Little Shoyru Homeward Bound: Part One

      I cracked a bleary eye open slowly, trying to comprehend the odd sounds coming from down the hall at one o'clock in the morning, according to the red apple wall clock hanging opposite my bed. Slowly opening the other eye, I yawned and listened again, more attentive and awake this time. It sounded like a low, continuous, distressed moaning.

      Alert now, I sat up, concerned. Looking after four baby pets makes you very suspicious of otherwise ordinary nocturnal sounds.

      I was just getting out of bed to go down the corridor and check on my sleeping kids when I heard a blood-curdling cry.

      “WWAAAAAAAHH! PAAAPAA!!”

      My heart pounding in my ears, I raced down the hall and skidded into my kids' room to find Danby, my baby Shoyru, standing in his cot, clinging to the blue bars, and screaming his tiny lungs out.

      Quickly I scooped him up and he clung to my neck, burying his face in my shoulder and muffling his cries. I glanced back once at my other three kids, who were all standing at the bars of their own cots, with decidedly frightened expressions on each of their sweet faces.

      “It's alright, guys,” I said, doing my best to sound reassuring and mostly failing. “Everything's fine. Danby and I are just going to talk for a while. Go back to sleep now, and I'll be back to check on you later.”

      Having said all I could over Danby's wailing, I withdrew from the room and headed back down the hall to my own bed, holding my distraught little Shoyru close to me as he sobbed incoherently into my shoulder.

      I pulled back my blue striped bedsheet and propped my pillow against my headboard before climbing back into bed, still holding Danby firmly against my chest as I waited for him to stop crying. As I did so, I realised that there was something different about it; he wasn't afraid. After so long looking after emotionally pre-verbal children, I had come to recognise crying as its own separate language, and this cry was... just sad. Not a disappointed, “he just stole my toy” sad, or a physical, “I just bruised my tail” sad, but a deep, longing, lonely sad, the kind I wished children would never have to experience.

      Finally, Danby regained some semblance of calm and stopped crying. Without looking up, still resting entirely on my torso, as one too exhausted to move, he draped his paw down his side slowly, reaching for the red ribbon that pinned his blue dummy to his yellow and blue spotted onesie.

      Locating it, he plugged it into his mouth and sighed deeply. “I had a dream about Mama,” Danby mumbled after a moment, still not shifting his position.

      It took me a moment to understand what he was saying; Mama? Danby didn't have a mama, it was just me. Then I stopped. And my blood ran cold. He was talking about his old owner, the woman who had abandoned him carelessly on the doorstep of local foster parent, and my friend, Jen, like yesterday's old, unwanted Neopian Times.

      As I thought about it, it occurred to me that it had been almost a year to the day since I'd adopted him from Jen's, just days after his abandonment. In all that time, he'd never once spoken of his old family, and I'd never asked.

      I was apprehensive to continue in case I did or said something wrong; this was uncharted territory for me. But I had no choice, I had a sad, lonely baby on my hands who needed some reassurance, so I pressed on slowly, just as I had done for Tyto, my baby Grarrl, more times than I could count, and Lucy, my baby Kacheek, when she was being bullied at nursery school.

      The only one so far with whom I hadn't had the “bad dream talk” was Shasta, my baby Ogrin. He was much more resilient than his brothers and sister, and I hoped he would retain that resilience as he grew up.

      Stroking Danby's horned head sadly, I murmured, “Why don't you tell me about it, little one? What was it about?”

      Sighing heavily, Danby finally sat up and stared at me with those enormous green eyes of his that had so captivated me when we first met. Not bothering to remove his dummy from his mouth, he mumbled, “I never tol' you 'bout my mama, did I, Papa?”

      I shook my head and he continued, “She was real pretty, she had long brown hair an' blue eyes, a-an' her nails was always painted some bright colour like glittery red or glow-in-the-dark. She bought me new toys an' special food every week, an' read me bedtime stories every night. An' when I got scared 'cause I thought there was Zombie pets livin' under my bed, she'd always check my room an' make sure I was safe. She even gave me her special Techo torch so I could shine it in the dark places when I was afraid.”

      At this point in the story, Danby's eyes filled with tears, and I could see his lower lip trembling behind his dummy. He nestled into my shirt again, but continued his tale.

      “Mama was real good to me, a-an' I thought – I thought she loved me, only, only I found out later she di'n't...” He trailed off again and started to cry.

      Feeling a lump rise to my throat, I rested one hand on my baby's shoulders, and the other on his head, and when I did so, Danby lost the last of his resolve. He started sobbing.

      In an agonised, keening wail, he begged, “Why did you leave me, Mama? Why did you go away? I di'n't mean to be bad, Mama, honest I didn't! I know you got mad when you brought that new Royal Kougra home an' I pestered her too much, I know you di'n't like it when I got in her room an' messed up her stuff, I know you said you could only look after one pet, but why coul'n't it be me? Mama! Why did you leave me, Mama?”

      At the heart-wrenching cries of my poor little traumatised boy, I didn't know what to do, so I did the only thing I could think of. I cried with him.

      For a long time we just sat together, shedding the tears we thought unquenchable in the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, though, exhaustion overtook us, and, deeming the bad dream that had started this mess now somewhat irrelevant, I tucked the sleeping Danby into bed beside me, slipping his dummy into his open mouth, and watching affectionately as it closed unconsciously around the rubber bulb and commenced its rhythmic sucking.

      Turning off my yellow bedside lamp and snuggling down under my covers, I remained conscious for all of three seconds before drifting back off to sleep.

      I awoke early the next morning, physically and emotionally exhausted. I rolled over to see Danby, still fast asleep beside me, an hour after his normal waking time, and knew he must be feeling even worse.

      My other kids, however, were all wailing to be let out, so I slipped out of bed, being careful not to wake Danby, and crept down the hallway til I reached their room.

      “Papa?” Tyto asked, mumbling from behind the thumb in his mouth as I put him down. “Where's Danby?”

      I smiled at him as I hoisted Lucy out of her cot. “He's still sleeping. He'll be up in a bit, don't worry.”

      Lucy, who was clutching her baby Uni plushie Twinkle nervously, asked, “Is he okay, Papa? I ain't never heard 'im scream like that a'fore.”

      Shasta squirmed free of my grip, and I reached out to unzip her pink onesie. “He's fine, little one,” I began. Then I paused, remembering the fit Shasta had thrown one morning before school during the time that Lucy was suffering at the hands of nursery school bullies. He'd been frustrated and scared because he didn't know what was going on; he only knew that something wasn't right.

      Finally I sighed, and settled on as much of the truth as I thought they could handle. “You remember we adopted him from Jen about a year ago, right?” I asked, gently prying Tyto's thumb out of his mouth so I could get his arm through his pyjama sleeve.

      My kids all nodded, and I continued. “Well, he was living at Jen's place, because his mama, the lady who created him, couldn't take care of him anymore.” (I didn't want to scare them by saying she didn't want to take care of him anymore.) “Danby's sad right now because he misses her. It was a year ago today since she left, and he's a little lonely, so we all have to do what we can to cheer him up, okay?”

      I rose to my feet from where I'd been kneeling, and proceeded to fold the kids' pyjamas and put them in their cots.

      Tyto ran up and latched onto my leg. “Y-you won't ever leave us... will you, Papa?” he asked tearfully.

      I detached him and picked him up, resting him in my lap as I sat down on the floor near Lucy and Shasta, who both climbed in beside their brother. Hugging the three of them warmly, I murmured, “No, little ones, I'll never leave you. There are some people who do bad things in the world, but I'm not one of them, and I won't ever let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

      At that moment, Danby walked in, blinking blearily, his dummy still in his mouth. Seeing his siblings all huddled together on my lap, he clambered up beside them and nudged his way in.

      None of us moved for a long time that morning.

      Later, at breakfast, it appeared that Lucy and Shasta at least, had all but forgotten what had passed earlier. They were busy drawing patterns on their napkins with the mushed up purple baby food on their spoons, which meant that more of it ended up on the table and floor (much to Norman the Boween's delight) than in their mouths.

      Ordinarily I would have asked them to try and contain their mess a little better, but this morning, as I peered surreptitiously at my kids from over the rim of my Borovan mug, I could only be grateful that Danby's plight didn't seem to be affecting them all that much.

      Unfortunately, Tyto, who was much more easily impressed upon by matters such as these, remained as silent and sullen as Danby, barely picking at his faerie toast before pushing his plate away and resting his chin solemnly on the table.

      It didn't take long, however, for even Tyto to push the solemnity of the morning from his mind, as, after breakfast, he proceeded quite jubilantly to tip the entire contents of the nursery's basket of assorted building blocks onto the carpet, and begin stacking them on top of one another to create his latest architectural masterpiece.

      Lucy and Shasta seized this opportunity, and scampered off up the stairs with the empty basket. I watched, alarmed, as they clambered into it at the top of the steps, and proceeded to nudge it forward until the basket tipped forward and they slid down the stairs at breakneck speeds, shrieking with delight the whole way.

      As they slammed into the opposite wall at the bottom, I approached, armed with pink sofa pillows and a pair of purple Ruki skipping ropes. “Okay, guys, new rule, no sliding down the stairs without protection, got it?” I then proceeded to tie the pillows gently but securely to their tiny heads, and Shasta squirmed.

      “But Papa!” he complained, tugging at the skipping rope under his chin, “Brave explorers who slide down Techo Mountain don't wear pillows on their heads!”

      “These ones do,” I said firmly. “Just think of them as native island dress.”

      Lucy and Shasta resigned themselves to their safety-conscious fate, and proceeded to push the basket back up the stairs for another run.

      I was about to return to my observation post on the blue sofa when I realised that in my distracted state, I had no idea where Danby had gotten to.

      “Papa, look at my castle!” Tyto said proudly as I scoured the nooks and crannies of the room where a baby could hide.

      “It's very nice, Tyto,” I said, not really looking as I searched behind the sofa on my hands and knees.

      “Papa, you're not even payin' attention!” Tyto said exasperatedly.

      I sighed, “I'm sorry, Tyto, but Daddy's a little busy right now. I'll look at your castle in a minute. Have you seen Danby?”

      At that moment, I felt a gentle tug on my belt loop, and I jumped, startled. Peering over my shoulder, I saw Danby, looking at me sombrely, his big eyes blinking in confusion as he tilted his head to one side.

      “Papa, what are you doin' back there?” he asked slowly, clutching the baby Bruce bottle he'd brought from the kitchen with both paws.

      I smiled and stood up. “I was looking for you, silly,” I said, picking him up and carrying him to the sofa. “I was worried you'd disappeared. You okay?”

      He didn't respond, but sighed slowly and heavily, as one who is carrying an immense burden whose significance only he can understand.

      I drew him closer onto my lap, “You want me to read you a story?” I asked, trying to think of something to distract him from his painful past for a while.

      Danby shook his head slowly, and pushed his bottle into my hand, that was resting by his feet. “You do it,” he said quietly, and snuggled closer to me.

      I stared at the yellow bottle in my hand, the Bruce's little black eyes looking back at me. I glanced uneasily at Danby, who had already nestled into the crook of my left arm. I didn't usually like indulging the regressive behaviour my kids could be prone to when they were feeling vulnerable, because doing so ensured that they never grew up. I preferred helping them solve their problems themselves, as I had done with Tyto, and his fear of school, and the Boween, when each had been introduced.

      This time, however, there was something... different, about it, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Maybe I was just feeling soft, maybe I was looking to justify his action with the knowledge that Danby had been forced to prematurely give up his babyhood when he was abandoned.

      Either way, I found myself complying with my little Shoyru's request, and I gave him his bottle as he nuzzled close to me, nursing him as I had done with my other kids when they were younger.

      Danby closed his eyes and sighed again as he sucked, but it wasn't a heavy, exhausted sigh this time, more like one of relief, and security in the knowledge that he didn't have to fight his old demons alone.

      Shasta, who had just crash landed at the bottom of the stairs with his sister for the fourth time, looked up at us, pushing his pillow out of his eyes where it had started to slide.

      He snickered incredulously. “What'sa matter? Baby can't feed 'imself?”

      Danby blinked, startled, and sat up, whatever hypnotic spell he was under evaporating.

      I gave my little Ogrin my best disapproving stare. “Shasta, that's not nice. You know we don't tease each other here.”

      Shasta scowled, and whispered something to Lucy, who nodded in agreement, and glanced my way disapprovingly before scuttling back up the stairs with Shasta and their basket to continue their sledge ride down the “volcano”.

      Tyto, however, who had been watching from behind the block castle he had been perfecting, stood up and made his way over to us, struggling onto the sofa, evidently jealous of the attention Danby was receiving.

      For a moment, I was afraid he'd demand the same treatment as his brother, but he didn't; he merely nudged his way under the gap my right arm created as I held Danby's bottle for him, and scooted onto my lap beside the little Shoyru.

      The two of them sat in an easy silence together for a time, Danby sucking on his bottle, and Tyto on his thumb, until Danby's bottle was dry. Even when it was, though, they remained on my lap, not speaking, for several minutes before eventually sliding to the floor simultaneously, ignoring the banging and crashing on the stair as Shasta and Lucy continued their game, shrieking with delight each time they slid down in their basket.

      Tyto went back to his castle as if nothing had happened, and Danby squeezed my leg affectionately, murmured, “Thanks, Papa,” then crawled up the stairs, waiting for Shasta and Lucy to clear them before attempting his ascent.

      If only I had known what he had planned, I never would have let him out of my sight.

To be continued...