Page 73 of A Boy Called Lovesong

I had no idea if I’d been running toward Clara’s Crossing, or away from it.

I just kept sprinting, careening toward the shed doors, hoping it was somewhere I could hide, from Lovesong, from the rain, from everything.

But as I reached the doors to the shed, about to haul them open, Lovesong came charging out of the cotton fields and crashed into me with all his weight, crushing me against the doors of the shed, knocking the air out of my lungs.

“Who are you? Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, digging his nails into my shoulders and forcefully turning me around to face him.

“It’s me!” I gasped and coughed, rasping for air. “Lovesong, it’s me! Noah!”

“Noah? What the fuck?”

The rain was still drenching us as his sodden fingers scraped the skin on my face, nothing like the gentle touch of our connection in the kitchen. He prodded me, he squeezed my skin, trying to identify me.

“Lovesong, you’re hurting me.”

“What are you doing out here? Did you follow me?”

“No. I don’t know. I followed the music.”

“Why? Everybody knows not to follow me out here. Everybody knows how dangerous it is.”

“Dangerous? How?”

“Because…” he didn’t want to finish his sentence.

So, I finished it for him. “You’re trying to summon the Devil, aren’t you? Is that what you’re trying to do? Lovesong, he’s never coming for you. Because he doesn’t exist. Stop trying to make some stupid deal with the Devil, because he doesn’t exist!”

“Yes, he does. And I’m not trying to make a deal, I’m trying to reverse one. The deal my birth mother made with the Devil. My music… in exchange for her soul. I need to reverse it. I need to give the music back… so I can getherback.”

“What?” I shook my head. “No! You can’t.”

“Noah, don’t you get it? I’d give anything to have her back, to get to know the person who gave birth to me, to have the chance to love her.”

“Lovesong, she’s gone. When someone’s gone… they’re gone forever. I know you don’t wanna hear that, none of us do. But it’s true.”

I saw the look on Lovesong’s face, anger and anguish, confusion and concern. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

Suddenly he reached behind me, yanked the rickety door of the shed open and shoved me inside. He followed and slammed the door, shutting out the rain.

I had no idea where we were until he flicked on a gas lantern near the door.

I saw brown cotton covering the floor in heaps and realized it was today’s harvest. We were inside Cybil’s shed.

“Ain’t none of this is your business,” Lovesong said angrily. “You don’t know nothin’ about the Devil. You don’t know nothin’ about what he’s capable of. And you don’t know nothin’ about me.”

“I know you’re smart. I know you’re just about the most talented musician I’ve ever heard play. But I know that gift didn’t come from a deal with the Devil.”

“How? What would you know?”

“I know you have a talent that most people would kill for. I know you may not be able to see musical notes on a sheet of paper, but I know what you see in your head is far more powerful. Far more beautiful. And that’s something you should never let go of. Don’t fuck up your gift, just because you think Heaven or Hell told you so. It’s yours. Fair and square.”

He stood there opposite me from a moment, still panting from the bolt through the rain… or was he panting because he was holding back tears? It was almost impossible to tell. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “It’s okay that you don’t believe what I believe.”

“I know that. But you should know there is one thing Idobelieve in.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

I took in a breath and said, “You. I believe your talent is yours, not a gift from the Devil. I believe inyou, Lovesong.”

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