The agreement

"I need you to sign an agreement," I said, looking at him as calmly as I could.

He scoffed.

"Are you crazy? What agreement would I sign with a little brat like you?"

I said nothing, merely handing him a stack of documents.

"This is medical documentation of the injuries Freddy suffered from domestic abuse. Behind it are reports of his prolonged beatings and starvation. This is evidence that you led him into committing crimes and abusing cats."

At the mention of Freddy, his anger flared. His ankle still ached even now. He knew the two of us were close, and could guess that Freddy was most likely hiding at my house. He was waiting for a chance to drag him out of my home, and hearing me bring this up infuriated him. He stood, bracing one hand on the table while jabbing the other hard into my shoulder, again and again, with enough force to practically dig into my flesh.

"None of your fucking business, you little brat."

He spoke with a vicious grin.

"I'm teaching my son how to behave. What's wrong with hitting him a few times? He deserves a beating, the spineless little shit. He'll never amount to anything unless I beat him! Bother me with this garbage again, and I'll deal with you too!"

We both knew that, in the current circumstances, when it came to children in adoptive families, no one could do anything to him as long as he did not cripple or kill them. He understood that even better than I did.

He snorted. "We both know perfectly well that as long as I don't cripple him or kill him, even the police can't do anything to me if you call them!" He understood that even more clearly than I did!

"I'm telling you, make him get his ass back here right now! The nerve of him, hitting me and then running away! I'm going to teach him a proper lesson today!"

"I'm giving you thirty minutes. If I don't see him in thirty minutes, I'll kick your door down myself, drag him out like a dog, and beat him. Just try stopping me! And you're still spouting bullshit about evidence and what's reasonable? That stuff of yours isn't even fit to wipe my ass."

As he spoke, he tore the papers on my table to shreds, then flung them hard into my face.

"This time is different," I said calmly. "I'll sue you. I'll hire a lawyer. No one has done anything about you because no one has looked out for Freddy either."

"You'll be fined five to fifteen dollars, imprisoned for one to three weeks, and then the church will be sent to give you a warning."

"You dare threaten me?"

Looking at the mockery all over his face, I knew that, of course, such a negligible punishment would do little to a hardened thug like him.

"No."

"Good. Now! Right now! Get out of my house!"

"I'll pay," I said, looking at him.

He raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down twice before finally settling his ass back onto the stool.

He had no job. Every expense in the household depended on Freddy's adoptive mother's casual labor, and he needed money for alcohol and cigarettes.

"I'll give you ten dollars a month."

Freddy's allowance was only two dollars a month, plus a few pounds of flour. At the time, ordinary workers in large factories earned less than thirty dollars a month, and wages were even lower in remote places like this. Twenty dollars a month was considered a well-paid job. And I was willing to pay ten dollars a month. To him, it was practically a guaranteed profit with nothing to lose.

"What for?"

Freddy's adoptive father raised an eyebrow. He did not believe anyone would go to such thankless trouble for that little brat.

"I want Freddy to live with me."

I leaned forward slightly, with a maturity beyond my years and an uncompromising firmness in my voice.

"You can never touch him again, never 'discipline' him. You're not even allowed to speak to him. Stay away from him, and never appear in front of him again."

He leaned back in his chair, still looking straight at me. The battered chair creaked. He seemed to have found something to hold over me.

"One hundred dollars," he said, staring at me and enunciating every word.

He leaned against the backrest with his arms crossed, making the chair creak again under his weight, greed calculating in his eyes. It was an outrageous demand, his tone arrogant and certain-he was convinced that I was determined to get what I wanted, convinced that I was the weaker party and could only negotiate with him.

"You think a child like me has that much money?" I asked, feigning surprise. Hidden inside my sleeves, my hands clenched until my fingertips turned white.

"Then there's nothing to discuss!" He slammed the table and stood to throw me out, his expression leaving no room for negotiation.

"Fifteen dollars," I said quickly, stopping him.

"One hundred dollars." He did not even lift his eyelids, refusing to budge on the price.

"My entire monthly living allowance is thirty dollars."

I raised my eyes to meet his, my voice turning colder. "I have to live too. I'm willing to give you twenty dollars. That's my limit. If you won't accept it, I'll leave right now. At worst, we both go down."

"I'll take all the documents to a lawyer. You won't get a cent, and you'll have to sit in jail and get lectured."

He stared at me for a long while, grinding his back teeth, clearly weighing the pros and cons. Twenty dollars was worth over a year of Freddy's allowance, enough to keep him in alcohol and cigarettes for a long time, far better than spending those few days in jail and getting a lecture. Finally, he spat and dropped heavily back into his chair.

"Deal."

"Deal."

He forced the word through his teeth, tapping his knuckles against the tabletop, the greed in his eyes overpowering his viciousness. "Get out that agreement or whatever the hell it is."

"Let's get this straight first. Twenty dollars a month. One cent short, and I'll be at your door immediately. When that happens, I won't just drag the little brat away. I'll turn that shitty home of yours upside down too."

"And I want the money at the start of the month. Don't try any tricks."

I had already taken the document I had drafted out of my bag and pushed it in front of him. A legal agreement written by a thirteen-year-old child would, of course, have no validity even if both parties signed and put their thumbprints on it. But I knew that, with this money involved, even if he learned the agreement was invalid, he would prefer to pretend he did not know.

He glanced over it, signed his name almost impatiently, then pressed down his thumbprint. After signing, he tossed the pen onto the table. "Hurry up and hand over this month's money. Stop dawdling."

I counted out twenty dollars from the money pouch I kept close to my body and handed it over. He snatched the bills, rubbed them between his fingers, and, once he had confirmed the amount, immediately broke into a delighted smile and tucked them safely inside his clothes. Most of his earlier vicious arrogance vanished in an instant, leaving only grasping vulgarity. "All right, he's yours. Whether he lives or dies has nothing to do with me anymore. Don't come bothering me again."

I put away the document, folding it neatly into an inner compartment close to my body. Only when my fingertips touched his scrawled signature on the paper did I feel a little relief, but I still dared not linger. I turned and headed out.

Behind me came the sounds of him rummaging for a bottle and muffled curses. I did not stop, thinking only of getting back quickly to tell Freddy the news.

Only after I stepped out of that room, thick with the smells of alcohol and mildew, and the cool wind blew over me did I realize that my back was already soaked in cold sweat. My hand tightened around the document. Thinking that Freddy would no longer have to be beaten, go hungry, or live in fear, I felt it was all worth it.

As soon as I entered, Freddy, who was sitting on the sofa, saw me and suddenly threw himself into my arms.

"Where did you go?"

Suddenly, he smelled that familiar odor of alcohol and cigarettes, along with the damp smell that lingered all year round. He knew that smell all too well.

He immediately straightened up and carefully examined my face and hands.

"You went there? Why? Did he do anything to you?"

I crouched, handed him the folded document, and managed a smile. "No. It's all settled. Look, he signed it. You'll stay with me from now on. No one can hit you or bully you anymore."

Freddy's gaze fell on the document, and his eyes instantly reddened. He pressed his lips together, not daring to cry aloud. He could not actually read very well, but together with what I had said, perhaps he understood something? He only reached out and took my wrist, his grip very light but filled with dependence. "Really? I can live with you? I... I don't have to go back?"

"You don't have to go back. You're mine now." I patted the back of his hand, watching a little light finally ripple in his eyes, as though the long-standing gloom had parted and let in a ray of light. "This is your home now. I'll take care of you."

He lowered his head, his shoulders trembling gently. After a long time, he finally looked up, tears still brimming in his eyes, then suddenly flung himself into my arms, pressing his face tightly against my stomach, seemingly not at all worried about breathing.

Freddy could not have been more surprised or delighted. Just moments ago, he had been picking relentlessly at his fingers, pinching his knuckles white with his fingertips, curled in a corner in a panic as his thoughts ran wild. He had struck his adoptive father's ankle with a stick. How could his adoptive father let that go? When he came to the door, would it be the belt?

Or a stick? How many days would he lock him in the basement this time? The longest before had been three days. How long would it be this time? The more he thought, the more frightened he became. With his back pressed against the cold wall, his whole body trembled uncontrollably. His ears strained for every sound, and the slightest disturbance outside made him flinch, terrified that the next moment he would hear his adoptive father viciously kicking the door, coming to drag him out and beat him to death.

But Klein appeared. He told me I would never have to return to that home again, that I could live with him from now on. First came a daze, then wild joy. God had never brought me light, but Klein could.

And I knew this was only the beginning. The burden of fifty dollars, the everyday troubles ahead, and the possibility of that adoptive father going back on his word all awaited me.

But as long as the person beside me could live in peace and have a home where he did not have to be afraid, every hardship was worth it.

It was already nearly ten o'clock. Guessing that Freddy had not eaten breakfast, I patted his shoulder to signal for him to let go, but he kept holding on tightly, so it was almost eleven before we finally had brunch.

Bread toasted crisp with butter, canned beans with tomatoes, and butter-fried meat patties with chunks of potato.

After we ate, I carried the boiled chicken breast along with the canned food I had bought at the hospital, intending to take it up to the second floor.

Freddy followed behind me, carrying water.

The kitten was not in his bed, but there were signs that a little of the food and water had been touched. He seemed very wary. No matter how many times I called, he did not appear.

I could only search through every nook and cranny, finally finding him under the bed. He seemed very frightened. Even at the sight of a familiar human, he only bared his teeth and let out threatening yowls.