Dragons and Stars, Chapter 7: The Aftermath

Uncle John was leaning over Mirk, who was groaning groggily on the infirmary cot, blood oozing from his broken nose.

“Well, you all are a sight,” was all he said, though Neal could see worlds more going through Uncle John’s quick mind. Uncle John had bristly black hair and a goatee and round glasses on his nose. He was a thoughtful, sharp man with keen peering eyes and an uncompromising Calvinist faith of German heritage. It was only appropriate he be a miner for he was a man made of steel.

After stopping the bleeding from Mirk’s nose, Uncle John crossed his arms and stood up to his six-foot height.

“Who wants to tell me what happened?” he said. They were silent for a minute.

Mirk looked sullen. After a moment he pulled himself off the cot and stumbled out of the room, cloth plugs hanging out of his nose. Uncle John watched him go, a certain anger sparking in his eyes. He turned back to Neal again.

“Cornelius Van Til Washer, tell me exactly what happened.”

Neal felt some of his anger returning. “It’s Mirk. He looks at…” He looked at Hanna and changed his mind.

“He hit Hanna in Tai Ji so I asked him to fight after class.”

“And you beat him up?” asked Uncle John, mixed emotions crossing his face. Neal hesitated, looking at Hanna.

“I fought him,” he hedged, wanting to keep Hanna out of it.

“Meshugenah!” Hanna snapped at Neal. She turned to Uncle John. “Uncle John,” she said Several people at Providence called John Washer Uncle John since he was the leader of the small community and took a personal interest in everyone’s lives. “Uncle John,” she said again, more clearly, “Neal and Mirk were fighting, and Mirk was trying to clank Neal’s magboots from fifty feet up. I beat up that nudnik Mirk. I’m sorry.” She huffed at herself.

Uncle John looked amused for a moment, then thoughtful, then sober. He looked at them both carefully. “The Bible teaches us that ‘The wrath of man does not accomplish the righteousness of God’.” He handed Neal a fresh ice pack. “Giving way to your anger, no matter how justified, never brings a good result. And that is not what Jesus taught us. “Turn the other cheek, he said, not the other fist.”

“An eye for an eye,” put in Hanna, stubbornly.

Just then a short and balding old man in the doorway cleared his throat. They jumped and turned to look at him. It was old Jacob Gazer, Hanna’s grandfather. He had sparkling mischievious old eyes and a wrinkled face. What white hair was left on his receding forehead sprung up in all directions from under his yarmulke like fire. “Nck nck nck, Hanna,” he said, shaking his head and pointing a short plastic stick at her. “Don’t talk like a shiksa! Does not the 25th chapter of the Tanakh’s holy Sayings teach us, ‘If your enemies are hungry, give them bread, and if they are thirsty, give them drink?'” Hanna hung her head.

Neal spoke up. “Granddaddy Gazer, in class Mirk hit her unfairly, and she did nothing in return. I was the one who asked to fight him.” Mr. Gazer’s old eyes went wide and he nodded his wrinkled head thoughtfully. Neal muttered, embarrassed, “And then she had to rescue me from Mirk.” A smile snuck across the old man’s lips.

“Well,” he said to Hanna. “I didn’t know I’d raised such a Zionist. Am I to suppose that rescuing Neal from Mirk is the reason that Mirk has a broken nose?” He peered at Hanna. Hanna giggled for a moment, then blushed and looked down. “Oy, yes, granddaddy. I broke his nose.”

“Then we will just have to go apologize to this goyim,” said Grannddady Gazer, taking her hand. A look of horror came over her strong features. “No!” she gasped.

“Now, don’t kvetch about it, little klopper,” he said, peering up at her. “The Shabbat is almost here and we must hurry.”

Uncle John put his hand on Neal’s shoulder. “Grandfather Gazer is right,” he said. “You both must apologize.”

Neal felt his heart sink down into his aching stomach. But there was nothing to be done. He looked at Hanna who grimaced back at him and then set her jaw.

They marched out of the infirmary. Neal briefly considered making a run for it, but looking at the muscular shoulders of Uncle John in front of him he gritted his teeth and kept trudging.

Neal’s mother had died in childbirth on the asteroid, and his father had passed away in a mining explosion when Neal was five. Since then his father’s brother, Uncle John, had raised him as his own son. Uncle John had never married, but to him the mining community of Providence was his family, as it was Neal’s.

They exited the tunnel into the main lobby and each switched off their boots and floated headfirst down the hatch into the Living Cylinder well. The hatches were turning around them as they continued all the way down a hundred feet to a hatch near the bottom marked BRUT. Granddaddy Gazer took his short rod and knocked on the door. After a moment it slid open and a voice farther inside, “Come in.”

Granddaddy slowly turned, helped by Hanna, and went down the hatch into the living quarters. Hanna followed, then Uncle John and Neal. As Neal stepped off the last rung onto the floor of the room, the 1/2 Earth Gravity of the living cylinder made his stomach and bones ache with a sudden pang. He groaned and leaned over. It was a crowded room, about ten by twenty feet with the floor curving up on two sides. Mirk was lying on one of the two beds, pale and angry. Mr. Brut was standing by him, looking calmly at the assembled crowd. Granddaddy Gazer clicked his stick out into a cane. He leaned on it and motioned Hanna forward. She stepped up to Mirk’s bed and stared at him. She had trouble opening her mouth, but finally got it out without gagging. “Mirk, I’m sorry for breaking your nose.” Neal straightened as best he could and looked at Mirk. Mirk’s hair was greasy and tousled on his pillow, but his eyes were sharp coals.

“Mirk…” Neal’s head swam, and the words seemed to escape him. He blanked out for a moment, searching for words. He decided to stick to basics. “I’m sorry for fighting.” That was near enough to the truth, though a part of him was willing to fight Mirk again at the drop of a hat.

“And I’m sorry if I was disrespectful, Mr. Brut,” put in Hanna. Uncle John twitched an eyebrow. Apparently he hadn’t heard about their disastrous science class yet.

“You are a spirited young lady, if a bit foolish and naive,” Mr. Brut said. Granddaddy Gazer squeezed his cane but said nothing. “I doubt that I will attempt teaching class again any time soon, until you are a little more willing to be educated. But I hold no hard feelings. As for Mirkus, well well, it is survival of the fittest out there, and I would say he made a foolish choice to engage in a fight he couldn’t win. Perhaps he will learn some lessons from this,” he said.

Neal felt stunned. Survival of the fittest? For a moment Neal even managed to feel sorry for Mirk.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” said Mr. Brut, “I have some numerical statistics I need to analyze.” He nodded to the group, and walked to a desk covered with papers and sat down.

They all stood staring for a moment at Mirk.

He rolled over with his back to them and turned his face to the wall. Granddaddy Gazer poked Hanna gently and she hurriedly started up the ladder.