Blood Fugue by Joseph D'Lacey Page B

sheaves and began to read.
    The first page was written in Burt’s chunky hand — the neatest thing he’d ever written, Kerrigan realised — and probably the only letter he’d ever written with an ink pen. The date was August 1975, just after Kerrigan’s birthday.
     
Dear James,
You have come to us like a blessing or an answered prayer. You will know by the time you read this that we are not your real parents, I plan to tell you that as soon as you«re old enough to understand, but I hope that by the time you do read this you’ll see us as your true family.
The circumstances of your birth are unusual, a real mystery to all of us. I think this letter will explain some of it — you’ll understand it in a way that we can’t.
The truth of the matter is that we did not seek you out from the orphanage as we said we did. We found you in the forest. You were wrapped in an animal skin, laying in a basket of reeds. Whoever left you, placed you in the middle of the Eastern Path that runs across the lower part of Bear Mountain. They left this letter too.
We took you into Hobson’s Valley to the doctor who talked to the sheriff. They both knew us and our situation. We’ve always made our own law in this part of the country and once they were sure the parents weren’t coming back, they let us keep you. Of course, we never showed them the letter.
You have a purpose in this world, James. Something many of us never find. You may not be aware of your purpose until you read this. You may find it is not what you had planned for yourself. Either way, we know you can live up to it. Remember that no matter where you go, we’ll always be with you. We’re here to give you strength, whatever you decide to do.
With all our love always,
Albert and Kathleen Kerrigan
     
    He looked up at Kath and saw that she was crying. He put the letter back on the table and cried with her.
    He was never going to see his father again.
    When he could continue he picked up the letter and removed Burt’s top sheet. What followed didn’t make any sense to him at all. He flipped over one sheet after another and saw nothing but neatly spaced characters and symbols. On the last page was a map similar to the one the Jimenez family had shown him.
    ‘I don’t get it, Kath. I can’t read this.’
    ‘Yes. You can.’
    ‘It’s in another language. I don’t even recognise the letters or punctuation.’
    ‘You can read that letter, James. I know you can because I’ve heard you speak the language it’s written in.’
    Kerrigan stared.
    ‘I never learned another language, Kath. How could I speak anything other than English?’
    ‘I’m telling you, James, I’ve heard you speak it. In the right moment you’ll be able to read it. I guess it doesn’t have to be now.’
    ‘When did I speak it?’
    ‘All your life.’
    ‘But when exactly? Was I watching TV? Throwing a baseball? What?’
    ‘You did it in your sleep.’
    He had to laugh then.
    ‘I mumbled gobbledygook in my sleep a few times and you think I can read this? Come on, Kath.’
    Her eyes were wide and defiant.
    ‘You spoke that language every night of your life. Me and Burt would listen sometimes. It was beautiful, but it was scary too. If we hadn’t had the letter as a sign of how special you were, we probably would have taken you to see some kind of doctor.’
    He knew what kind of doctor she meant.
    ‘And I can prove that it was this language you were speaking too.’
    ‘You can?’
    ‘Sure.’
    She pushed her chair back and walked to their bedroom. When she came back she had a folder in her hands. She passed it to him.
    Opening it, he saw drawings and language in the hand of a growing child. The first few sheets were just scribble and meaningless shapes but later in the file the scribble became the language he had just seen in the letter and the shapes became maps and drawings of people and symbols. The one symbol that repeated itself from the very beginning was that of the binder — an