The Lesson

By Anita Sanchez

They cased the building very carefully. Heyes insisted on that.  If you were planning a robbery, it was necessary to be extremely thorough, even painstaking. Cautious.  And well prepared, he told Kid.  Especially if the robbery was your very first one.

Heyes peered down at the ramshackle old farmhouse from the branches of the tree they had climbed to get a better look at the windows and doors.  The house was dark, no gleam of  light showing from any of the large windows. It was a spooky old house, the white paint chipped and peeling, the porch sagging and in need of repair, the closed shutters looking as though they hid ghosts or secrets. 

On a branch above him, Kid was also craning his neck at the house. "See any open windows?" Heyes whispered.

"Nope, all locked up tight," Kid muttered.  He climbed a little higher, swinging from branch to branch easily--like most eleven year old boys, he was completely at home in a tree.  Heyes stared at the shutters, trying to see how they were fastened.  "We'll have to get closer," he said.  "Those downstairs windows ought to be low enough for us to reach.  Come on."

"What if he's got a dog?" inquired Kid.  "Just thought."

"Well, he might," admitted Heyes.  "You've heard all the stories about the old man. He's mean enough to have ten watchdogs."

They crept closer to the house, sneaking from bush to bush. The full moon cast eerie shadows in the overgrown, untended garden. Finally they were just beneath one of the windows.  "Here," Kid hissed, picking up a rock.  "Just bash it through the glass." 

"Bash it through the glass, are you crazy?" demanded Heyes under his breath. "We gotta be more sneaky than that.  We gotta use finesse."  He studied the latch on the window.  "Let me see..." he said thoughtfully.  He fiddled with the latch for a long time, while Kid fidgeted and sighed.  The stars moved slowly through the branches of the dead tree that loomed over the house. 

"You sure you don't wanna use the rock, Heyes?" Kid asked for the fourteenth time. He was interrupted by a sharp snick and the window swung open.  "Nice," said Kid admiringly. 

Heyes grinned.  "Finesse, " he said.  "Come on."

They clambered through the window into the dark room.  Heyes looked around uneasily at the unfamiliar furniture, broken chairs and a huge old couch that looked like a crouching lion in the gloom.  They were breaking into someone else's house.  This was against the law.  But there didn't seem to be any other option for a couple of scared and hungry fugitives from the orphanage.  They had to have money or starve.

"Now what?" Heyes whispered.

"I don't know " answered Kid, looking around with wide eyes.  "The old man is supposed to have a house full of gold coins, hidden away somewhere.  I guess we gotta find them."

"Yeah, but where?" said Heyes looking around the huge room full of cupboards and shelves.  "Come on, let's try the desk." He opened one of the drawers, trying to slide it out silently, and wincing at the slight squeak it made.  Nothing inside but papers.  The next three drawers also held dull legal-looking documents.  Kid slid open the center drawer, and drew in his breath sharply.  "Look!"  he hissed.

"Hush!" said Heyes nervously, looking around.  Then he glanced down at the drawer. In it was a small pearl-handled revolver.  "Wow," he said, his eyes wide.

Kid reached out a tentative hand and picked it up.  "Put that back!" said Heyes sharply.  "It's not ours."

"What are you, crazy?" said Kid indignantly.  "We're here to rob the guy, for crying out loud!"

"Sorry," said Heyes. He pushed resolutely from his mind the thought of what his mother would have said, and watched Kid handle the gun lovingly.  "Be careful with that thing!" he said.

Kid peered at the gun, handling it with sureness.  "I think it's loaded," he said.

"Come on, that won't do us any good.  Put it back and let's look in some of those cupboards." Kid slipped the gun into his pocket, and nodded.  "Okay, you go that way and I'll look in the next room," he said, and went off into the shadows. Heyes looked around at the room again. There was a tall dresser with shelves and cupboards against the wall, and he stood on tip-toe to reach up to the top shelf. His fingers felt nothing but dust. He checked the lower shelves, finding nothing but cups and plates. Then he bent to open the lower cabinet. He peered inside, straining his eyes in the dark.

Suddenly he was hurled into the wooden shelf as a tremendous blow struck his back. He shook his head dazedly, and scrambled to his feet, but another blow struck him in the darkness and he crashed to the floor, his head spinning. A light flared, and he realized groggily that someone had struck a match and lit a candle "What do you think you're doing, you young varmint?" came a reedy, thin voice, and Heyes looked up to see a small, stooped figure bent over him, holding the biggest stick he'd ever seen.

"I was just ..." he began, trying to think of a plausible excuse for looking into someone's cupboards in the dead of night, but the stick decended again, catching him painfully on the knee, and he gave a yelp. "You were just trying to rob me, you little bastard, I'll tan your hide right and proper," snarled the voice, and the stick was raised again. As it started down, a voice cut through the dark. "Hold it right there, mister, or I'll blow your brains out."

The voice sounded so adult, so commanding, that Heyes blinked, expecting to see a grown man standing behind him. But it was just the Kid, eleven years old, scrawny and thin, but the look in his narrowed eyes was convincing enough that the old man stopped his swing and stood goggling at the boy. Heyes scrambled to his feet and got well out of range of the stick.

"All right," said Kid, holding the gun steadily with both hands. "You're right, we're here to rob you. Where's the gold?"

"Gold?" said the old man with a surprisingly pleasant smile. "What makes you think a poor old man like me has any gold?” He was not much taller than Heyes, a shrivelled figure in a white nightshirt and shabby slippers. Long, stringy gray hair fell from under his nightcap, and he blinked pale, watery eyes at them in the dim glow of the candle.

“Oh, come off it,” said Kid. “We’ve heard all the stories, you’ve got more money than Fort Knox in here.”

“Yeah,” said Heyes, rubbing his knee. “Cough it up and no one will get hurt.” The old man looked uneasily from one to the other.  Kid pulled the hammer back on the gun, and closed one eye in careful aim.

“All right,” said the man hastily. “I give in. Don’t hurt an old man, boys. I see I can't outsmart two such daring outlaws as yourselves.”

“Damn right,” said Heyes, lifting his chin. “We've got you good, mister. Come up with the gold  and be quick about it.”

“All right,” sighed the old man. “It’s right this way. In the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” said Heyes suspiciously.

“That's right, I keep it hidden in case of robbers just like you two fellows. Follow me.”

“Don’t worry,” said Kid. “We'll be right behind you.” As the old man turned away, Kid gave Heyes a wildly excited grin. Heyes grinned back  Things were going perfectly.

The old man shuffled off down a narrow hallway, his back bent, leaning on his stick. He muttered to himself as he slowly made his way down the corridor, carrying the candle, Heyes and Kid almost stepping on his heels in their excitement.

They entered a cavernous, dark room, and the old man lit a lamp. The light grew strong, pushing the shadows aside, and gleaming off copper pots and a huge iron stove.  There were strings of onions and three great hams hanging from the rafters, and sacks of beans, flour and potatoes propped in corners.

“Well,” said Heyes, glancing around impatiently. “Where’s the money?”

“Oh, right over here, young sir,” said the old man, pulling out a heavy sack of flour. “I see I can't fool you. All I’ve got is right in here.”

“Where?” said Heyes, eyeing the bulging bag eagerly.

“Right in here,” said the man, opening the sack wide. “I keep the coins hidden in the flour, you see. Look right in here.” Heyes bent and peered inside the bag, and Kid leaned over to get a look, too.

“I don t see any thing but flour,” said Heyes.

“Let me see,” said the old man. “Ah, it’s just under here.” He reached his veined, trembling hand into the sack. “Here you go, young sir,” he said. “Take all you want!”

He flung a handful of flour in Heyes’ face. Heyes snorted and gasped as the flour went up his nose, and filled his mouth. The old man heaved a second handful with accuracy, full in Kid’s surprised face. Kid’s finger tightened on the trigger instinctively, but the shot whined harmlessly off the stove.  “Here, would you like some more?” inquired the old man. “Help yourselves!” He flung handful after handful in their faces. Heyes could hardly breathe, gasping and choking; the fine meal filled his eyes and rubbing only made it worse. He could hear Kid close by, coughing and shouting words that had always been strictly forbidden at the orphanage.

“Why, gentlemen, I'm dreadfully sorry!” cried the old man. “I've gotten your clothes all floury. The least I can do is to dust your jackets for you.” He picked up his stick, and Heyes felt a tremendous blow on his back. He heard Kid shout with pain as another whack echoed in the dim kitchen. The old man flailed away, pounding the two stumbling figures again and again, making the flour fly off their clothes in clouds.  “I’ll teach you young hooligans a lesson, free of charge,” he said. “Stand up straight and pay attention.”

         Finally Heyes got enough flour out of his eyes to glimpse a pale gleam of moonlight. that must be a window.  He shouted to Kid, and they floundered over to the big window.  “Must you go so soon?” shouted the old man as Heyes desperately shoved open the wooden shutters. “Well, I won’t keep you. I hope you boys have learned your lesson good. Come on back if you'd ever like any more of the same.” With one last blow he turned away.

The two boys leaped out the window and landed on their stomachs in the garden in a patch of weedy, overgrown rosebushes. They took to their heels and fled out the gate and up the quiet moonlit road. They ran, limping, and sobbing for breath, till Heyes couldn't run anymore. Grabbing Kid’s arm, he pulled him off the road into the into the cover of some thick bushes. They both lay in the grass, panting and spitting out flour.

Finally Heyes’ breathing slowed and he rolled over, looking up at the moon sailing silver overhead, glittering through the leaves above them. His shoulders ached, and his head and knee were sore. “You okay?” he said to Kid.

There was no answer. He looked over and saw that Kid was sitting with clenched fists. Blood dripped down his forehead from a gash over his eye. “That old coot,” he said fiercely. “That old...we should go back and teach him a lesson, Heyes, teach him a lesson.”

Heyes sighed, and reached up, grabbing Kid’s shoulder and pulling him over backwards gently. They lay side by side in the soft grass. “No, he taught us the lesson,” Heyes said after a long silence. “A lot of lessons.  I think I've learned a lot tonight.”

“Learned not to rob folks, like he said?” asked Kid bitterly.

         “No,” said Heyes. “Learned how to do it better next time.” He caught Kid’s eye and they finally both broke out into laughter, the kind of laughter that comes when it hurts too much to cry.