It's late at night, past twelve. Jack and Mom are talking by themselves in the front room.
"Victor, I had a call today. From the lawyer." Pause.
"What was it about?"
"I'd almost forgotten about it again, it was so long ago, but when we came from Bhutan we brought a letter with us, that Brother Andre had put in our care. The letter was for you, and it wasn't supposed to be given to you till you turned eighteen. We gave it to our lawyer to hold for us, like Brother Andre asked. And now you'll soon be turning eighteen. He called to remind us."
"The lawyer called to remind you about getting the letter to me on my birthday. Who's it from?"
"It was written by your real mother, I think. I'm not clear about that anymore. Maybe I shouldn't even have said that. It was from a woman, anyway."
"Do you have any idea what it was about? Have you read it? Why couldn't I see it till my eighteenth birthday?"
"No, it was sealed, in a package. Brother Andre has a copy. It was his decision that you not read it till you're eighteen. You should know too, that some months ago I was worried about you, the way you were so desperately seeking answers to all kinds of weird questions - so I wrote Brother Andre, asking him to get in touch with us. I never heard back, so that sort of slipped my mind too."
"Perhaps it never got to him."
"No, maybe not. Anyway, his instructions were clear enough. I'll go to town tomorrow and pick up that package, and this weekend we'll give it to you. You are to read it by yourself and then decide if you want anyone else to see it. You can keep it private if you wish."
"Alright." Sounds intriguing.
There's a dairy farm not far up Harbing Road, about a mile from the slaughterhouse. Jack has worked there, haying from time to time. The father is a tall Scottish man, thinning brown hair and a wide bottom lip always wearing a half smile, and he has the usual tall stoop. Jack is friends with the older of two sons, Keith. There is a daughter, the middle child, Agnes. Jean is the youngest.
Jack and the boys are hanging out in the barn loft. It's nice and roomy and dry. An all purpose barn, not just for hay, sort of hollow sounding, with all sorts of nooks and crannies where you can hide. Some pigeons nest in the peaks, and their cooing and chortling adds a peaceful tone. A pleasant place.
Keith is whispering something in Jean's ear. They laugh, and Jean leaves to go to the house.
Keith, "Vick, we're going to play a new game. You'll like it. It's fun."
"Okay. What is it?"
"You'll see. Wait till Jean and Agnes get back."
