Jak’s heart picked up speed. Two boxes. That would get him through the winter and into spring. He’d come up with better ways to make boots. His mind started buzzing like cricket song, thinking about all the items that might work better than the ones he was using. He had the pocketknife that he used to make small holes, but using grass as thread wasn’t the best. It dried out and broke. He was always having to fix pieces that came apart. “Okay,” he said, before he could talk himself out of it. The worst that could happen was that Driscoll didn’t like his work and didn’t give him the matches.
Driscoll looked pleased. “Good boy. Come with me and I’ll get you five matches for the fish.”
Jak paused before following Driscoll into the room next to the main one that he figured was where he slept. He stayed in the doorway as Driscoll walked to a dresser, opened the top drawer, and counted out five matches. He tried to block the drawer with his body, but when he moved just a little bit, Jak was able to see that there were two rows of large matchboxes inside. He had enough matches for ten winters. Jak tried not to feel angry. They were Driscoll’s matches and Jak was lucky the man was trading with him for five.
He moved his gaze from the closing drawer to the picture above the dresser. It was a drawing of men fighting and Jak stared at it for a minute. He’d played war with his toy soldiers when he lived with Baka, but the men in the picture were dressed in weird clothes nothing like the military gear his action figures had worn.
“The Battle of Thermopylae,” Driscoll said, stopping beside him in the doorway and looking back at the picture. “One of the most famous battles of all time. The Spartans held Thermopylae against invaders, a mountain pass of extreme strategic importance, for three days with a mere three hundred men.”
Driscoll had just said several words Jak didn’t know. He’d like to go over them—collect them—but he also wanted to leave. “The Spartans?” Jak glanced at Driscoll and his eyes were shiny like he might be about to cry. But happy tears. Maybe he liked fighting. Maybe he liked war. Maybe he liked living this way. Maybe that’s why Jak felt so funny around him all the time. Jak backed up two steps, putting more space between them.
Driscoll didn’t seem to notice as he nodded his head up and down, up and down. “The greatest warriors of all time,” he said. “They were bred for battle. Tested to know they were men who would never give up, despite the most dire odds. It’s said that the only time a spartan soldier got a break from training was during a war.” Driscoll laughed, and Jak gave a tight smile, though he didn’t really understand the joke.
“But see, survival is the greatest training of all. It’s that inexplicable something that makes a man keep going despite the obstacles before him, despite miserable conditions, or impossible feats. That’s the thing that makes the most fearsome of all warriors. Any strong, dexterous man can learn to wield a weapon, but it’s an extraordinary soldier who never gives up. Ever.”
Jak backed up a few more steps into the main room and Driscoll followed him, his eyes still shiny. “We must study history to forge the future. Ancient people understood war so much better than we do today. They . . . they . . .” His hands flew around for a few seconds like he was trying to grab the right words from the air. His eyes met Jak’s. “They understood that sacrifices must always be made for the common good of society. They knew that without sacrifice, humanity would fall to selfishness, greed, and ruin. One is never as important as all. That’s what’s brought us to this point, you see?”
No, Jak didn’t see. Not at all. But he nodded to make it seem as if he got what Driscoll was going on about. He thought it must be about the war. Driscoll knew much more about what was happening in town, in the USA, in . . . That’s all Jak knew of the world, other than it was round and people talked in different languages if you traveled far enough to find them.
“People are so bad, Jak. So bad and selfish and immoral. They