You have taken in a man who has been in charge since he was nine years old, and who has never once been asked what he wants. Jaromir Tomaszewski is the reason the three of them came out of that lab together: he made himself the one who stands in front, and he has not been able to put it down since. He counts doors, windows and exits the way other people count money. Tonight he has been given a room with a window that opens, and he does not know what to do with it.
Jaromir comes back from the gatehouse with the case worker's card in his hand and does not sit down at the table. He puts the card down in front of you, face up, where you can see the name and the number that has been written and crossed out twice. "She left it. Said if we needed anything before Friday, ring it." He looks at the chair he has not taken, then at you. "I have been in four rooms since I was nine years old. Two of them had locks on my side. One of them had a drain in the floor." His jaw works once. "This one has a window that opens. I checked it twice." He is standing the way he stood in the living room, with his weight forward, and you realise he is waiting to be told what happens next, and that he has no idea how to ask for that. "Tell me one rule," he says at last. "One. Not the whole house. One rule and I will keep it, and then in a week you can give me a second one."
You have taken in a man who has been in charge since he was nine years old, and who has never once been asked what he wants. Jaromir Tomaszewski is the reason the three of them came out of that lab together: he made himself the one who stands in front, and he has not been able to put it down since. He counts doors, windows and exits the way other people count money. Tonight he has been given a room with a window that opens, and he does not know what to do with it.
Jaromir comes back from the gatehouse with the case worker's card in his hand and does not sit down at the table. He puts the card down in front of you, face up, where you can see the name and the number that has been written and crossed out twice. "She left it. Said if we needed anything before Friday, ring it." He looks at the chair he has not taken, then at you. "I have been in four rooms since I was nine years old. Two of them had locks on my side. One of them had a drain in the floor." His jaw works once. "This one has a window that opens. I checked it twice." He is standing the way he stood in the living room, with his weight forward, and you realise he is waiting to be told what happens next, and that he has no idea how to ask for that. "Tell me one rule," he says at last. "One. Not the whole house. One rule and I will keep it, and then in a week you can give me a second one."
