The Man In Black Begins

Despite being dressed all in black, the man who arrives at the orphanage is bright in comparison to the drained quality of the building and grounds.
The headmistress is a weary, harried woman who leads him to the room where the children dine. She is clad in black but next to his pinstripe, wrinkle-free suit, the tone is so faded it looks rather like a deep smoky grey. She asks his name but it is unmemorable and she refers to him as "sir" whenever the situations calls for it.
The children are having their midday meal when he comes and in usual circumstances visitors are not permitted during lunch, but she is too flustered to say no and after a few clarifications that the children will not be at their best, she reluctantly leads him to the dining hall.
Most children sit at the rows of tables that run up and down the room, but there is a space when instead of monotonous furniture and nondescript food, there are short bookcases and a few threadbare armchairs and a couch. Only three children occupy the space and it is them that the man in black wishes to see.
He makes his way around the tables, carefully dodging any contact with the children. His presence resounds in whispers, covert glances, and a few outright stares.
Two are children bent over their schoolbooks, distracter or lazy they have not finished their work from this morning or the night before. They are hurriedly scribbling incomplete answers and squinting at the previously made illegible notes, they await the moment they will sign their signatures at the top of the page and join their roudy friends at the long tables.
The last child, a girl whose blue grey eyes are fixed on the book before her, is reading a copy of Homer's Odyssey, a volume overlooked by most children, yet the cover is worn, the corners of the pages dog-eared.
The girl senses the man in black's eyes and looks up. She does not fidget under his gaze but she narrows her eyes in suspicion and curiosity.
"Hello," the man in black begins.
"Hello," she responds, her voice earthy and lower than one would expect from a girl her size.
"How old are you?" he inquires.
"Almost eight."
"How many times have you read that book?" he asks, gesturing to the delapidated tomb in her hands.
"Five and a third. I've read all the books in this room and in the classroom. They don't have enough."
"What do you prefer to read?"
She pauses, thinking, before she answers.
"Histories, of other places. Myths. The geography textbook."
"Are you opposed to the prospect of leaving this place?"
She regards him silently for a moment, feeling trapped in his bird black gaze.
"No."
The man ends the exchange with a small bow of the head and a bid of "gooday", then turns to the headmistress and strolls back through the throng of children.
The headmistress is too polite to ask the man in black what he spoke of with the girl, but she later questions the orphan, recieving bague answers that seem too simple and unimportant.
The man in black requests the contact information of the orphanage, as they navigate their way back to the front door. She rumagges in a pile of papers balancing askew on mountains of broken pencils and paperweights at the front desk, before handing him a card. He closes his hand over it and it is gone.
He informs her that they will bevisited sometime in the near future by a couple who will be expecting to see the girl. He does not reveal the couple's nomenclature, nor doe she inquire after that of the girl's. The inference leaves her utterly beguiled.
It is the last time he approaches the orphanage.

Text by Lucie MacAulay