The boy was lying on the floor of his cell asleep when the sheriff came back with a platter of food. Derwin unlocked the door quietly, brought the food in and set it on a table in one corner of the cell. As quietly, he let himself out again. Standing in the corridor, with the locked door again between them, he called, "Wake up!"
The boy's body did not move, but his eyes opened wide. With their instant awareness they were like the eyes of a big cat in a zoo, but without the cat's easy hatred. "Your dinner's on the table," Derwin said.
The boy rose swiftly to his feet and looked around him. He saw the food, went over and began eating. He used his hands, eating the meat first, in great wolfing bites. When the meat was gone he ate the potatoes. He tasted the moist cabbage salad, but did not eat it.
Derwin watched him for the few minutes it took. "I guess they never taught you to use a knife and fork," he murmured, half to himself.
The boy came to the cell door and grasped the bars in his big hands. He looked at Derwin, and his expression was the same expectant one that had been so disturbing earlier.
The sheriff had stepped back, out of reach, as the boy approached. "Did you want something?" he asked.
The boy made no reply.
"Can you understand what I say?" Derwin asked.
After a brief, puzzled pause the boy nodded.