When Hakan was first brought to his home, from Enola’s house just up Floatplane Street, Enola suddenly seemed nervous and had a hesitant manner. She vaguely warned Hakan, who lived at her home up the street the past several weeks, was something of a problem child.
“A problem child? That sounds like code for him neglect and undiagnosed disorders.”
“His communication disorder manifests itself as red flag for parents considering adopting him.” Enola made these gestures with her hands, as if she was literally wiping herself clean of Hakan.
“Are you saying that’s the reason nobody will adopt him?” Carlos asked.
“My co-workers on the reserve believe he is autistic. Since he is on a break and the school year is almost over, you shouldn’t worry about school for him until the start of the fall term.” Enola also warned him Hakan was cunning, but refused to elaborate or provide any details.
One Sunday afternoon, during which he was completely mute, Hakan suddenly complained the man on the television news told him to start a fire. Carlos was not much of a television viewer; he preferred the latest information updates on the twenty-four hour news channels. He quickly turned off the wide screen television, which he bought to make to the kid feel at home.
That night, Hakan divulged he communed with the native spirits, and they would tell him to do things. Carlos realized early it would be wise to follow the warnings and admonitions of the native spirits. It was best to heed Hakan’s words whenever he generously offered a fair warning.
On a hot July night, Carlos decided that he would give him some ice cream before he went to bed. While they ate some vanilla ice cream, Carlos’ favourite food and dessert, they watched the news on television. Despite what Hakan told him earlier, about the man on television urging him to start fires, Carlos changed his mind. He did not see any reason he should withhold the news, or subject their television viewing to censorship. Then he saw Hakan off to bed. Intrigued by the disorder of autism, he resumed his research on academic reports and studies that recently consumed and obsessed him. Having conducted some extensive reviews of the clinical literature, Carlos decided he might attempt to make some original contributions in the field. Positioning himself comfortably at the desk in front of the widescreen monitor of his computer, which featured the latest version of the word processing program he pilfered from the offices of the social services agency, he continued to struggle to write some original coherent sentences based on the latest clinical research into autism spectrum disorder.
Half his mind and consciousness was on the cable news network. Then, at eleven pm, he heard what sounded like sheet metal being hammered, or the furnace starting with a bang. But why would the furnace burn oil on a warm, humid night in mid-July? Carlos headed downstairs and checked the basement. The temperatures on the thermostats had not been adjusted, the furnace had not ignited, the fans were not blowing heated air. Then he saw the pumper truck from the volunteer fire department turn and race and rumble down the back alley alongside the back of the house towards Enola’s house. Enola’s garage was on fire. He pulled aside the heavy curtains and glanced out the storm windows. Virtually breathless, he was hypnotized by the sight of flames shooting up in the sky from the garage behind Enola’s house.
When he recovered from shock, he went to check Hakan, but the boy was not in bed or asleep on the living room couch. The washroom door was locked, but he noticed the small window to the washroom was wide open and the screen was missing. Carlos hurried out of the house to observe the flames and returned for his digital camera. He watched the volunteer fire fighters spray brilliantly coloured chemical fire retardant powder and extinguish the flames and blaze with blasts of water from the pumper truck. He even managed to capture images of the fire with the digital camera and some blurred images on his cellphone.
When Carlos returned later to the house, after the smoke died down and the firefighters and fire truck had left the scene, and the Enola had been comforted, he checked Hakan’s bedroom. Carlos poked the beam of his flashlight in the boy’s bedroom, but whereas Hakan had been gone, disappeared an hour before, and the bathroom window had somehow been left open, he now appeared to be sleeping soundly. Usually, he had a scowl or a grim expression on his face, but he thought he saw him wink and discerned what might be a suspicious smile, or a faint smirk, on his tanned face. Carlos went to washroom, flushed the toilet, and noticed a wind gust against the shower curtain and the window had been somehow closed. Then he felt a fear grow in his stomach as he envisioned that unusually tranquil expression on his face.
Later, the weekly community newspaper reported the probable cause of the blaze was arson. The garage for Enola’s house, down the back alley from where Carlos lived, was firebombed, but little evidence remained at the scene. Police and firefighters said the arsonist knew what he was doing.
A few weeks later, again in the Enola’s backyard further up the street, another fire was started, not in a garage but a utility shed. Carlos scrambled out of the house, pulling up and buttoning his pants as he stumbled through the door, and donning pulled on his sweater as he strolled up the back alley.
Moving back to escape the heat of the fire, he watched as the local volunteer fire department extinguished the blaze in Enola’s utility shed. This time the firefighters had difficulty putting out the fire because of flammable chemicals stored inside the shed. Carlos checked up on Hakan, but he was not in his bed. He tried to inspect the bathroom, but it appeared to be locked. He knocked on the washroom door, but there was no reply. That did not mean much with a boy like Hakan, because one never knew when he would respond. After he stepped outside, he again noticed that the washroom window was open. A person as dexterous and agile as Hakan could easily fit through that portal. He made a mental note to make certain he had the fine mesh screen on the insulated storm window replaced.
The following day, Carlos arranged to take Hakan to Toronto to a prestigious mental institute where he could have him assessed by a few of the best neurologists, psychologists, and psychiatrists. He arranged the appointments, air travel, and hotel rooms at great personal expense. Enola complained he was wasting his money, but, if he was intent on a trip to have Hakan assessed and diagnosed, he should apply for grants from the reservations and social service agencies.
