"Not me," he said, his eyes tearing up as he did. "I wouldn't know what to do!"
I came to call him Kippah-boy, on account for the joy he got from wearing a kippah.
His father, being an old-school atheist, didn't like his son's "religious escapades".
The boy, of course, didn't understand his father's hatred of the funny-looking cap. How could he?
He just liked its shape. Naïvité. Sad, really.
The crowd gathered around Thomasson, who was now forcing the rope into Kippah-boy's hands. "You are the only one of us who can do this. You have capable hands."
A cat meowed outside the door, but it would have to wait. Important matters were at hand. I would have to interfere. "A first," I thought to myself. "I knew, given enough time, that it would come to this. However, if you were to explain this situation to me only yesterday, I would never in a million years have believed you."
I coughed. They had now noticed me for the first time.
Deaf Mr. Baker was the first to speak, funnily enough.