The tool slipped before he understood what was happening. His hand struck the rough edge of the engine, and pain shot across his knuckles. He dropped the wrench with a sharp cry, then immediately tried to swallow the sound. Blood marked the skin across his hand, not a deep injury but enough to make his eyes fill with tears.
He stared at the injury in disbelief. Yesterday the engine had seemed like an exciting puzzle. Suddenly it felt like something enormous and cruel that could hurt him without even noticing. He was eight years old, and all his bravery had been borrowed from the hope of being good at one thing. That hope wavered as he stood there clutching his hand.
Frank heard the dropped tool and turned at once. He crossed the floor faster than Leon had ever seen him move. "Let me see."
"I'm okay," the boy lied.
"I didn't ask whether you're okay. I asked to see."
Leon unfolded his fingers reluctantly. Frank inspected the cut, guided him to the sink, and cleaned and dressed it with care. He had a first-aid kit that had spent too many years unopened. His voice was firm but not angry, and he asked Leon whether he could move his fingers and whether the pain was worsening. When he was satisfied it was a minor wound, he pulled a chair over and made the child sit.
"I told you not to force anything," Frank said.
Leon stared at the bandage. "I thought if I pushed harder it would come loose."
"That's what everyone thinks before they break something." Frank glanced at the damaged bolt. "Sometimes the lesson comes out of your hand. Sometimes it comes out of an expensive part. Either way, you don't forget it."
"I ruined the bolt."
"The bolt was already ruined. You just found out the loud way. Frank crouched so they were closer to eye level.
"Listen to me. This machine is not worth your hand, not for a hundred dollars and not for ten thousand. We can repair a bolt. We cannot keep pretending you're made of replacement parts."
Leon blinked. Nobody had ever explained his own safety to him as though it mattered more than the task he was doing. In his world, broken objects often received more urgent attention than bruised children. He looked down at the bandage and then up at the mechanic's face. Frank seemed embarrassed by his own tenderness, but he did not take the words back.
"Can I still finish it?" Leon asked.
"When you're ready. And you ask before using force."
Frank fetched the proper equipment and took over the difficult fastener. He demonstrated that old metal responded better to preparation, controlled pressure, and a good judgment of limits than to anger. Instead of asking Leon to imitate a dangerous maneuver, he described what he was watching for while keeping the child a safe distance away. There was a short, dry sound as the bond finally yielded, and the wrench began to turn without resistance.