Chapter 1 -

Kurt was four years old, and had recently attained self-consciousness. At this point, he began to accumulate the vast store of memories that make up the bulk of this manuscript. This is the first item to be tucked neatly away in the file cabinet of his mind.

Mama was screaming something awful. What was the visiting neighbor-lady doing to her?

Pained cries echoed off the tiled walls of the bathroom, while Papa ran back and forth with towels. Could Mama, Master of Things in Proper Places and Ruler of the Spot-free Home, be making all that fuss over a *bath*?

Maybe the water was too cold. "Papa," little Kurti said as his father made his umpteenth hurried pass through the living room, "why don't you give Mama some hot water?"

"Yes!" Zelig grabbed Kurt by the shoulders and stared at him, wild-eyed. "Hot water! Right!" He dashed to the stove, lit a flame under the kettle, mumbled incomprehensibly to himself while it heated, and carried it off to the bathroom.

Mama still screamed.

~~~~~

Later, Papa came out with what looked to Kurt like a bundle of dirty towels. But instead of taking it to the laundry, he sat on the couch with it. "Kurti," he said softly. "You have a sister."

"Where?" the little boy looked around.

"Here," Papa folded down a corner of the towel.

Kurt looked at the tiny face. "She's too small," he declared. "Doesn't she eat?"

"Of course," Papa smiled. "She'll get bigger."

"Where'd she come from?"

"From inside Mama."

"Did I come from inside Mama too?"

Papa's expression grew sad. "No, Kurti. You came from another woman."

"Who? Frau Rosenthal?"

"No-"

"Frau Waldschmidt?" Kurt guessed.

"No, Kurti. We don't know who you came from."

"Then when we find out," Kurt said, "it will be a surprise."

"Yes," Zelig agreed. "It will be a surprise."

*****

That evening, Zelig summoned his eldest child to the master bedroom.

"Come sit, Kurti," he patted the bed.

Kurt hopped up and snuggled against his father.

Papa was holding a wrinkled piece of paper. "This is all we have from your real mother," he said.

Kurt looked at the pencil marks. "What's it say?"

"It says, 'His name is Kurt Wagner. Love him like your own and he is yours.'"

"Did that come in the mail?" Kurt asked.

"No, it was on the doorstep the day after we found you," Papa explained.

"Can I keep it?"

"You can have it when you get older," Zelig ruffled Kurt's hair. "Now off to bed with you."

"Night," Kurt accepted a kiss and padded off for the room he shared with Stefan.

Chapter 2 -

Kurt, age 5, knelt on a chair at the dining room table. He pored over a page of letters written in Margali's careful hand.

"A," he recited. "B. C. D."

"Very good," Margali tidied up a few things on the counter. "Bedtime for you now."

"Can I read yet?" Kurt asked hopefully.

"Not yet. Maybe tomorrow."

"Can I have a cookie?"

"No. Learning is its own reward," Margali swept out of the room.

Papa came in, winked at Kurt, and passed him a cookie from the big jar on the counter. Kurt stuffed it into his mouth and wiped away the crumbs with an off-white linen napkin.

"Now listen to your Mama," Zelig said, giving Kurt a light swat on the bottom. The boy giggled and scampered for the bathroom.

*****

"Good night," Margali said softly, shutting the light and backing out of the room.

"Mama?" Kurt mumbled from his bed. "You forgot to turn off the light."

"It is off. Go to sleep."

"It's *on*," Kurt insisted.

"No it isn't," Margali repeated. "Good night."

"On," Kurt whispered after she had left.

"Mmrfl," Stefan said into his blankets, and went back to sleep.

*****

A week later, Kurt ran screaming through the house.

"I can read!" he shouted. "I can *read*!"

"I wanna read too," Stefan said automatically.

"You can't," Kurt sniffed. "Reading is for big people."

"I'm a big people," Stefan pouted.

"Bigger than Jimaine," Kurt conceded. "But still little."

"I wanna be big," the younger brother frowned.

"Eat more," Kurt advised. "That's how I got big."

*****

Zelig was late home that night. So late that he missed dinner and bedtimes. He shut the front door quietly behind him and felt his way through the darkened living room.

"*There* you are," a little voice said.

Zelig jumped. "Kurti?" he said into the void.

"I can *read*," Kurt said proudly. "I've been waiting forever to show you."

"How about in the morning?" Papa said tiredly.

"*Now*," Kurt insisted.

"Okay, let me find the light switch," he felt along the wall.

"It's already on," Kurt said impatiently. "Look, Mama wrote these for me. I - am - a - boy. Papa - can - tame - a - horse."

"You have a good memory."

"I'm *reading*".

"Okay," Zelig placated. "Why don't you read this? Where are you?"

"Here."

Papa carefully lowered himself into a chair. "Come here, Kurti."

There was a pause before a warm body found his knee and took the newspaper in his hands.

"Today - the - Berlin - Wall - came - down. People - were - happy - to -"

"He reads in the dark," Zelig said faintly.

"It's not dark!" Kurt jumped down and went to the light switch. "See, it's ... it's off," he said in amazement. "Papa?" his voice suddenly trembled.

"Yes?"

"You can't see?"

"Not a thing."

A whisper. "I can see everything..."

Chapter 3 -

"How'd you like to work with the horses?" Papa asked one day.

"I want to be an acrobat," Kurt replied.

"Don't you want to be like your old man?"

"I guess," the boy shrugged.

It was early September, and the leaves were already turning colors. Kurt looked up at them as he followed Papa to the stables.

The low wooden building was dim and dusty. Kurt blinked and sneezed.

"Can I ride that one?" he pointed to a brown horse with a stripe down its nose.

"No," Papa said, picking up a pitchfork. "But you can muck out its stall."

"Ew," Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Hello Mr. Horse," he said, peeking over the half-door.

Papa showed him how to open the latch. "Do you know how to walk behind a horse?" he asked.

"Put one foot in front of the other?"

The experienced horse-trainer laughed. "You put your hand on them, so they know you're there." He demonstrated. "Oh, and Kurti?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch what you put your feet in."

~~~~~

Kurt leaned heavily on the pitchfork. The stall was clean, but he felt like a mess. "Can I ride him now?" he asked.

"I think he'd like to have some breakfast first," Papa replied.

Kurt groaned and went to fill the metal tray.

~~~~~

"*Now*?" he asked, when the horse had finished.

"Yes," Papa said. "Now."

He led the horse outside and lifted Kurt onto his back. "Kick him to make him go," he said.

"*Kick* him?" Kurt gasped.

"He's very big," Papa shrugged. "It doesn't hurt him."

Kurt thought about this for a minute, then nudged the horse with his feet. It ambled forward across the grass.

"Look at you!" Papa grinned. "You'll be a horse-man yet!"

"I'd still rather be an acrobat."

~~~~~

After helping Kurt dismount, Papa led the horse back to its stall. "Run and get our friend some water," he instructed.

Kurt hobbled to the trough, filled a bucket, and returned.

"My legs..." he groaned.

"Think how the horse feels," Papa said, stroking the animal's neck. "Bring the curry-combs and I'll show you what you can do for him."

Kurt retrieved the brushes. Papa demonstrated proper technique, and Kurt started on the parts he could reach.

"I think I could use some of this," he said after a while.

Papa laughed. "I think a *bath* is in order."

"That too."

Chapter 4 -

Kurt sat on the grass, staring raptly up at the acrobats flying on the practice rig. He wasn't allowed to so much as touch the support poles. He argued this point frequently with Mama.

"Why can't I go on the trapeze?" he would ask.

"Because the trapeze is for big people," Margali always replied.

"I am big."

"Not big enough."

Kurt cleaned his plate at every meal, and got plenty of sleep, and drank his milk, and *still* he wasn't big enough.
The world was so unfair.

Adler, one of the acrobats, taught Kurt floor exercises when he had the time. He had learned somersaults, cartwheels, and how to walk on his hands. He could almost do a back-handspring without winding up in a heap on the ground.
If only he could get big faster.

*****

Zelig stood back and surveyed his work critically. It looked like it would hold.

"What's this?" Kurt pointed to a tray of plaster.

"I'm patching the walls," Papa explained. "Can't have any drafts sneaking up on us this winter." He wiggled his fingers, took a step forward, and tickled Kurt until he shrieked. "Why don't you have a look and see if you spot any cracks?"

Kurt fixed his shirt and glared at the brickwork. "Here's one," he put his hand over the spot, and felt the warmer air from inside.

Papa brought his tray closer, and dabbled his brush in it. "Where?"

Kurt took his hand away. Except that it didn't move.

"I'm stuck," he said.

"I thought it was dry," Papa swiped his hand across the wall. "It is..."

Kurt pulled backwards, but his hand remained immoveable.

"Must be you. What have you been getting into?" Zelig asked sternly.

"Nothing!" Kurt protested. He put his other hand on the wall and pushed against it. No success. "Oh..." he said. "Now they're both stuck."

"For goodness' sake," Papa sighed, putting down his brush. "Come here, you." He picked up Kurt from around his waist and pulled.

"Ow!" Kurt cried. "Ooowwwwww!"

Papa put his feet back on the ground, and he sagged.

"What's going on out here?" Margali appeared in the doorway.

"Kurti's got stuck," Zelig rubbed his head.

"Help?" the boy whimpered.

Margali came out, examined the situation, and cast a simple spell on Kurt's hands. It didn't help. She shrugged and went back inside.

~~~~~

The sun was upon the highest hill of its daily journey, and still Kurt was stuck. Mama had to come hand-feed him his lunch.

A crowd of neighbors had begun to gather, watching the ongoing efforts to detach the boy and kibbitzing loudly.

Papa's latest idea had been to simply pry him off. He'd tried a spatula, a thin piece of wood, and a hoof-pick, and had then returned to sitting on the grass and thinking.

Kurt, in a fit of desperation, tried planting a foot against the wall. That stuck too.

The odd thing was that his other leg felt no strain. There was no downward pull on his limbs, as there should have been. It felt like he was standing in two gravity zones.

The day wore on.

~~~~~

It was getting late, and the neighbor ladies had all left to make dinner. Papa was reading him a story, but Kurt wasn't really listening.

At some point, Jimaine got outside and snuggled into Papa's lap.

"Why are you standing there?" she asked eventually.

"I'm stuck," Kurt sighed.

"Why don't you let go?"

"Er..." Well, it was worth a try. Anything was worth a try at this point.

He let go. Something subtle released, and he was free, standing on one leg, looking like some sort of impressionistic dancer.

"Well whaddya know," Papa said. "Sometimes you just need a new pair of eyes. Now let's get inside."

He scooped up Jimaine, and Kurt followed them to dinner.

He was mostly silent as he ate, thinking things over.

Somewhere deep inside his mind, the knowledge of his new skill met his future aspirations, and a plan began to work itself out.

*****

"I heard he can climb walls."

"*I* heard he can stand on ceilings."

"Upside-down? That's so cool!"

"I have to try that!"

"Hey Kurt! Over here!"

Kurt turned, waved, and walked over to the circle of his friends.

"Can you really climb walls?" Adele asked.

"I think," he replied non-committally.

"And stand on ceilings?" Gunther said eagerly.

"I don't know," Kurt lied.

"Will you show us?" Vala asked hopefully.

"Not today," he smiled enigmatically, and left.

In truth, he had been practicing at night in his room and knew exactly what he could do. He was just saving it for a special surprise.

*****

"Mama?" Kurt crept out of his room. "Papa?"

Zelig put down his paper. "Yes?"

"Can I show you something?"

Margali lay down her knitting. "Go ahead, Kurti."

He padded over to a wall, turned, and held up one finger. "Watch!"

Papa tilted his head curiously. Kurt faced the wall and put his hands on it. 'Stick,' he thought. One foot met the vertical surface, then the other.

Up he went, falling easily into a practiced rhythm of sticking and letting go. He carefully navigated the corner and crawled across the ceiling.

"Well, knock me down with a feather," Papa breathed.

Kurt un-stuck his hands and stood slowly, upside-down, by the light. "Look," he shouted gleefully. "If I can stick, I can't fall! Now you *have* to let me go on the trapeze!"

"You may," Margali said.

Kurt two-legged it down the other wall and leaped onto Mama. "Thank yoouuuuu!" he squealed.

Margali gently pushed him off, rose, and departed for the bedroom.

Papa opened his mouth, closed it, and followed her.

"What are you thinking?" he demanded, after closing the door.

"I could not refuse," Margali sat on the bed, staring at her hands.

"Not again," Zelig sighed and sat beside her.

"Choices belong to those who cannot See," she said sadly. "I am bound by the future that was intended."

"And if you said no?"

"His life-path would change, and be invisible to me," Margali looked up, and Zelig saw the tears in her eyes. "You don't know...what horrible things..."

Zelig held her and repeated what she'd often said. "It must be. Only a fool would trick the Fates."

Chapter 5 -

It was a very busy winter. Kurt practiced on the rig every day that he could open the front door. By the time he came back, Mama had come up with something else for him to study. Oddly, she suddenly thought it was very important for Kurt to know how to sew.

Kurt had traveled with the troupe before. He was their one and only behind-the-scenes man. His job was to stay behind the scenes. This usually involved sitting in the trailer, staring at numbers or European capitals or names of dead people. He didn't understand why, but Mama and Papa and Adler and everyone seemed to think it was very important, so he did what they said.

"Kurti?" Papa appeared in the doorway. "Are you busy?"

"I'm learning three-times," he replied, pushing away the page of multiplication tables.

"Let's hear it," Zelig pulled out a chair for himself.

Kurt recited products up to three-times-twelve.

"Good for you," Zelig smiled. "I daresay you've got that down." He coughed. "Kurti...have you ever noticed anything different about yourself?"

"Different from what?

"Well, from other people."

Kurt thought about this. "No."

"See, like the way you climb walls," Papa said. "Nobody else can do that."

"Nobody else could break that horse last year," Kurt shrugged.

"Kurti," Papa sighed. "What I'm trying to say is...you *look* different."

"Everybody looks different," Kurt said.

"But you're a lot different," Papa took Kurt's hand across the table. "Kurti, you're the only one with a tail. You're the only one who's blue. You're the only one who has three fingers."

Kurt stared at him, shocked. "Am I...wrong?" he asked finally.

"Not wrong," Papa assured him. "Just special."

"Is that bad?"

"Sometimes," Papa said. "Some people don't like people who are extra-special. They're scared, or jealous, or confused. That's why you have to be careful."

Kurt nodded silently.

"When we go touring this summer, we're going to tell people you're wearing a costume. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Need chocolate?"

Another nod.

As fresh flakes piled onto knee-high drifts, father and son raided the cozily familiar ceramic cookie jar.

*****

Eyes.

That was what Kurt remembered from his first public performance, staged in a nowhere-town not far from his home.
He had been through the motions thousands of times before, and so the impressions he took away from that afternoon were of thousands of eyes, strangers' eyes, watching his every move.

Immediately after his act, he returned to the trailer, as Papa had instructed him. He'd stayed only long enough to accept the crowd's applause.

These events repeated themselves many times over the course of the summer, the minute differences blurring in Kurt's memory. He could not later recall how many shows he'd done, or the names of more than a handful of the towns. He did, however, know how many errors he'd made while performing: zero.

The older acrobats complained good-naturedly about being upstaged, and set to work inventing harder routines for the young prodigy.

Those plans never made it further than a few practice sessions.

*****

It was mid-August, and the troupe was on the final leg of their summer tour.

Kurt had given another forgettable, to him, performance, and was on his way to the trailer when he overheard men's voices. He paused to listen.

"The boy is our star!" said a voice Kurt recognized as the elected ringmaster. "You can't have him."

"Boy?" said an unfamiliar voice in surprise.

"The lad is no more than seven."

"Seven!" was the incredulous reply. "In all his life, Amos has seen no one give such a show."

Why did this man refer to himself in the third person? Kurt's mother had broken him of that habit long ago. He would have thought this man very stupid, if Mama had not also taught him to look for the good in people.

"He is talented, indeed." Kurt swelled at the praise from his friend.

"Why the costume, though?"

"It is no costume."

"If it is no costume, the boy is a fr-"

"Sir!" interrupted the owner. "We do not call him that. Here, we judge him only by his talent."

A funny noise from the stranger. "I must have this boy for my circus."

"He is happy here, and here he shall stay," the ringmaster insisted.

"You will regret this," Amos said as he stomped off.

The ringmaster ducked back into the tent to introduce the next act, and Kurt ran for a safe place.

~~~~~

The furry boy hid beneath his bed. There was something about the Amos-person that he didn't like. He definitely didn't want to go with him.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Zelig let himself in. "Kurti?"

"Mm?"

Zelig sat on Stefan's bed. "Something wrong?"

"Do you love me?"

"Of course," Papa said, obviously suprised by the question. "Mama and I love you very much."

"Would you ever send me away?"

"Only if you wanted to go."

"And would you protect me from bad things?"

"Forever and always."

"No matter what?" Golden eyes peeked from the darkness beneath the quilt.

"You know we do."