The Stopped Heart by Julie Myerson

reaches to turn out the light on his side.
    â€œSome people would go to the pub,” he says. “Get drunk and stagger home and never have to think at all.” He kisses her shoulder. “Well, they would, wouldn’t they?”
    â€œYou want to do that?”
    â€œNo. I’m just saying it’s what a lot of people would do.”
    A silence while they both think about this.
    â€œYou feel like reading?” he says.
    She tries to remember what a book felt like.
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know.”
    â€œOrder some books,” he says. “Why don’t you? Go on Amazon.”
    She says nothing.
    â€œAnyway,” he says as he punches his remaining pillows and turns over on his side ready for sleep, “the days are getting longer. We can have evenings outside soon. We can do the garden, stuff like that. That’ll pass the time.”
    S O EVEN THOUGH HE CAME FROM UNDER A LIGHTNING TREE AND no one knew the smallest thing about him, James H. Dix slept on a pallet in the barn and washed at the tap in the yard and spent his days among us as if it had always been this way. As the weeks and then the months passed and winter turned to spring and the days got longer and softer and brighter, it was hard to remember that we had ever been without him in our lives.
    The little ones were mad for him. Jazzy trailed him around the place from dawn to dusk, asking him so many questions that, in the end, instead of getting angry with her, he took the easy way out and simply stopped listening.
    Lottie stuck on like a limpet, not giving a scoot what he said or did as long as he said and did it to her. Even the twins, normally so thick with each other that no one else could get near them—let alone a stranger with thick red hair and staring eyes and a snake tattooed on his neck—they couldn’t get enough of him either.
    He chased them around the yard till they wept with excitement. He hid behind trees in the orchard, jumping out at them like a bogeyman, slicing through the air with his imaginary sword. He put them both in the wheelbarrow and gave them a fast, rough ride, threatening to tip them into the water trough at the last moment. They shouted so loud that our mother had to come out and tell them to be quiet, but she softened as soon as she saw James. It was as if he were a saint or something. Nothing about him ever seemed to vex her.
    He taught them to dab poppy seeds off the kitchen table with a wet finger.
    But don’t eat too many, he said. Because they’ll give you wild dreams.
    And Minnie asked him what a wild dream was and he made his eyes into slits and told her it was lions and tigers and crocodiles chasing you all night long and not giving up till morning.
    She threw me a worried look.
    What, and biting you too?
    James laughed. One moment he’d look very happy and alive, but the next his face would be sweating and he’d look like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He set his teeth on the edge of the table and pretended to gnaw it.
    What else would wild animals do? he said, and, keeping his eyes on Minnie, he wiped his face on his shirtsleeve.
    It’s not true, I told the twins. Don’t listen to him. He’s just making it up to frighten you.
    I want a wee, Minnie said, and she ran out of the room.
    I wasn’t afraid, Charlie said, but he slipped his hand in mine and kept it there.
    Another time, James put Frank and two other boys from the village up against the wall in the yard and made them wait with their hands shoved down their breeches while he threw punches at them—left, right, and center—teaching them how to dodge and duck and slide so they could look after themselves if ever they got in a tight spot on the road.
    He explained that this was what his own dear father had done for him and hadn’t it always stood him in good stead?
    And where is your own dear father? said Jazzy, who was sitting on the wall