Zach Wrench Character Analysis

Willie continued to gaze at the materials. He loved the reds, but Mum said red was a sinful color.

“As soon as I see someone I like, I talk to them.”

Willie almost dropped the clod of earth he was holding. No one had ever said that they liked him. He’d always accepted that no one did. Even his mum said she only liked him when he was quiet and still.

Since Rachel’s death he hadn’t joined in any of the social activities in Little Weirwold. In his grief he had cut himself off from people, and when he had recovered he had lost the habit of socializing.

He couldn’t read or write. He couldn’t swim or ride a bicycle. He had never made anything and he couldn’t tell the difference between one flower and another. He couldn’t play cricket or any other game for that matter and he had never been fishing. He began to panic. The others would get bored with waiting and go off on their own without him. He swallowed hard and looked up at their faces. They didn’t look bored. He relaxed a little and then he remembered something.

“I likes drawin’.”

The jersey had a polo-neck collar in red. The cuffs and the waistband were ribbed in the same color. Willie thought that next to Zach’s deep complexion and black hair the red looked pleasing.

“I think it’s fine,” he said quietly, and Zach knew he was speaking truthfully.

“And here’s me dying to act and I can’t be in it because I’m Jewish.”

“Now you know how I feel about the high school,” said Carrie.

When Willie woke the next day, there was something altogether unusual about the morning. He lay in bed for some time and stared up at the ceiling trying to puzzle it out. Finally he gave up and clambered out of bed. It was only when he started automatically to strip it that he realized what it was that was so different. There was no need for the sheets to be washed that day. They were dry.

Although it wasn’t his Sabbath, he gripped his little round cap into his feathery hair and swayed gently to and fro saying the few Hebrew prayers that he remembered. It comforted him to sing the strange guttural sounds. It was like uttering a magical language that would make everything all right. His parents had taught him that whoever or whatever God was, he, she or it could probably understand silent thoughts; but it made Zach feel better to voice his feelings aloud.

“Better to accept than to pretend he never existed.”

As he rode, his coat flapping behind him, the crisp wind cooling his face, he suddenly felt that Zach was no longer beside him, he was inside him and very much alive. The numbness in his body had dissolved into exhilaration.

Willie continued to gaze at the materials. He loved the reds, but Mum said red was a sinful color.

“As soon as I see someone I like, I talk to them.”

Willie almost dropped the clod of earth he was holding. No one had ever said that they liked him. He’d always accepted that no one did. Even his mum said she only liked him when he was quiet and still.

Since Rachel’s death he hadn’t joined in any of the social activities in Little Weirwold. In his grief he had cut himself off from people, and when he had recovered he had lost the habit of socializing.

He couldn’t read or write. He couldn’t swim or ride a bicycle. He had never made anything and he couldn’t tell the difference between one flower and another. He couldn’t play cricket or any other game for that matter and he had never been fishing. He began to panic. The others would get bored with waiting and go off on their own without him. He swallowed hard and looked up at their faces. They didn’t look bored. He relaxed a little and then he remembered something.

“I likes drawin’.”

The jersey had a polo-neck collar in red. The cuffs and the waistband were ribbed in the same color. Willie thought that next to Zach’s deep complexion and black hair the red looked pleasing.

“I think it’s fine,” he said quietly, and Zach knew he was speaking truthfully.

“And here’s me dying to act and I can’t be in it because I’m Jewish.”

“Now you know how I feel about the high school,” said Carrie.

When Willie woke the next day, there was something altogether unusual about the morning. He lay in bed for some time and stared up at the ceiling trying to puzzle it out. Finally he gave up and clambered out of bed. It was only when he started automatically to strip it that he realized what it was that was so different. There was no need for the sheets to be washed that day. They were dry.

Although it wasn’t his Sabbath, he gripped his little round cap into his feathery hair and swayed gently to and fro saying the few Hebrew prayers that he remembered. It comforted him to sing the strange guttural sounds. It was like uttering a magical language that would make everything all right. His parents had taught him that whoever or whatever God was, he, she or it could probably understand silent thoughts; but it made Zach feel better to voice his feelings aloud.

“Better to accept than to pretend he never existed.”

As he rode, his coat flapping behind him, the crisp wind cooling his face, he suddenly felt that Zach was no longer beside him, he was inside him and very much alive. The numbness in his body had dissolved into exhilaration.