Day 1: April 30th, 1905

For as long as I can remember I have been walking about the country with my barbigerous brother, Harry. My name is Mackenzie Adio, said Harry, which I remember vaguely. Harry said write all that I experience and all that I remember in this book, a journal. He said this as I have something; forgetting, Harry names it. I perpetually cannot remember all that happened to me prior to three Sundays ago. Harry tells me little of what happened or how we cannot abide in any of the cities we visit, but nonetheless, I keep with him. He is the total of my family and friends, although I presume, nay I hope, I had more in my old life. We both cling to a hope that the more I write, the more I will remember. That with every page I read in this journal, I will remember those experiences, like sparks manifesting a flame, and with every memory I retain, I might abandon my tewly mind. Our hope is that at least.

Harry says we have traversed the railway for two months now; a mere three weeks it has been to me.

Harry has a humorous way of speaking. I speak properly and he does not, Harry said. “Educated” is what he says I am and “simply the workin’ type” is what he names himself. Apparently, I used to name myself an aptycock, which Harry says was boastful.

A normal, dawdling day was today. We woke to our near dead fire when it was still darkish. We ate the sliving of rabbit Harry had caught last eventide and started. We have very few possessions: matchbox, axe, and our clothing. Harry has a rifle he always carries with him, and I am never allowed to wield it. He says I cannot hold a gun and that before, when I could remember, I was never the gun type. “Y’never hit anythin’ y’shot at,” he spoke at me with his “workin’ type” way. I recall him telling me that for it was yesterday. A gull was hovering where we had settled for rest. I wished to bring it down so I requested to take a shot at the bird. Harry did not allow it.

All he does is to protect me, said Harry the week last. Sometimes I wonder if he is incorrect or deceiving. I ought to trust him, I do, but he has not told me why we are living the way we are. He has not told me why we cannot settle forever.