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Raj clicked open the door to his son’s room and pushed through, finding a very familiar sight. Moslin sat on the bed next to Emret. He looked around for the over-sized green book she usually had open but didn’t see it. They both looked up at his arrival.
“Hi Dad.”
“Where's Rinacht?” Raj asked.
“We sent him to look for you,” Emret replied.
“Oh.” That was strange, Raj thought. He wondered where he’d gone.
He set some pastries down on the corner of the table and moved in closer to the bed to give Emret a kiss. On the side table behind Moslin, he noticed the big green book. They were still reading the same book, he thought.
“What’re you reading?”
“We were actually just talking this time. For a change,” Moslin answered.
“Oh?” Raj said, his attention still focused on the book.
She got up off the bed and grabbed her book.
“Hey!” Emret protested.
“Sorry, it’s your father’s turn for some attention.” She patted him on the head then smiled at Raj.
“You don't look so good. Everything OK?” she asked.
Raj didn’t meet her gaze, just stared at the book. They were just talking? But she still brought the same book to read even though he’d politely asked her to read other things more times than he could remember. She noticed that he was staring and followed his eyes down to the book.
“Can I talk to you for a moment,” he asked, motioning her towards the door.
“Sure,” she answered hesitantly, before following him out the door.
Raj waited for her to pass then closed the door slowly, waiting for the click. She turned and leaned up against the wall holding the book behind her.
“I know, I know. You want him to read other things.”
“I think maybe if you didn’t bring it with you it might be easier for him to choose other things to read,” he interjected.
“No, you’re right. You’re right. It’s just… I have a hard time saying no to him. You know? He’s stuck in that bed and it's the only thing that seems to make him happy.”
“Well I guess that's kind of the problem. I didn't want him getting obsessed with it. Looks like it’s a little too late.”
“I know, I'm sorry.”
He shifted his weight and paused for a breath. “What is it that's so appealing?”
She flipped open the book and stopped on a two page illustration of a young Zoen boy holding a white glowing sword.
“Well, the stories he's most interested in are all about a young boy who’s sort of the least likely candidate for the hero yet he ends up becoming the hero anyway.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Raj admitted.
“He’s small and gangly and doesn’t really have a whole lot going for him. Yet, when his village is threatened by a demon, he’s the only one who volunteers to fight it.”
“Courage. Thats good,” he added.
“Everyone thinks the boy will fail, that he’ll die. But he doesn’t. He wins, and he lives.”
“How does he do that?”
“Well… The story says that he had a firm belief that no matter what he was up against, if he trusted in the power of the Reds, they would deliver him. And in the story, despite facing impossible circumstances, the Reds not only saved him but helped him turn away the demon.”
She finished the story without making eye contact, as though she already knew he’d disapprove of the conclusion.
“So the boy overcomes death by divine power?” he asked, agitation already creeping into his voice.
“Well, it’s symbolic...”
“You don't see the problem with this?”
“No, I don’t.”
“What happens when the things in that story don't happen for him in real life? He's building hope and expectations in something that can’t possibly happen.”
“The expectations and relationships in the story go beyond life and death. If the boy in the story had died in the end, he still would have succeeded. That was the point of the story.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Raj argued.
“Because he trusted in the Reds, they changed who the boy was. They helped him become more than he ever could’ve on his own. They gave him courage, confidence, strength. If he had died at the end, it wouldn’t have mattered because the change had already happened. He would’ve faced that moment of death with a hero’s heart, regardless of the outcome.
“What your son needs, what your son wants, more than anything, what he’s searching desperately to find, is some courage to face his own death. He’s scarred, Raj. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him. So I bring him these stories every day because he tells me that when he reads them he isn’t afraid.”
“Moslin, this is what you get out of these stories. This is your interpretation. Emret is just a boy. He doesn’t understand that things are not always meant in a literal way. If he became obsessed about a story where the boy is saved from death through a miraculous power and then suddenly you noticed his fear had gone away, wouldn’t it be possible he’s just putting the two together? I mean, how do you know what's going on in his mind? How can you say he isn’t thinking that if he believes hard enough he’ll be saved too? And that’s why he isn’t afraid.
“How long before he figures out the miracle isn’t going to happen for him. What do I tell him then? Can’t you see how much more difficult this is making things? Not just for him? But for me?”
“I’m doing the best I can to help him.” her voice trembled.
“Well I don’t think you’re helping. In fact, I think it would be best if you stopped helping him all together.” Raj turned away. “I’m going to ask that you not be assigned to my son any longer.”
Moslin's mouth dropped a little. She turned and cleared her throat trying to regain composure. “You only get one chance at this with your son. Don't screw it up!”
He watched her storm down the hall and immediately felt the pain of regret. He could’ve been more delicate. He wanted to call her back, to apologize, but it was too late.