Henry’s mother’s uncle carried a scar on his face that ran from the bottom of his eye to his chin, splitting the left side of his lip. He seemed to always have a perpetual frown, even when he told a joke.
It was after the holidays, and the DeSantos’ were doing their yearly visits to the cousins and the extended family that would take up their weekends in January and part of February. The first weekend after the holiday was the worst – they would hit all the nursing homes where all the second-uncles and aunts ended up, and were expected to die during the year. It was probably the last time he’d see them alive.
He and his sister got dressed in their Sunday finest and piled into the car for the long drives to parts of the state they hardly ever went to.
They ended up at the Oak Ridge Rehabilitation Center, and there were able to see Harry’s mother’s uncle, Henry. He had been in the Rehab center only these last six months, when his cousins had found him smoking in a hoarder’s nightmare. He had to give up smoking which made him ornery.
He greeted them in the common room and didn’t move from there. Harry could tell the man was lucid enough to be embarrassed by his straits – he didn’t even have cookies to offer them, he said. “They let me keep nothing,” he said, his German accent apparent in his quiet fury.
His mother promised that she would bring him electric cigarettes, at that he piped up. He smiled at the two children, which scared his younger sister because he didn’t have any teeth. “You have a natural talent, yes?” he said to Harry, which he answered with a look of confusion.
Henry leaned in, and said, “I can see you do not see it yet. But you will. I will not see it in you. But remember this: do not rely on nature, for She is fickle.”
Harry nodded, knowing that this was wisdom of an old man, and he kept that close to his heart.
In July of that year, Henry died. Harry was 15 when he went to the funeral. He overheard someone tell a woman why Henry had the scar – he had gotten it in a duel, when it was still legal in Germany to fight them.
Harry asked his mother about fencing. Nobody in his school did it, and she initially wondered what got him interested in it. Not realizing the cost of equipment and what it would take, she initially agreed. He kept it up while he was in high school, even after the accident.
It was a dark and stormy night. His friend was driving, and he and a few other kids were coming down from Breakneck Hill when they saw the fire.
A car had gone off the road, down the embankment and caught fire. All the kids piled out of the car but there was nothing they could do. Save one.
Harry saw the base of the fire, and stretched his hand out toward it. The kids watched in amazement as the fire turned into a line, heading in their direction. It pooled at Harry’s feet, like water, but it didn’t burn him. He raised his other hand, a hand encased in ice, and plunged it into the pool. The fire went out.
“Holy shit, Harry, what did you do?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said.
He went to PRIMUS the next day to get assessed.