In Want of a Friend

[brooklynlove]

Basie Blythe was not even thinking of selling the stack of newspapers nestled under her arm. In fact, she only vaguely remembered purchasing them earlier that morning, and she realized rather uncomfortably that she had just blown her very modest weekly allowance for lack of something meaningful to do that day. Still, even that thought wasn't enough to cause her to turn around and put her selling skills to work. No, she needed a place to think, and she had long since discovered that the harbor was always a good spot for doing that sort of thing.

Sitting down on one of the rough, splintered docks, Basie hastily untied her shoes, and tossed them carelessly behind her, followed by her very worn stockings. As she smoothed her skirts, she let her bare feet dangle, and delighted herself for a few moments in tracing ripples through the cold, clear water with her toe. A light breeze swept through her curls, and she leaned back onto her elbows, glad for a moment of peace away from the bustling city. She had grown to love Manhattan since she had arrived two years before, but it was on days like these that she sometimes wished things were different. Most days she was able to while away her time making up stories, dreaming for the things she wasn't sure now would ever come.

She listened dully to the murmur of voices behind her, thinking of the thousands of people she had encountered during the past couple of years. Basie felt a wave of sorrow as she realized she had very close to no one that she actually could call a friend. There was Ewan, yes, but sometimes a sixteen-year-old girl lost in a sea of humanity was in want of someone who could understand her ambitions and fears. Maybe someday...

Just then, Basie started and clutched at her skirts in fright as a voice brought her back to reality.

[rainier]

Caspar found that recently he had been spending less time in Queens and more time in the surrounding areas. He was very proud of himself, for having mastered the intricate streets of New York so well. Now if only he could do the same for the language. As much as he tried, Caspar felt as if English was a tongue too intricate and different for him to grasp completely. Even he order of the words was confusing and unnatural to him. Perhaps it would help if he started thinking in English instead of Dutch all the time. But how would that work? Always, even when his words were English, his thoughts were in Dutch. He needed help with his English, he realized. There was only so much he could pick up on his own, and he wanted to master the language soon.

Today Caspar found himself in Manhattan, a pleasant place. He wandered around the docks of the harbor, pleased at the sight of the ocean and the hustle of the people moving all around him, as if in some predetermined choreography they executed every day. It was one thing about New York he found charming: people did the same thing every day, which gave him a sense of stability he hadn't yet found anywhere else. In the bright September sunlight, he tugged at the brim of his cabbie hat (newly acquired, given to him by a friend in Queens who no longer had use for it) and his other hand went into his trousers pocket to touch the item there.

He pulled it out and glanced at it in his palm. It was a wooden chip, like the ones he had seen some of the other newsies play cards with, only slightly larger. It was smooth and well-made, and carved carefully onto one side were the Dutch words KENNIS IS MACHT. Knowledge is power. It had been his life's motto, and as soon as he'd arrived to America he'd tried his hardest to retain as much knowledge as he could. It had worked. Why else would his newsboy friends call him a name like "The Professor"? It had taken Caspar a short time to realize the translation: Hoogleraar. A compliment.

Caspar was brought from his musings by a rough hand on his arm. He turned to see a burly dockworker leering at him. "Think ya wisekid? Swipin' my chips when ya thinkIgotta blind eye on ya? The hellsamatta with you?" Half of the words were lost to Caspar, unused to slang in his conversations. He looked at the man blankly, and that seemed to anger him more. He took the wooden chip from Caspar's hand. "Nee!" Casper said automatically in Dutch. Quickly he switched to heavily accented English. "No! It is mine! Please, give it to me..."

The dockworker smirked mockingly. "Yawannit? Go get it." He threw the chip with nonchalant ease toward a dock. Caspar gasped and followed it with his eyes. It was heading for the water, and his only hope, he could see was a girl sitting on the dock's edge. "Look out!" he cried to her, and ran toward her, toward the dock, toward his father's last precious advice, flying through the air and heading for the depths of the harbor waters...

[brooklynlove]

At the sound of the voice, Basie glanced frantically about, scrambling quickly to her feet. Visibly flustered, she wondered with a groan how many people had seen her obvious lack of poise. But her thoughts were stopped short as she caught sight of a blond-haired young man sprinting towards her. His arms were flailing wildly and he seemed to be calling something out in a strange tongue. It was definitely not French.

But her thoughts were to be diverted again when her eyes fixed suddenly on the blur of whatever it was that was now flying in her direction. With no time to think, her hands shot up instinctively to protect her face, and, never having been athletically inclined, she was surprised to feel the smooth grain of wood between her thumb and forefinger as the something hit her hand. Hard. As the rest of her fingers closed around the small, flat object, Basie blew out her breath and looked down curiously. Whatever it was had seemingly been flung out of nowhere, and she glanced around once again for any sign of where it had come from.

Basie's snapping blue eyes came to a halt on the boy who was now standing only a few yards away from her. His blond curls were tousled and she could hear his heavy breathing as he stared back at her, his expression a mix of anxiety and relief. She felt a faint flush creep into her cheeks as she took in the young man's bright blue eyes, and noticed that she had initially failed to realize what an attractive face he had. Basie let her eyes wander from the boy to the small, wooden chip that she now held in her palm. Turning it over, she was able to make out something engraved, something that she knew must be foreign as the words held no meaning to her: KENNIS IS MACHT. That wasn't French, either.

Finally, she allowed her gaze to return to the boy, just in time to grab hold of a post as he stepped gingerly onto her dock, the boards swaying over the daunting blue waters below them. She continued to watch curiously as he made his way to where she stood, and secretly hoped he would say something to her, although she knew she would have no idea what to say back. What did one say to such a boy? Perhaps he could explain the small object she still held.

[rainier]

As Caspar watched the ordeal unfold, it seemed like a miracle came before his eyes. As the girl on the dock turned, his chip went flying toward her, and as she put her hands up to block her face, the chip struck her hand, and she grasped it between her fingers. When it was safely in her hand, Caspar let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He began walking across the dock to where she stood, watching as she examined his chip with interest. For a second he was worried that she would be malicious enough to throw it, too, and here the water was only a foot away. Her eyes went to him, and he managed a slight smile. What a lovely face, he thought. And to have saved my treasure, like a miracle...

He reached the place where she stood, and for a moment neither of them spoke. Caspar found he had little to say, but looked at the hand that didn't hold his chip, grasping a post, and took the hand in both of his. Gestures, he thought, could speak any language. "Mijn engel," he mumbled, almost to himself. My angel. In English he said earnestly. "Thank you...for saving my father's gift." He wished his English was better, because he felt as if he could only express his gratitude in a language he was fluent in. It was apparent that this girl, this engel, was unaware of how important the wooden token was to Caspar. His father, a carpenter, had died of tuberculosis long ago, and that tragic event had marked the separation of Caspar and his four siblings forever. The wooden token was a lifeline for the sixteen-year-old Dutch boy, a reminder of Amsterdam, his father, and his brothers and sisters, none of which he would ever see again. He would have hated to see all of it float away on the harbor tide.

To the girl who had saved it, he put his hands out, asking for its return. His eyes were bright with relief and appreciation. "If I c-can repay you, m-madam, I s-s-shall in any way..." he said, and realized he was stammering from speaking English too quickly. But he chose to let it go for now without trying to correct himself; he was so overcome with relief of his good fortune.

[brooklynlove]

Basie's blue eyes still held a trace of confusion as she stared blankly at this beaming boy, who suddenly took her hand in both of his. His touch took her by surprise, but she welcomed the warmth of his hands and found herself wishing she could understand what he was faintly mumbling. She was pleased when the next words he chose were familiar, although heavily accented.

"Thank you...for saving my father's gift."

Basie struggled to make sense of the words. Gift? And she was fairly certain that she had never met the boy's father. It was then that she remembered the weight of the wooden chip nestled lightly in her palm, and her eyes sparked new understanding. This, this piece of wood of no apparent value save for the interesting inscription, must belong to the young man. Basie felt her cheeks begin to burn as she realized she was still holding the chip, and that this was what the boy had wanted all along. How silly of her for not understanding sooner! At the same time, she suddenly realized in embarrassment that she was still clinging unintentionally to the boy's hand, and she somewhat abruptly withdrew hers, hoping he hadn't noticed the hasty action.

The blond boy was holding out his hands toward her now, and she could see the gratitude in his kind blue eyes as he spoke again, this time in a more seemingly rushed manner. She placed the chip delicately in his hands.

"If I c-can repay you, m-madam, I s-s-shall in any way..."

Repay her? The idea hadn't even occurred to her! She was on the verge of dismissing the offer without a second thought, when she suddenly recalled, perhaps by coincidence, her very reason for pondering on the edge of the dock today. Was this some kind of answer? A sign Providence really was keeping an eye out for her after all? Basie had no idea, and at this point was almost afraid to hope for fear she find herself to be wrong. Still...she stole a glance at the boy's slight smile, his tousled blond curls, his eagerly grateful eyes, and decided to take the chance.

Basie proceeded to sit down on the dock again, this time further to the left than before. She looked timidly up at the boy and patted the spot next to her, gesturing for him to sit. She then added quickly, "Only if you want to. You don't have to stay, but...I think I'd like you to."

She bit her lip, waiting for his reply.

[rainier]

As the girl placed the small wooden disk in his hands, Caspar grasped it tightly, turning it in his hands as if testing its reality. He read the inscription, and it was as if he was suddenly satisfied that it was truly here in his hands. It was difficult for him to comprehend that it was safe again, now that he had almost lost it forever. He looked at the girl and said again, "Thank you, very much..." Grinning, held the chip in front of him, showing it to her. "My father was a carpenter. He made this for me before we left Amsterdam to come here. Before he died." He was explaining partially so she wouldn't think he'd gotten worked up about something insignificant, and partially because it was a story he almost enjoyed telling, though it never ceased to cause him a bit of pain.

He went on, "The writing is Dutch. Kennis is macht," he iterated, letting his native language come cleanly and easily. He translated, "Knowledge is power. Do you like it?" He held it up for her to see. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship. Ernst Schuyler had been fairly well-known in Amsterdam for his delicate woodwork and attention to detail. It was unfortunate that most people in the village needed large, simple designs, instead of Caspar's father's beautiful small works.

He watched, slightly curious, as the girl resumed her seat on the dock, and touched the seat next to her in an inviting gesture. "Only if you want to. You don't have to stay, but...I think I'd like you to."

Caspar smiled warmly, and lowered himself carefully onto the dock beside her. He looked out into the harbor, taking a moment to admire the shipping boats and boxes, crying seagulls and the vast expanse of the ocean that he couldn't quite believe stretched all the way to the other side of the world where he had traveled from. He turned back to the girl next to him. "My name is Caspar Schuyler, but my newsboy friends calls me the Professor. What could I call you?" He knew he was wrong somewhere in something he'd said, but he didn't know where or what. He was aware that he probably sounded stom, stupid.Verdomd, he wished he knew English better...

[brooklynlove]

Looking up at the blond, smiling boy still standing on the dock, Basie wondered for a moment if she would have been better off keeping her thoughts to herself, until she realized the next moment that he was seated next to her on the edge of the dock. She couldn't help but feel a little bit strange having a boy this close, and she noticed that she could sense his warmth even from where she sat. She blushed a little, but made no effort to shift away from him, something that surprised her. The boy was still a moment, and Basie would have liked nothing better than to turn and study his face, to search those blue eyes for any sign of what he might be thinking. She always liked to know about everyone's minds: their thoughts, their intellect, their feelings, what roads they had traveled, and where life was taking them now. She knew if only he would turn his head, she could find out.

And then he did. The boy turned to face her, and when a smile brightened his face, Basie found that everything she had just been thinking of had dissolved completely. The boy began to speak again, this time in slow, but otherwise very well pronounced English. He seemed slightly embarrassed at the sound of his own words, but Basie found his accent intriguing and leaned forward slightly in interest.

"My name is Caspar Schuyler, but my newsboy friends calls me the Professor. What could I call you?"

Of course he would want to know her name. For a second, she felt silly for not having realized it sooner, but replied quickly, "Basie. It's short for...something else." She had never liked her real name much. Basie was surprised by how easily she was able to talk to this boy, Caspar. It seemed almost unreal how he had come running, literally, towards her, across the docks, and was now seated next to her, his arm brushing hers.

"Caspar," she murmured, testing the name out. She liked the feel of it on her tongue and repeated it again, hoping he wouldn't hear. Then she turned to him.

"Caspar. You have very blue eyes."

[rainier]

"Basie. It's short for...something else."

"I see," Caspar said with a nod. More nicknames, then? It seemed that he was hard-pressed to encounter anyone in America who didn't have a nickname of some type. He and his family never called each other by nicknames of any type. He had heard names with shortened forms, but he had yet to get used to nicknames that were completely different. Racetrack. Stretch. Spot. Note. It mystified him, really, why someone would want people calling them by some other name. Granted, he'd been bestowed with one himself, but he still didn't see the sense in it. Maybe it was belonging. A nickname meant that they accepted you and wanted to be around you, didn't it?

"Caspar. Caspar. You have very blue eyes."

He blinked, startled. He supposed it was a compliment, but what a strange one! He was feeling more and more like he would never get used to American customs and things...it was just too different! But if he couldn't get used to the culture shock, he best expect it. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um...thank you," he said, his voice betraying the uncertainness he felt. "And, er, yours are very--nice..."

((SHORT! Ugh, sorry!))

[brooklynlove]

As soon as the words had left her mouth, Basie wanted to snatch them back. She knew she tended to blurt out whatever she was thinking, and more than once this had led to strange glances shot in her direction. She could only hope that maybe this boy would understand her a little better than most people. But even before he replied, Basie could see the confusion written clearly on Caspar's face as he struggled for a reply, and she felt her heart sink. Sometimes she wondered if hoping for something was really worth the price one had to pay for rejection. She averted her gaze as he cleared his throat and then found his voice, wishing desperately that she had been content to sit quietly listening to him talk, as she had often seen other girls do.

"Um...thank you. And, er, yours are very--nice..."

Resisting the urge to study Caspar's blue eyes and see if he really meant what he was saying, Basie kept her face turned away, feigning sudden interest in the hem of her dress. The silence was almost unbearable, and she could feel Caspar's gaze as her cheeks began to burn slightly with resentment. Of course, she knew this would happen. Despite all her hoping, it was just the way things worked. She thought something, opened her mouth, and suddenly, everything she had wanted was suddenly gone. And she had nothing and no one to blame but her own stupid self. She supposed the boy would now get to his feet, small wooden chip in pocket, and cross the docks, the way he had come. And that would be the end.

The more she thought about this, the more desperate she became, until suddenly, she looked down and, horrified, realized she had unintentionally grabbed the boy's hand and was now fervently clinging to it. Basie felt her heart stop.

[rainier]

The next few moments consisted of an awkward silence that Caspar found he couldn't disturb for lack of anything to say. He began to wonder if sitting with this girl as if they were old friends was a good idea in the first place. They had just met, and although she might very well be an angel in the flesh, it was clear that she was a very quiet angel, an imperfect angel in that. He knew he would sound like a fool if he thanked her again, so he refrained from that. But what to say to a girl you hardly knew? In Caspar's eyes, girls were the polar opposite from boys in every way, hence, awfully hard to understand. He wished he knew what to say to her, because he was thus far enjoying her company. It was different somehow, and it helped that he already felt a connection with her, for what she had done.

Suddenly, Basie grasped his hand in a tight hold. Caspar jumped a little, looked at their locked hands, and then up at her. She seemed agitated somehow, upset. He was stunned, and waited until she seemed to realize what she'd done before he spoke. "Are you all right?" he said, raising one eyebrow. He hoped she wasn't having a fit or anything; if she did he wouldn't know how to help her. He looked in her face and saw a great deal of chagrin and regret. Poor girl, what did she think she had done? He knew he probably should have taken his hand from hers, but how very insensitive would that be? He didn't move his hand, and said to her calmly, "Why do you worry? You did nothing wrong...what is the matter?" He offered her a small, shy smile.

[brooklynlove]

"Are you all right?"

Oh, what had she done? Basie had the sudden urge to plunge into the harbor and swim in the opposite direction just as fast as she could.Knowing, however, that that idea was a bit too dramatic to act on, she sighed heavily and quietly withdrew her hand from Caspar's, attempting a nonchalant expression, as the boy spoke kindly.

"Why do you worry? You did nothing wrong...what is the matter?"

Hearing him speak helped to soothe the tension that hung thickly in the air, and Basie decided to chance a look at him. She could see right away that he was smiling--a little-- and although she was far from at ease, she began to think that maybe her mistake wasn't quite as prominent as she had initially feared. Knowing she should answer his question, Basie straightened and then smoothed her skirts.

"Well," she began, not quite sure what she was going to say, "I realized a few moments ago that I gave you a...somewhat strange compliment." She managed a weak smile, but decided to go on.

"I tend to say exactly what I'm thinking, and as soon as I said it, I was afraid of what you'd think, because I could use someone to talk to, and I'd very much like you to stay." She knew she was rambling, but it was such a relief to finally let go, that she found it difficult to tell him the real reason for her embarrassment.

"So I was very afraid you would think me strange, because people always do and I'm not exactly sure why, but oh, I didn't think I could bear it if you did, too! And I got to thinking and not realizing again, and then...my hand..." Her voice trailed off as she approached the subject warily. Hopefully he would understand her English--she was talking very fast.

Having finished her explanation, Basie tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and watched the blond boy expectantly.

[rainier]

"Well, I realized a few moments ago that I gave you a...somewhat strange compliment."

With a sheepish grin, the Professor raised and lowered one shoulder. He couldn't contradict her there. It was a strange thing to tell a person, but it was nice to know, he supposed. But why was she so worried about it? Did she think she had insulted him somehow? Caspar knew that he, too, had to be careful when getting too friendly with people from other cultures. Sometimes there was a clash that wasn't premeditated. He had seen an Italian couple exclaiming over a beautiful American child, and when they reached out to pat her head, her parents lashed out. So he hoped Basie didn't think she had offended him in any way...

"I tend to say exactly what I'm thinking, and as soon as I said it, I was afraid of what you'd think, because I could use someone to talk to, and I'd very much like you to stay."

"No, no, that is fine," he insisted. "No, of course I will stay. I'm not offended at all..." He wished she would stop worrying. From what she said, she was one who didn't bother to think before she spoke, and so she often put her foot in her mouth. But Caspar didn't mind what she had said. It was unusual to be told, yes, but not offensive! He gave another sheepish grin as he said, "Your eyes are nice as well..." Who knew? Maybe she liked getting compliments on her eyes. They were nice, he thought, a pleasant color.

"So I was very afraid you would think me strange, because people always do and I'm not exactly sure why, but oh, I didn't think I could bear it if you did, too! And I got to thinking and not realizing again, and then...my hand..."

He looked down at her hand again. Grinning, he took her hand in both of his, as he had done before. "You are not strange," he said firmly. He knew what it was like to be called strange. For a long time, he and his family had been called that because of their language, their accent, their clothes, their bad English. He had been called an alien, an idiot, and a good-for-nothing, which he knew he was none. "And," he added to Basie, "I do not mind your hand." He looked at it quickly and smiled broadly. "It is nice, too, like your eyes."

[brooklynlove]

"No, of course I will stay. I'm not offended at all..."

He would stay! Basie felt the urge to let out a sigh of relief as he said the words, and she now sat studying Caspar's expression, as the young man's eyes met hers. She thought she heard him say something about her eyes, but she couldn't be sure as she was too busy watching his own. Basie wished desperately that she knew what was behind them, and while she was pondering this, realized with a sudden jolt that her hand was once again in both of his. She felt her heart begin to race and hoped that Caspar couldn't hear it.

"You are not strange."

She noticed that he said this in a very pronounced manner, as if he were trying to convince her of something he, too, had once felt unsure of. And it helped, somehow, that this boy she had just met could make such a defined statement about her character. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying her company, and she welcomed the thought, letting it warm her until the sting of her previous embarrassment had nearly gone completely.

"And, I do not mind your hand. It is nice, too, like your eyes."

Now it was her turn to be surprised by a compliment. Situations like this were not ones Basie normally encountered, and she tried to recall ever having a boy tell her she had nice hands before, all the while still keenly aware of his touch. She attempted to push the thought to the back of her mind, but found the task more difficult than she expected. Basie felt she should say something, and turned to Caspar again. He was grinning, and Basie didn't think his eyes could possibly be any more blue. She kept the thought to herself, though, and let her face ease into a smile as a light breeze swept through her curls.

"Thanks," she replied, glancing down at their hands, trying to think of something more to say. She wished she knew the right words to use to tell him how much his just sitting there meant to her, but she could think of none.

Just then, the thought occurred to her. At first, she dismissed it, knowing she had to be crazy; she had known him for all of fifteen minutes. Or had it been even less? But Basie remembered that she had once heard someone say, "A smile is the same in every language"...surely the same sort of concept would apply to what she was about to do. Slowly but without hesitation, Basie leaned toward Caspar, this time knowing full-well what she was doing, and brushed her lips lightly against his cheek.

[rainier]

Caspar was pleased he'd made Basie feel better about herself. He always believed, and although he faced adversary, probably always would believe, that New York City was a place where everyone could find a life, no matter who you were or how strange they called you. It was a place where you could make a living no matter what, doing whatever you could, and you wound soon find that there was someone who though it was a good idea and wanted to give you money for what you could do for them; soon there were three more, then ten. That was having success in America. And Caspar knew that it wasn't the same, no matter where else you went. This was why he often wondered about his siblings. Where could they have possibly gone that was as wonderful a place as this? He thought of Viona and Siemen, wherever they were; Jozef on a boat sailing to different parts of the world. Was Helena back in Amsterdam already? He might be able to guess.

Why had none of them contacted him...?

Why hadn't he contacted any of them...?

Caspar was drawn from his thought by a peculiar sensation on his cheek. He turned in time to see Basie withdrawing, and realized what had happened. Usually Caspar tried to think in English, to better his ease with the language, but his thoughts were so sudden and urgent they could only be Dutch: Mijn goedheid, ze kuste me! Embarrassed and surprised, he gave a slight start, turned red as a beet, and scrambled to his feet, very nearly losing his balance and falling into the water. He caught himself on a dock post and struggled to find the words. The action had flustered him so that he wondered if he'd forgotten English completely. But words came now, and he was only half-sure she could understand him. "I--I--I'm..." He stopped, thought in Dutch, translated, and said slowly, "I may...I mean...I might. No. Verdomd!" He wasn't even sure what he meant to say. All he could do was train his eyes away from the pretty girl, the engel, who had kissed him.

((I so owe you 5673975 replies. I'm sorry! ))

[brooklynlove]

Basie knew she shouldn't have done it. She knew that Caspar, kind boy though he may be, wasn't the type to receive such a gesture easily. She contemplated this as she drew back from him and observed. At this point in time, Basie wasn't regretting what she had done, even though she was almost certain that Caspar would resent her actions. She wanted to see his face.

Knowing that staring again might alarm him, she attempted to watch him gingerly from the side, and could see that he was clearly flustered. Basie stifled a sigh; she wouldn't have expected anything else. Aware that he was watching her, or rather, trying not to watch her for fear of meeting her gaze, Basie averted her eyes. She felt the dock sway as Caspar scuffled quickly to his feet, barely regaining his balance as he clutched at a post. The warmth of his hand was now gone, and Basie's palm felt cool and strangely empty.

"I--I--I'm..."

Caspar stopped suddenly, apparently at a loss for words. His bright blue eyes seemed wild and surprised, and Basie noticed as she looked up at him that his waves of blond hair were now ruffled, matching his bewildered expression. He appeared to be thinking frantically.

"I may...I mean...I might. No. Verdomd!"

Basie had no idea what verdomd meant, but from the way he spat the word, she thought she could give a pretty good guess. Basie's hands went nervously to the hem of her skirt, her eyes wide with confusion. His last words had sent a chill down her spine, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, never taking her eyes off of him. She knew he didn't mean her harm, that his sudden outburst was only the natural result of her inconsideration, but at the same time, she felt strangely frightened. There was nothing left to do, nothing left to say. She couldn't explain to him, and even if she could have, she doubted he would have the patience to listen to an explanation at present.

Standing up, she smoothed her skirts, buying one last moment before she showed her true cowardice. After several long seonds of silence had passed, Basie looked up once again, brought her eyes to Caspar's face with an apologetic expression she wasn't sure he would understand. This wasn't his fault. Then, turning to the harbor, Basie drew a deep breath, dove, and plunged into the water below.