Finally the return flight – from home, back to home – making notes for another key note, preparing a key change
while humming a song, remembering a passage from Kazuo’s Klara and the Sun
‘It can’t be, can it, Klara? That you believe you’ve made an arrangement?’
I thought Manager was about to reprimand me, the way she’d reprimanded two boy AFs once for laughing at Beggar Man from the window. But Manager placed a hand on my shoulder and said, in a quieter voice than before:
‘Let me tell you something, Klara. Children make promises all the time. They come to the window, they promise all kinds of things. They promise to come back, they ask you not to let anyone else take you away. It happens all the time. But more often than not, the child never comes back. Or worse, the child comes back and ignores the poor AF who’s waited, and instead chooses another. It’s just the way children are. You’ve been watching and learning so much, Klara. Well, here’s another lesson for you. Do you understand?’
‘Good. So let’s have no more of this.’ She touched my arm, then turned away.