She did not understand—but then, all at once, she did. She leaned toward him to whisper a question.
But Jonah beat her to it: “You don’t know how to read?”
X shook his head the slightest bit.
“Nor write,” he said. “Nor draw, now that I think of it.”
X knew that Zoe’s mother was gazing at him now. Was she disgusted? Scared? Was she strategizing about how to separate him from her children? He was afraid to turn to her, so he didn’t know.
“I can show you how to do that stuff,” said Jonah. “It’s actually not that hard.”
“Thank you,” said X.
Zoe took the paper gently from his hands so she could read it aloud. Her voiced quavered just enough to tell X that she was nervous, too.
“‘Why’d you get sent to the Lowlands?’” she read. “‘Did you kill somebody? Did you kill a whole ton of people—like, with a catapult?’”
“That one’s mine,” said Jonah.
“We know,” said Zoe.
X took a breath.
“I know this beggars belief,” said X, “but I committed no crime. I was never even accused of one. I will swear it upon anything you like.”
Across the room, Zoe’s mother coughed what sounded like an unnecessary cough.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but that actually does—how did you say it?—beggar belief.”
“Stop it, Mom,” said Zoe.
“Do not censure your mother on my account,” said X. “This is her home. She has shown me nothing but kindness.”
“Thank you, X,” said Zoe’s mother.
It was the first time anyone had used his name. Even in the unhappy circumstances, he liked the sound of it. It made him feel centered—present somehow, like a picture coming into focus.
“I read about a lot of religions when the kids’ dad died,” Zoe’s mother said, “and there was something in all of them that helped me. I’m kind of a walking, talking Coexist bumper sticker now.” She paused. “And, I’m sorry, but … I’ve never heard of people getting sent to hell for no reason.”
Zoe took the bowl from X’s lap and set it angrily on the coffee table, where it vibrated noisily.
“This was a bad idea,” she said. “We’re done.”
“No,” said X. “Your mother is correct: No one gets sent to the Lowlands without cause.”
He turned to Zoe’s mother now, and found her eyes.
“But, you see, I was not sent to the Lowlands,” he said. “I was born there.”
No one spoke as X’s words settled. The only sound was Spock and Uhura barking in the distance. X hated speaking the sentence, yet now that he had he felt freer somehow.
Zoe reached into the bowl.
“‘Is it weird to be three hundred years old, or whatever?’” she read.
X surprised them all by laughing.
“And whose query is this?” he said, glancing around the room.
“Mine,” said Zoe. “I mean, no offense, but you talk like Beowulf.”
Jonah giggled.
“Wolves can’t talk, Zoe,” he said. He turned to X uncertainly: “Can they?”
“I do not believe so,” said X. “As to my age, I was but a whelp when a woman we call Ripper began training me to be a bounty hunter. For years, hers was virtually the only voice I heard. I suppose I learned to speak as she does—and she was wrenched from your world nearly two hundred years ago.”
“So how old are you?” said Zoe.
X heard an urgency in her voice, as if this question mattered more than the others.
“Ripper tells me that I am twenty,” he said.
“Twenty?” said Zoe. “For real?”
“Yes,” said X. “The only reason I have to doubt her is that she is quite nearly insane.”
“Wow, twenty,” said Zoe. “If you want, I could help you apply to college.”
X recognized this as a “blurt” and let it pass.
Zoe unfolded another question.
“‘Where are the Lowlands? What are the Lowlands?’” she read.
“Those are mine,” said her mother.
“Good job, Mom,” said Jonah.
X sat motionless, trying to compose an answer in his head. Finally, he turned to Jonah and asked him to gather up all the little figures from his room—the soldiers, the animals, the wizards, the dinosaurs, the dwarves—and bring them outside in a basket.
“I am not certain I can explain the Lowlands,” he said. “But perhaps I can build them for you.”
six
They stood in the backyard, looking at X as if he’d gone mad. He was rolling a mammoth snowball, circling them faster and faster as he did so, the tail of his shimmering blue overcoat taking flight behind him. Uhura chased him ecstatically, as if a game was afoot. Spock lay nearby, eating snow.
“I believe the first query was, ‘Where are the Lowlands?’” X said.
The snowball was about four feet tall now, and he had at last come to a stop.
“Yes,” said Zoe’s mother.
X gestured to his creation.
“This is the earth,” he said. “Or as good a likeness as I can produce.”
He was warming to his task. The dread he’d felt had been beaten back—replaced by the desire to give a true and clear accounting of himself. They deserved that much, and more, for taking him in when they had every reason to fear him.