, which meant that Brad
had remembered him doing it and now knew it. He took the chalk and drew
his own 3/4 -- you had to do that, or Billy wouldn't be able to remember
it in advance.
Billy got down on his haunches. He was a dark kid, dark hair and eyes
the color of chocolate, which he insatiably craved and begged for every
morning when Alan left for school, "Bring me, bring me, bring me!"
He'd found something. Alan leaned in and saw that it was a milkweed
pod. "It's an egg," Bobby said.
"No, it's a weed," Alan said. Bobby wasn't usually given to flights of
fancy, but the shape of the pod was reminiscent of an egg.
Billy clucked his tongue.
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