Boy on the Edge by Fridrik Erlings Read Free Book Online Page B

every rock that he pushed over the edge, he felt his strength increase, his anger exploding as the rocks hit the cliffs on the way down, his regret and sadness engulfed by the furious waves.
    Somewhere deep down on the ocean floor, these rocks would rest for eternity, preserving inside their thick armor the memory of his emotions, the sound of his voice.
    For the first time since he reached the farm, he broke his routine and didn’t get back in time for dinner. By the time he limped into the yard it was dark already and he went straight to the cowshed.
    Inside, the darkness was thick before his eyes.
    Noah stood in his stall, waiting. Maybe he understood exactly how Henry felt. Henry crawled into the stall and took the large bull’s head between his hands. But the bull didn’t press against him as he usually did when they played this game. He just nudged the crown of his head gently against the boy’s chest.
    And that was no small sign of compassion from a fully grown bull.
    Of course, breaking the rules had consequences.
    At breakfast Emily didn’t greet him with her usual smile. She just showed him into Reverend Oswald’s office.
    The reverend was sitting at his desk, leafing through some papers. He didn’t look up. Emily pulled out a chair for Henry and closed the door behind her.
    There were bookshelves that reached up to the ceiling, bursting with a multitude of folders marked with capital letters. Then there were other shelves full of books. On a lectern in the corner lay an open Bible with a red ribbon between the pages.
    The cover on the chair was torn around the armrests. Henry wound up the loose threads, dug his fingers underneath the upholstery, and picked at the stuffing. The room was warm; the dusty smell of the books tickled his nose. He wanted to sneeze, but he didn’t dare. Snot trickled from his nose. He wanted to sniff, but he didn’t dare make a sound, so every now and then he shot out his tongue, just like Noah, and licked his upper lip clean.
    Finally Reverend Oswald looked up and rested his hands on the desk. His eyes were cold and hard behind the gold-rimmed glasses.
    “Where were you yesterday evening?” he asked.
    Henry swallowed, and sweat ran down his brow. He opened his mouth a little, not to talk, just to breathe, for his heart was pounding hard.
    “Asleep,” he finally managed to whisper.
    “That is not the truth,” the reverend said sternly. “I went to your room myself to look for you, but you weren’t there.”
    Henry felt as if his eyes were popping out of his head. Please, he thought, don’t make me rebuild the cairn, don’t lock me up in the Boiler Room! He had to think fast to come up with an answer, but thinking up an answer had never been easy for him, least of all under such pressure. His fingers were tearing uncontrollably at the upholstery.
    “I-I w-w-was a-at th-the c-c-c-cliffs,” he finally said after having fought every word. His voice sounded so funny in his ears; high-pitched, screeching almost, like in a cartoon. The sweat trickled down his back and from under his arms.
    The reverend raised an eyebrow in surprise for a second. Then he became angry.
    “That’s strictly forbidden! It can be dangerous! You are absolutely not allowed to go down to the cliffs. Do you understand?”
    Henry shot his tongue upward, licking the snot in a frenzy, digging his fingers into the holes in the armrests.
    “There are dangerous pits in the lava, and someone with your walking disabilities shouldn’t go there by himself. From the Gallows, Spine Break Path can be dangerous. It is strictly forbidden to go down to the sea cliffs. You might easily be washed out by the waves, or you might slip and fall over the edge! Do you understand?”
    Henry nodded eagerly, earnestly, like he wanted nothing more in the world than to obey, like he regretted terribly having been such a fool to follow the path. He wiped the sweat off his face with his arm.
    “All right,” the reverend said in