Chapter 5 — Home
And thus begins Chapter Five.
Now, children.
There I was.
Main road.
Home
somewhere on the other side.
The council leans forward.
Dog beside me.
Bottle cap treasure secured.
Navigation successful.
Park.
Barber shop.
Main road.
Children.
The three year old cartographer had done it.
Almost.
Because there remained one final obstacle.
The road.
The council looks at it.
Cars.
Buses.
Bikes.
Moving vehicles.
And one extremely important fact.
I was three.
The council grows concerned.
I did not know how to cross roads.
Not properly.
Crossing roads belonged to adults.
You held a hand.
They looked left.
Looked right.
Did whatever advanced calculations adults apparently performed.
Then you crossed.
Toddler Nuo possessed none of this training.
I looked at the road.
Looked at Dog.
The council looks at Dog.
Dog looked at me.
Probably.
Children.
Canine Protection Protocol had reached its limits.
Excellent companion.
Strong emotional support.
Useful against loneliness.
Absolutely useless at explaining traffic rules.
The council nods.
A specialist.
So
goodbye.
I crouched.
Pat head.
Scratch ears.
The ancient ceremony.
Perhaps one final:
“Good boy.”
Then I stepped away.
And Dog?
The council grows quiet.
He stayed.
Sat there.
Watching.
Children.
A silent guardian.
He had walked with me through the unknown.
Reached the boundary of his jurisdiction.
And simply remained there
as I approached the final obstacle.
The council collectively whispers:
What a good boy.
Correct.
Now.
Problem.
Need cross road.
Don’t know how cross road.
Dog unable to assist.
The council opens the toddler strategy matrix.
And children
for once,
the solution came quickly.
Adults.
I had been attempting to communicate with adults all day.
Badly.
“Mother.”
Failed.
“Home.”
Failed.
But perhaps this required fewer assumptions.
I walked toward the nearest man.
Looked up.
And said:
“Road.
Cross.”
The council pauses.
Progress.
Two words.
Children.
Language development in real time.
Then
I raised my hand toward him.
The council grows quiet.
And he understood.
Immediately.
No confusion.
No questions.
No attempt to decode which Mother or which Home I meant.
He simply took my hand.
The council smiles.
And together
we crossed.
Now,
children.
I did not understand traffic law.
So from my perspective,
something magnificent happened.
The man stepped onto the road.
And vehicles
stopped.
The council erupts.
REVERENCE.
Exactly.
Cars halted.
Bikes slowed.
The sea of machines parted.
Not because of signals.
Not because the man knew when it was safe.
No.
Toddler Nuo’s interpretation was obvious.
This adult possessed authority.
The council laughs.
The vehicles recognized him.
They respected him.
Perhaps feared him.
Children.
I had found a road wizard.
The council applauds.
And holding the hand of this powerful stranger,
I marched across.
One side.
Middle.
Other side.
The council grows quiet.
And then
I saw it.
My apartment complex.
The council rises.
Home.
Actual home.
Not the abstract concept.
Not a word shouted at strangers.
Not a direction inferred from hated barber shops.
The building.
The gate.
The place I knew.
Children.
Quest marker located.
And before the gate
people.
Many people.
The council squints.
Mother.
Father.
Neighbours.
And
police.
The council gasps.
Police?
Children.
Police.
Actual cops.
Toddler Nuo saw uniforms
and had perhaps the least appropriate reaction available.
Whoa.
Cops.
Cool.
The council collapses.
Everyone else was apparently living through a missing child emergency.
I had just unlocked a celebrity encounter.
As I got closer,
the scene came into focus.
Mother
crying.
Not little tears.
Weeping.
Father
worried.
Tense.
Nervous.
Neighbours
present.
I assume concerned.
Children.
I barely registered them.
Because
cops.
The council sighs.
Priorities remained consistent.
Then somebody saw me.
The council grows still.
Three years old.
Walking toward the apartment.
Holding a stranger’s hand.
Backpack on.
Treasure inside.
Marching with the confidence of an explorer returning from foreign conquest.
Children.
I had no idea what I looked like from their perspective.
To me?
Triumphant return.
Quest complete.
To them?
The missing toddler had simply materialized.
The council erupts.
Mother ran.
She reached me.
Grabbed me.
Hugged me.
Tight.
The council quiets.
Father came too.
Hug.
Children.
For approximately one beautiful second
wholesome.
Pure reunion.
Everyone safe.
Child recovered.
Parents relieved.
The council smiles.
Then
rage.
The council braces.
“WHERE WERE YOU?”
“What happened?”
“WHO IS THIS?”
Children.
Questions.
So many questions.
Voices.
Adults everywhere.
Mother crying and furious.
Father relieved and furious.
Police.
Neighbours.
The mysterious road wizard still beside me.
And Toddler Nuo?
Calm.
Because apparently I possessed evidence that would explain the entire situation.
The council becomes worried.
I opened the bag.
Presented the loot.
The council goes silent.
Bottle caps.
Children.
Lots of bottle caps.
Different colours.
Rare colours.
Glorious colours.
The fruits of my expedition.
My explanation was effectively:
Look what I found.
The council collapses.
And the adults
collectively
sighed.
Not because the mystery had become less terrifying.
But because suddenly,
they understood.
Their son had not been kidnapped.
He had not deliberately run away.
He had not been lured somewhere.
Children.
He had seen bottle caps.
The council nods solemnly.
Case solved.
The entire citywide emotional catastrophe
had been caused by shiny little pieces of discarded metal.
The crow was in me always.
The council laughs.
Then I remembered
Helper.
The man.
The road wizard.
I pointed at him.
“Helper.”
The council grows soft.
A successful noun.
Finally.
I walked up to him.
Thanked him.
However a three year old thanks someone.
Probably simple.
Probably sincere.
And then Father spoke to him.
What did they discuss?
Children.
Archive unavailable.
Perhaps Father thanked him.
Perhaps offered him money.
Perhaps asked where he found me.
Perhaps briefly interrogated him because his missing three year old had arrived holding this man’s hand.
All reasonable options.
I do not know.
Because I had more important business.
The council becomes suspicious.
The cops.
Children.
Cops.
I had acquired an audience.
And I had loot to display.
The council erupts.
So while Father handled adult matters,
I showed police officers my bottle caps.
The council stares.
Imagine this from their side.
Missing child call.
Family distressed.
Search underway.
Child finally returns.
They lean down expecting perhaps fear,
confusion,
tears
and the child proudly begins presenting garbage.
The council laughs helplessly.
This one is blue.
This one is red.
This one is some colour I didn’t yet possess vocabulary for.
Children.
Evidence.
Artifacts.
Relics from beyond the known world.
And perhaps somewhere in those police officers’ expressions
was the exact realization every person who has travelled with me eventually reaches.
This child is going to be a problem.
The council applauds.
But I was home.
That mattered.
Mother had found me.
Or technically,
I had found Mother.
The council objects.
Perspective.
Fine.
Mutual recovery.
Father was there.
The police could stop searching.
The neighbours could return to their lives.
The road wizard had completed his escort mission.
Dog was somewhere across the road,
hopefully living an excellent dog life.
And the bottle caps?
Safe.
The council nods.
Most important.
Children.
On paper,
the Seventh Wandering ends here.
Three year old Nuo saw treasure.
Followed treasure.
Lost Mother.
Tried to find Mother.
Failed.
Tried to find Home.
Failed.
Acquired Dog.
Found Park.
Found Barber Shop.
Found Main Road.
Acquired Adult.
Crossed Road.
Returned Home.
Presented Loot.
The council checks every objective.
Complete.
The definitive first Wandering.
The earliest road memory possible.
The ancient origin of nearly every protocol that came later.
Follow curiosity.
Talk to strangers when lost.
Trust landmarks.
Dogs are allies.
When one method fails,
change methods.
Keep moving.
And apparently
bring home a souvenir.
The council smiles.
So yes.
That should be the end.
And so ends the Seventh Wandering of the Unbegun.
The definitive earliest Wandering.
The one memory cannot possibly overthrow.
The council begins closing the Archive.
Except
children.
Stop.
The council freezes.
There is one chapter left.
The council slowly reopens the file.
Because apparently,
even after a three year old disappears into Kochi,
returns home carrying a bag of bottle caps,
and causes enough alarm for police to become involved
history still had
one final thing to say.
Thus concludes Chapter Five.
The Road.
The Silent Guardian.
The Road Wizard.
The Triumphant Return.
The Furious Hug.
The Police Loot Exhibition.
And The Almost Ending.
Children.
Toddler Nuo had made it home.
The Wandering was over.
Except
not quite.
