Mick makes new friends, some of them very young, and finds he still has a way with children.

Written in loving memory of my father who gave me the gift of music and so much love.

This one's for you, Dad, and for all the nights you sang me to sleep.

The song I chose to go with this story is Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel) by Billy Joel. It reminds me beautifully of my childhood, and it sparked off the initial idea for this story.

Goodnight, my angel
Time to close your eyes
And save these questions for another day
I think I know what you've been asking me
I think you know what I've been trying to say
I promised I would never leave you
And you should always know
Wherever you may go
No matter where you are
I never will be far away

Goodnight, my angel
Now it's time to sleep
And still so many things I want to say
Remember all the songs you sang for me
When we went sailing on an emerald bay
And like a boat out on the ocean
I'm rocking you to sleep
The water's dark and deep
Inside this ancient heart
You'll always be a part of me

Goodnight, my angel
Now it's time to dream
And dream how wonderful your life will be
Someday your child may cry
And if you sing this lullaby
Then in your heart
There will always be a part of me

Someday we'll all be gone
But lullabies go on and on...
They never die
That's how you
And I
Will be

February 1948

As I was descending the steep flagstone stairs outside Johnstone's grocery store, carefully minding my steps, a small figure came dashing along the sidewalk at high speed and stopped to wait until I had safely reached street level.

"Good morning, Mister!" A gap-toothed boy's face grinned up at me. "Do you remember me?"

"Why, sure", I said, earnestly reaching out to shake his hand. "Good morning, Conrad. Nice to see you again."

"And you! Will you tell me about the sharks now?" he asked, his eyes shining bright. "Please!"

His father caught up with us at that moment, panting a little. "There you are! I've been l-looking for you everywhere! Why …"

"Look, Daddy, I found the shark man!" the boy cried out proudly. "Isn't that grand!"

The man appeared a little mortified and unsure of what to say. When he finally spoke, it was in an apologetic tone. "H-hello again. And s-sorry. I hope Conrad isn't g-getting on your nerves. He w-was so f-f-fascinated with those sharks you m-mentioned when…"

"Oh, not to worry", I said. "They are quite fascinating creatures. Look, Conrad, I've got to go now, I'm urgently expected home with these veggies, but I'll tell you about the sharks another time, okay?"

"Okay", Conrad nodded, even though his face fell.

I felt a trifle guilty at his disappointment and tried to think of something reassuring to say. "I'm sure we'll meet again soon. Are you living somewhere around here?"

"Just down the road", said the father, pointing. "I w-wasn't aware that we're neighbours, kind of."

"Me neither. What a nice coincidence", I said and added, "Sorry, I really gotta go now. See you soon, I hope!"

With a little wave, I set off on my way home, swinging the bag of groceries from my hand as I walked. I really hoped it wouldn't be long until I met the inquisitive kid again who was so refreshingly unafraid to address me.

A few days later, Conrad and his dad happened to show up at the bus station when I was waiting for my connection on my way home from work.

Again, the boy greeted me joyfully, and his father didn't appear too embarrassed on his behalf this time but said, "How nice to meet again. And s-sorry that I've never introduced myself p-properly. Joseph Schell."

"Mick Carpenter", I said and shook his hand, exchanging some niceties while Conrad fidgeted excitedly, waiting for his chance to speak up.

"Mr. Carpenter, will you …"

"You'll have your sharks today", I said, laughing. "There's the bus, let's get on."

Conrad happily installed himself in the free seat next to me and listened, rapt and big-eyed, as I told him about the small and rather harmless species of shark living in the waters off the islands where I had sometimes encountered them when I was out diving.

As the bus turned the last corner, Conrad said, "You know, Mr. Carpenter, it's my ninth birthday next Saturday, and I'm having a party. Can you come, too?" With a hasty glance at his father, he added, "It's okay if he comes, isn't it, Dad? You said I could invite whoever I want."

"Sure", his father nodded. "I'm sure your m-mum won't mind. If Mr. Carpenter wants to come, that is." And, to me, sensing my hesitation to intrude on their celebration, "Really, feel free to drop by. And b-bring your wife, too."

"It'll be my pleasure", I said solemnly. "Thanks for the invitation, Conrad!"

He bounced off merrily alongside his father with an exuberance that made me smile.

"I just got us invited for a party", I told Evelyn as I came home. "A ninth birthday party."

"You what?" She gave me an amused, puzzled look, then laughed as she understood. "Oh, I see. Your little rock-throwing friend?"

"Exactly."

She smiled. "What's the verdict? Are we going?"

"I think we are. He was really adamant that I … that we come." I grinned wryly. "Well, I've always wanted to be the guest of honour among a bunch of nine-year-olds."

"I'm sure that will make for a nice change." She grinned, then frowned thoughtfully. "We'll need a gift, won't we?"

"Yup." I saw that she was beginning to wonder about the perfect gift for a schoolboy and quickly said, "Oh, don't you worry. I'll take care of that. I already have an idea."

She was almost bursting with curiosity as to what I had in mind, but I only said it was something money couldn't buy and otherwise just smiled enigmatically whenever she asked.

I wasn't sure if it was actually going to work, and for some odd reason didn't want to let her in on my plan until I had the result I wanted.

The following week, I spent virtually every free minute that she wasn't home whittling away at small bits of firewood, casting aside numerous bungled pieces before I was satisfied.

In the end, she walked in on me as I was just putting the finishing touches on a three-inch long beechwood shark. A great white, of course, not the innocuous and rather ugly epaulette sharks that had occasionally accompanied me in the Trobriands, weird little creatures that didn't look like sharks at all.

I was so absorbed in my work that I didn't hear her approach the garden bench where I sat and only looked up when her shadow fell across my lap and blocked out the light.

"So that's what you're giving him?" she asked, apparently astonished, and bent forward to take a closer look. "A shark. Obviously. Can I …"

I shook my head. "It's not quite finished yet. Just wait a bit."

I took my time to carve the second eye and sharpen the edges of the tailfin and finally cut a sardonic grin into the little predator's face.

"Now he's complete."

I held him out to Evelyn on my open palm, and she carefully ran a finger along his back and said, "You never cease to surprise me, Mister Mick. I had no idea you were such an artist with a carving knife."

"Neither had I. Well, I used to be quite good at it when I was a kid, but I hadn't done anything for ages."

There was something soft and wishful in her eyes that made me ask, "Want one too?"

"Sure. Can I watch while you …"

"No, you can't", I said firmly. "Don't be so impatient. Give me an hour, will you? And maybe a beer?"

An hour and two cold beers later, I beckoned her to come over from where she was lying in a deckchair, reading through a stack of journals.

I kept my hand closed around the small carving until she had sat down by my side with an expectant look on her face.

On a whim, I said, "Close your eyes."

"Huh?"

"Close your eyes and hold out your hand."

She did as she was told, although she probably thought I was being rather silly.

"I want to see if you find out what it is without looking at it."

I placed the little thing in her palm, and she fingered it with her other hand, gently tracing its outline, exploring its shape, thinking for a moment before she exclaimed, "Of course!" Her eyes popped open, and she smiled her sunniest smile as she repeated, "Of course it's a pearl shell. Oh, Mick, that's so beautiful. Yes, this is a gift money can't buy."

Her fascinated face was just as adorably innocent and childlike as it had been when I had shown her a pearl shell, freshly opened, for the first time, and I loved her as much as I had loved her then, or even more.

I pulled her close and kissed her tenderly on the temple, grateful she was with me still. Or rather, again.

Conrad had half a dozen friends from school over for his party, and we could hear them long before we turned the corner as they were noisily horsing around on the strip of lawn in front of the Schells' modest home.

The birthday boy himself was dangling from the branch of a tree by his knees at the time we arrived and gave an ear-splitting shout when he spied us coming.

"Oooh! Look, there he is! My shark man!" he cried out as he jumped down and came racing towards us jubilantly, his little horde of young guests in tow, all but flinging himself at me the moment we entered the garden. "Come and sit with us, Mr. Carpenter, and tell us about the sharks!"

Thus besieged, I had no chance of making it to the table set up beside the house, not even when Evelyn eventually walked over with Mr. and Mrs. Schell, who had both got up to greet us, and joined the small party of adults gathered there, consisting of Conrad's parents, another couple more or less our age, and an elderly lady.

To my hosts' apparent horror, I remained sitting on the edge of the front porch almost all afternoon, surrounded by seven eager schoolkids, the plate of birthday cake Mrs. Schell had brought me with a shy apologetic smile largely untouched on my knee and a cup of coffee going tepid beside me. The boys took turns admiring Conrad's wooden shark and kept asking for more details and yet another adventurous story whenever I stopped talking.

From where she sat, Mrs. Schell kept casting wary glances into my direction from time to time, rather embarrassed that the children were beleaguering me like that, but I did not mind at all.

In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed being around the kids, more than I would have enjoyed sitting at the table with the adult guests, making polite adult conversation.

I appreciated their honesty, their curiosity and even their bluntness. They were straightforward, unspoiled and open-minded, often much more so than their grown-up counterparts.

It was exhilarating to talk adventure with these boys, who couldn't seem to get enough of my life as a sailor and as a pearl diver and even found my fishing anecdotes exciting.

One of them inquired about the war, if I had been a soldier.

I said that I had, but it had been a very sad and scary experience, not at all exciting in the adventurous sense, and I didn't like to speak of it.

Most of the kids seemed to be aware I was serious about that.

Only one of them, a big broad lad called Arthur, said, "You know what, my brother Arnie, he's been in the war, too, and he got shot in the backside!" Raucous laughter from half of the boys, and groans and eye-rolling from the other half. "They stitched him up and he went right back to battle. Now he's got a great big scar on his bum, and a couple of nice medals! Did you get wounded, too, Mister?"

"Leave him, Arthur", Conrad hissed before I could say something. "He said that he didn't want to talk about it, and we all know about your stupid brother and his stupid bullet in the ass! You've told us a million times! Sorry, Mr. Carpenter", he said, turning to me and lowering his voice, "sometimes Arthur's simply … dumb." He glared at his guest, and one of them gave Arthur an angry shove.

"Boys, come on, no fighting please", I said. Arthur's lip had begun to tremble suspiciously, and I quickly added, "To answer your question, Arthur: yes, I got wounded in the thigh."

I could see the twitch around Conrad's mouth and subtly shook my head. I didn't want him to blurt out that there wasn't much left of said thigh. Still, he began, "And that's why he's got a …"

"… a bad leg and a bit of a limp", I said in a tone that would hopefully make quite clear this was the last word I was going to say about the war. And I hoped to God my sock was well pulled up to cover what it was supposed to cover and my trouser leg wouldn't hike up. I had no desire to be the greatest attraction of the party because I really and truly had an artificial leg, something I guessed most of the kids had only ever heard or read of in pirate stories and the like.

Detecting a movement from the corner of my eye, I turned my head and looked across the lawn.

Conrad's little brother came waddling over the grass on plump bare legs, a crumbling biscuit in his hand. Halfway across the lawn, he slipped, flopping down hard on his well-rounded backside. I expected him to cry, but he scrambled back on his feet without flinching and continued towards his brother, beaming.

Conrad was not amused. "Henry!" he groaned, exasperated. "What are you doing here? Go back to Mom and Dad!"

Henry, unfazed, clung to his big brother's leg, dropping the biscuit in the process, and held on tightly as Conrad looked about, visibly ashamed of being subjected to such a childish show of affection in front of his buddies.

On an impulse, I held my arms out to the little one who by some strange coincidence bore my father's name, and after he had given me the once-over with his head cocked to one side, he apparently decided I was trustworthy, grinned and clambered into my lap.

I shifted him gently to sit on my good leg, loosely wrapped my arm around his middle and let him examine my wristwatch as I continued with yet another sailor's tale for the older boys.

"D-Don't you want to try out your new football at all, Conrad?" another voice chimed in after a while.

Joseph Schell was emerging from the shadow of the large tree in the middle of the lawn and laid a cautious hand on his son's shoulder. "M-Mr. Carpenter could use a break from all your curious questions, I suppose. G-go play behind the house for a while. There's f-fresh l-lemonade for everyone, too."

"Awww, but Daddy …"

"No buts, Conrad. It was very nice of Mr. Carpenter to t-talk to you for so long, but now I would l-like to have a word with him." He winked at the cluster of boys still seated at my feet. "Oh, I forgot to t-tell you something. I think C-Conrad's mum said there might be s-some ice cream, too. Who wants to go see if I'm right?"

Cheering and howling, the kids took off, and Mr. Schell sat down next to me.

"Thanks for entertaining the boys, Mr. Carpenter", he said. "You're quite a f-fine storyteller to keep them l-listening for so long. Usually all of them g-get ants in their pants after five minutes of sitting still."

"Give them some sharks and ships and storms and they're happy, as it seems", I said, carefully extracting my finger from Henry's firm grip, trying not to wake him in the process. At some point during my stories, he had slumped against my chest and fallen asleep, still clutching my hand.

His father looked at him with an affectionate expression on his face and smiled. "Someone's knackered there. He's been running all over the place all day long. Shall I take him off you, Mr. Carpenter? He's grown quite heavy lately."

"No, I'm fine", I said, meaning it. The weight of the child in my arms, his little head of soft brown hair against my chest and his dangling sleep-heavy limbs gave me a peculiar warm feeling, and for a split second, I wondered wistfully if I'd ever hold a child of my own. "Really, leave him where he is. And please do me a favour and just call me Mick."

"I'm Joseph, then."

I nodded and stroked Henry's smooth round cheek, still feeling that odd kind of tenderness. "That's two fine lads you've got, Joseph", I said.

"Yes, they are g-great kids, even if I say so myself." Joseph laughed. "Funny how Henry ran straight to you. He's usually rather c-cautious around strangers. Conrad, well, he'd talk the ear off anyone who would l-listen. I s-sometimes even think he's a little too outgoing. Henry's very d-different, usually. I've n-never seen him s-so drawn to anyone who's not f-family. S-somehow you hit it off with him."

Henry began to move until he was in a half sitting positing, facing up, and his big blue eyes opened to eye me, curious but unafraid. I smiled at him, and his face split into a charming grin once more before he wriggled off my lap and scampered away, presumably in pursuit of Conrad and his pals.

I watched him disappear around the corner of the house, again with this funny feeling in my heart.

"You d-don't have children, do you?" Joseph's voice interrupted my thoughts before I could put a name to the strange sensation that intensified upon hearing his question.

I shook my head slowly, silently.

We had never actually made a concrete decision about starting a family, but there was a kind of unspoken understanding that there would be no kids in all likelihood. Evelyn was quite tied up in her job and happy with her teaching and writing, and on the other hand there was my disability to consider which made a whole lot of things I would want do for or with a child quite difficult or entirely impossible.

Joseph refrained from any comment and tactfully changed the subject. "I h-heard what you t-told the boys w-when they a-asked you about the … the war. M-my thoughts exactly, after my own experience in the army. I r-really wish m-more people would tell them the t-truth like that and not m-make it sound like s-some b-b-big exciting adventure. I'm s-so afraid m-my boys will h-have to g-g-go to war s-some day, and I d-d-don't want them t-to think it's a g-g-good or easy thing to do", he said with great emphasis, his hands clenching into fists angrily every time his stutter hampered his speech. I wondered briefly if he had already suffered from that impediment before he went to war.

"I couldn't have played the subject down in good conscience, not with this", I said, nodding at my leg. "From the way some people talk about it, going to war sounds hardly more dangerous than playing Cowboys and Indians in the schoolyard, with a few funny stories to tell afterwards and some shiny medals to show off with. That's not what I wanted the kids to think. They don't need to know the gory details at their age, but they are old enough to understand that war isn't a game."

Two of Conrad's friends were chasing each other across the garden, whooping loudly.

My throat constricted as I watched their carefree exuberance and realized that some of the boys I had seen getting wounded or killed hadn't even been a decade older than these insouciant kids were.

I swallowed hard and said as an afterthought, "I certainly wouldn't want my son to go either."

If I had a son, I added silently.

Before we could go on with our somewhat somber exchange, Conrad appeared, dragging along his little brother, who was bleeding from a grazed knee and crying wretchedly, and deposited him unceremoniously at his father's feet, stating laconically, "He fell. Again."

Joseph excused himself to take care of the child – "M-My wife can't stand the sight of blood, so I'll have to d-do that" – and I was alone with my thoughts for a moment, absently sipping my cold coffee.

I hoped we'd get to continue talking later. I found liked this Joseph Schell a lot, and not only because he seemed to share my view that war was a dirty, ugly, senseless business, nothing heroic and patriotic, nothing to be proud of.

And I found I loved to be with both of his kids. Their antics, their lively characters and even their little worries and needs struck a chord within me, and the way their father cared.

Yet I was sure it would be better to stick with the silent agreement Evelyn and I had.

What good was a father with a leg missing and his mind forever screwed up by the war, so much that he freaked out when he got hit with a harmless pebble?

I'd only end up screwing up my kid's life, too, because I couldn't rid myself of the shadows of the past. Bad enough that Evelyn was forced to endure my recurring episodes of abject depression or physical pain.

Maybe playing uncle to the young Schells would take away the sting for a while, I thought and smiled at Conrad who was approaching me.

I set the half-emptied cup aside as he drew near, dirt all over him, his knees bright green from skidding over the grass. He had just seen off his crowd of little guests and was beaming at me.

I got up stiffly, grateful to walk a few steps and stretch my cramped legs, and said, "So the party's over? Thanks again for inviting us, my friend. I think we'll be off then, too."

"Nooo, please stay a bit longer! Mum wanted everyone to leave at six, but of course that was just about the kids. Granny and Uncle Fred and Aunt Cecilia are still there after all. You know, I think Mum doesn't like children's parties much. All the work, and all the noise, and too many kids around." He rolled his eyes. "Me, I love parties. And today's was the best one ever."

"You think so?" I asked with genuine interest.

"But of course!" he exclaimed. "And you know why?" He paused expectantly and, when I didn't answer, cried out, "Because of you."

As if it was the most self-evident thing in the world.

"Oh, Conrad", I said weakly and gave his shoulder a quick affectionate squeeze, trying not to show too much emotion.

"Are you okay? You have such a funny look on your face."

"I'm fine, no worries. Just a … a little tired. You know, there were some kids who made me tell an awful lot of stories."

Conrad grinned at me without a trace of remorse and said in the knowing tone of an experienced grown-up, "You think a nice cold beer will put things right?"

I couldn't help laughing and gladly let him take my hand and lead me over to the table.