All the Broken Things Read Free Page B

rally them.
    “The play will be based on an old
hero tale
from the Middle Ages, the story of Sir Orfeo.” She plunked a mimeographed and paper-clipped stack of papers on the first desk—Emily’s—and indicated she wanted them passed back. “By Monday, you will have read the poem, and memorized the first ten lines. It’s a poem about a hero. It’s a fairy tale. There’s magic.”
    Everything changed about her when she said that it was magic. She looked beautiful. She didn’t speak for a while, and Bo stared. He wondered what she was thinking.
    “What’s it about, anyway?” said Peter.
    And she told them about how Sir Orfeo loved his Queen Heurodis, and how one day she had such a terrible nightmare while asleep under a tree in a garden that she ripped her clothing to shreds and also her skin. She dreamt a Fairy King kidnapped and stole her away to his fairy kingdom. Orfeo set up guards but it didn’t matter—the dream came true. Anguished, Orfeo went barefoot to the forest and for ten years searched for her, playing on his harp to keep himself company. Orfeo loved to tell stories and sing, and even the animals came to hear him. One day, he spied Heurodis with a group of fairy ladies and even though he looked terrible afterall that time in the forest, she knew him. He followed her to the Fairy King’s underground castle and sang for the Fairy King. The Fairy King loved his songs so much he offered him any reward he wanted—and, of course, Sir Orfeo chose Heurodis. The King didn’t want to give her back, but in the end, he relented. Orfeo and Heurodis returned to their land, were crowned, and lived happily ever after.
    “Sounds retarded,” said Ernie, so that only Bo and a few others near him heard.
    Bo thought of Orange, and watched how Teacher’s face lost its strange enchantment and went back to normal. She had not heard Ernie.
    She said, “It’s a very old story.” And she turned her face a little away from them. “It has survived because people keep telling it.”
    It was as if some secret was hidden in her face that no one would ever uncover. He must practise not caring. Bo’s shoulders lowered at the sound of the lunch bell ringing.

    I N THE PLAYGROUND , Emily stopped Bo. “Why did Miss Lily say all that?”
    Bo looked at her with only his eyes and not his whole face. Emily was too pretty to face. “Say all what?”
    “About Vietnam.”
    “I don’t know,” he said.
    “Come on. Yes, you do.”
    “I don’t.” But what he thought was that it was none of Teacher’s business. She had once said to him that he ought to know about the war and where he came from, but her attentiveness felt like pity. It was pity. Bo said, “You never talk to me usually.”
    Emily shrugged. “Can I have the red tab from your jeans pocket?”
    Bo knew there was a contest on, that if Emily could collect fifteen red tags from Levi’s jeans she could cash them in for a free pair. But he was still surprised that pretty Emily would ask for his. His tag should be off limits, tainted in some way. He only had them from a donation bin at the church. Some of the other boys had dared the girls to twist and grab and pull them off the pockets while they still wore their pants.
    “Sure,” he said.
    “I’ve got nine already.” She handed him a small pair of nail scissors and watched as he tried to reach back and cut off the red tab. But he was awkward and people were now watching. “Forget it,” Emily said. “I’ll get it from you tomorrow.”
    Bo nodded, tucked the scissors in his pocket, and walked home for lunch.

    E VEN THE DOGS HAD SPURNED the macaroni casserole. Bo left the dish on the stoop and went in the house. He ate soup with his mother, but they hardly spoke. “Thank you,” he said, when he finished. Rose smiled at him.
    He found Orange in her bedroom on her mattress, rocking. Her eyes were pushed so far out of their sockets, she looked Martian. He might look weird to Orange through her convex eyes, he