Companions

"It's all right now."

My voice softened a little as I reached out and ruffled his hair. It was soft and smelled faintly of dust. "Come with me."

I told the classmates behind me, "I'm heading home." I noticed their varied looks, but I didn't care at all.

Without waiting for his answer, I took his hand and started toward home. His hand was small, his fingertips icy, and he gripped my fingers tightly, as if letting go would send him straight back into the situation he'd just escaped.

Neither of us spoke along the way. There was only the soft tapping of footsteps against the ground. He walked beside me, his steps small enough that he had to hurry to keep pace, but he never let go of my hand.

Only when we were almost at my front door did he whisper, "Thank you." His voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum, yet it reached my ears clearly.

I turned to look at him. He still didn't dare raise his eyes, but his ears had quietly reddened.

But... his expression grew a little more downcast again...

"...You'd better not..."

Freddy turned the words over on his tongue several times. He thought Klein was treating her so well because he didn't know his background. If, like everyone else, he learned about his biological parents, he would definitely...

At that thought, many dark ideas rose in the mind of this child of only seven, but he suppressed them in the end. He treasured this kindness.

"Don't tell anyone you know me..."

I stopped and crouched down to his eye level. Raising a hand, I gently pinched his reddened earlobe, then lifted his lowered head so he had to look into my eyes.

My voice was very gentle, but carried a firm seriousness.

"Freddy, whether I know you has never had anything to do with what other people say or think. It only depends on whether I want to. Let them say whatever they want. I only believe in the you I know."

I brushed the lingering red mark on his chin with gentle fingertips. "You're just a seven-year-old child. What could you possibly do to make me hate you? The rest is other people's fault. It has nothing to do with you."

I reached out to ruffle his messy hair and smiled.

"Wait for me after school from now on, and we'll walk home together. If anyone bullies you again, hide behind me. I'm on your side. You don't have to be afraid, and you don't have to avoid me, all right?"

Freddy froze. Everything he'd experienced had forced him to mature early, but no one had ever said these things to him. Like time itself, those words shone into that small, scar-covered heart and left an indelible mark.

Watching the light gradually brighten in his eyes, I patted his head again.

"...If you're free, you can come over and play."

"Really?" His eyes brightened.

I nodded. "You're welcome anytime. I have a game console and comic books, and I'll have snacks ready for you, too. Come over whenever you like."

Freddy followed me home. Almost everything that could send a child wild with joy was there: a game console, comic books. Freddy felt this was the happiest afternoon of his life.

Even after he returned home, he remained immersed in that feeling, unable to pull himself out. Neither of the two people at home paid him any attention. His father sat on the couch drinking beer, while his mother cleared away the dinner dishes.

This rule applied to him alone: if he came home late, he got no dinner. But he didn't care. He had a secret base now, one that felt more like home than this place.

The next day, as soon as I entered the classroom, many classmates looked at me with varying expressions. In the end, they sent a representative.

He was one of the more popular boys in class, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, and he was quite tall.

"You don't know... the rumors about Freddy?"

He made up his mind, apparently believing I really didn't know, and spoke with what he considered concern.

"That new kid, Freddy Krueger-his mom is the crazy nun from Our Lady of Sorrows Asylum. He's the son of a hundred mental patients."

"Even Grandma Martha down the street says he's the devil's son. Last week, someone saw him crouching at the entrance to an alley, strangling a cat without even blinking."

"And there's more. When he went to school somewhere else, he cut a classmate's hand until it was covered in blood. Even the teachers said he was a born monster."

"So stay away from him." At this point, he swallowed. "Because anyone who gets close to him will have terrible luck. And Todd and the others have said they'll shun anyone who talks to him, too!"

"So... now you know..."

A small figure huddled beside the door, even his beautiful blond hair seeming to have dimmed. Freddy clutched a piece of candy, the cheapest kind sold at the grocery store, wrapped in colored cellophane. Of course he had no money. He'd stolen it that morning while buying beer for his father, and that damned grocery store owner had slapped him for it. He'd only wanted to give it to him... to thank him...

But instead, he'd heard those words. Young Freddy tightened his grip on the wrapper, producing a faint plastic crackle. Before, this would have made him sad, but now it seemed different. It wasn't just anger at that boy filling his heart and eyes, but fear instead. He knows... he knows about me... How will he treat me? What should I do...?

"Did you see it?"

"What?"

My reaction apparently wasn't what he'd expected. Both he and Freddy outside the door froze. Shouldn't I have looked frightened or disgusted, then told them I would definitely stay away from that devil's son? Why was my face so calm instead?

I asked, "Did you see him strangle the cat? Would you cut a classmate's hand for no reason? Wasn't it because that person insulted Freddy? Can your ears hear nothing except what you want to hear? All you've done is listen to that so-called Grandma Martha gossip and that Todd kid spout nonsense."

The boy was speechless, then grew somewhat angry with embarrassment...

"That's how it is! Even if I didn't see it, someone else did, right?" He turned to the others for agreement, but all of them looked thoughtful.

It seemed... they really hadn't seen it, and they really didn't know the full story behind that incident.

"Then it's bullshit. It's nonsense. It's bullying him. They're bad people. Are you bad people, too?"

At an age when their sense of justice was overflowing, everyone instinctively denied it.

I didn't try to guide them much beyond that. They would slowly think it over themselves. Intervening too aggressively would only make them rebellious instead.

But the boy's face flushed scarlet. Clenching his fists and stiffening his neck, he shouted, "Even if I didn't see it myself, it's all true! He's a devil brat nobody wants! Nothing good can come from getting involved with him!"

Whispers rose around us again. Some nodded in agreement, while others lowered their heads in a daze, clearly struck by what I'd just said.

I didn't argue with him anymore. I simply looked across the class, my voice clear enough for everyone to hear. "I don't care what anyone else says. All I know is, has Freddy ever bullied anyone?"

"If that Todd wants to lead everyone in shunning someone, that's his business. Freddy and I are friends. From now on, anyone who dares give him trouble will have to go through me first."

As my words fell, I caught sight of a thin little figure in the corner by the classroom's back door. He stood with his back against the wall, clutching the crumpled candy wrapper, his ears bright red. A few flecks of light shone in those always-timid eyes, as if stars had been kneaded into them.

The boy had no answer for me. He stamped his foot, glared fiercely at me, and muttered, "You don't know what's good for you," before returning to his seat in a huff. The discussion around us gradually quieted, and no one dared openly agree with him anymore.

I turned and walked straight toward the back door, asking what he'd come to see me about. His fingers still gripped the candy wrapper, pressing into his palm until it hurt a little, yet his hold was even tighter than yesterday, as though he were clutching a lifeline.

He said nothing, only lowered his head, then quickly pried open my hand and pushed a slightly melted piece of candy into it.

Actually, some of it was true... Freddy ran back to his classroom, his heart pounding in his chest. Because that cat had scratched him, he really had grabbed it by the throat. He really had cut someone else's hand, too. That person's name was Mitch, but it was because he'd insulted him at the time... Those words weren't all nonsense. He really had done those things.

He felt a secret thrill. During dinner before, he'd more or less told Klein some of it in his own way. This was the first time in his life anyone had shown him such obvious favoritism. He gripped his trouser leg tightly, but his eyes involuntarily flicked toward the hamster enclosure at the back. He suppressed what was inside him. I... I'll be a good boy.

A month passed. Because I'd spoken up for Freddy, I still didn't really have any close friends, but I didn't feel lonely. Whenever break or the end of school came, a little blond head would always be peeking around the doorway.

I was doing my homework while he lay on the carpet in my room, reading a comic book. Store-bought cookies and milk sat beside him. We'd just had dinner: heated canned food in tomato sauce from the store, served with white bread stuffed with ham. It wasn't good enough, but it provided enough nourishment and warmth.

But these warm moments never lasted long. As soon as the clock chimed six thirty, Freddy would leap up like a cat splashed with water, then say goodbye. He had to get home on time, or he'd be whipped with a belt.

The evening dusk was steeped in Elm Street's chill. Only when Freddy stood outside his home did he realize he was still clutching half a cookie. Reluctantly, he put it into his trouser pocket, then hunched his shoulders and edged back toward his home's peeling wooden door.

When he got home, the woman of the house had already prepared dinner: bland, watered-down mashed potatoes, and boiled broccoli and chicken breast sprinkled with pepper and salt.

A heavy reek of alcohol greeted him as he pushed open the door. His adoptive father slumped in a battered wicker chair beside the dining table, a bottle tilted at the table's edge. His cloudy yellow eyes swept toward him, filled with drunken viciousness.

"Where the hell have you been?" The rough, hoarse voice slammed into the air.