Read Online Black Radishes by Susan Lynn Meyer - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Lynn Meyer
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she brushed him. The pony was beautiful, chestnut-colored and sturdy, with a pale mane and deep brown eyes. When Gustave finished his hunk of bread and the small morsel of cheese, he got up and walked a few steps closer to watch.
The girl looked up from grooming the pony and smiled. “His name is Jacques,” she said. “He’s mine. Do you want to pet him?”
Gustave reached out and stroked the pony’s coarse mane, touching lightly at first, then wriggling his fingers in deep. The pony turned his head and nuzzled Gustave’s shoulder, tickling him with his warm, moist breath. “He’s hoping you have food for him,” said the girl.
“No. I wish I did,” said Gustave. “I’d eat it!”
The girl laughed. “Even if it was hay?”
Gustave grinned back. “Maybe. I’m almost hungry enough.”
“Gustave,” called his mother. “We’re leaving! Now!”
“I have to go,” Gustave said. “Maybe I’ll see you and Jacques later on the road.” The girl nodded and went back to brushing the pony.
The highway was as crowded with people and cars and trucks and farm wagons as it had been the day before.
“Are we almost there?” Gustave asked.
Papa laughed shortly. “We only went about forty kilometers yesterday,” he said. “It’s going to take us many days at this rate.”
“Many days?” Gustave groaned. He was already fidgety from sitting still so long, and he was hungry again too. His stomach felt like an impatient animal, ravenous so soon after eating. How could they possibly go on like this for many days, especially if they couldn’t buy any more food? The air was stifling in the cab of the truck, heavy with exhaust fumes from the slow-moving traffic. Gustave’s throat was very dry. “Can I have some water?” he asked.
“Just a few sips,” said Maman, handing him the canteen Papa had refilled at the farm. “We need to save the rest for later.”
Gustave sighed. If he could fill his stomach with water, maybe it wouldn’t gnaw at him so much, but they didn’t even have enough water. It was obvious that it was going to be another long day. Gustave rubbed his mosquito bites.
“Don’t scratch,” said Papa absently. “It makes it worse.”
How was he supposed to do that ? The bite on Gustave’s arm was getting red and swollen. He pressed his fingernail down over it hard one way and then the other, making an X to cross out the pain. There, that wasn’t scratching, and it made the itchiness go away, at least temporarily. A loud honking was coming closer. Gustave looked up from his itchy arm and noticed that a few of the vehicles and people were shifting over to the side of the road, although most of them stayed where they were. A French soldier strode through the slow-moving crowd, heading in the opposite direction.
“Clear the way,” he shouted impatiently. “Army vehicles coming through.”
“Finally, we see some of our own soldiers,” Papa said, pulling over, “and people won’t get out of their way. Idiots.” Papa’s unshaven face looked tired and grim.
Eventually, the crowd gave way a bit, and several trucks full of French soldiers drove through slowly, honking. In one truck, three of the soldiers had binoculars pressed against their eyes and were scanning the sky. One of the soldiers saw Gustave watching and saluted him, smiling.
Gustave put his hands up to his eyes, wondering what it was like to look through army binoculars. As the trucks full of soldiers passed, Papa maneuvered his way back into the flow of traffic. Gustave scanned the crowd, looking through his imaginary hand binoculars. Did putting your hands to your eyes like that make things look closer? It almost seemed as if it did, especially when he closed his fingers in the middle, making two circles. Gustave looked through his hands at the tops of the trees on the side of the road, at clouds in the sky, at the hat of a man walking by the side of the road.
From time to time, Gustave spotted the girl with the
The girl looked up from grooming the pony and smiled. “His name is Jacques,” she said. “He’s mine. Do you want to pet him?”
Gustave reached out and stroked the pony’s coarse mane, touching lightly at first, then wriggling his fingers in deep. The pony turned his head and nuzzled Gustave’s shoulder, tickling him with his warm, moist breath. “He’s hoping you have food for him,” said the girl.
“No. I wish I did,” said Gustave. “I’d eat it!”
The girl laughed. “Even if it was hay?”
Gustave grinned back. “Maybe. I’m almost hungry enough.”
“Gustave,” called his mother. “We’re leaving! Now!”
“I have to go,” Gustave said. “Maybe I’ll see you and Jacques later on the road.” The girl nodded and went back to brushing the pony.
The highway was as crowded with people and cars and trucks and farm wagons as it had been the day before.
“Are we almost there?” Gustave asked.
Papa laughed shortly. “We only went about forty kilometers yesterday,” he said. “It’s going to take us many days at this rate.”
“Many days?” Gustave groaned. He was already fidgety from sitting still so long, and he was hungry again too. His stomach felt like an impatient animal, ravenous so soon after eating. How could they possibly go on like this for many days, especially if they couldn’t buy any more food? The air was stifling in the cab of the truck, heavy with exhaust fumes from the slow-moving traffic. Gustave’s throat was very dry. “Can I have some water?” he asked.
“Just a few sips,” said Maman, handing him the canteen Papa had refilled at the farm. “We need to save the rest for later.”
Gustave sighed. If he could fill his stomach with water, maybe it wouldn’t gnaw at him so much, but they didn’t even have enough water. It was obvious that it was going to be another long day. Gustave rubbed his mosquito bites.
“Don’t scratch,” said Papa absently. “It makes it worse.”
How was he supposed to do that ? The bite on Gustave’s arm was getting red and swollen. He pressed his fingernail down over it hard one way and then the other, making an X to cross out the pain. There, that wasn’t scratching, and it made the itchiness go away, at least temporarily. A loud honking was coming closer. Gustave looked up from his itchy arm and noticed that a few of the vehicles and people were shifting over to the side of the road, although most of them stayed where they were. A French soldier strode through the slow-moving crowd, heading in the opposite direction.
“Clear the way,” he shouted impatiently. “Army vehicles coming through.”
“Finally, we see some of our own soldiers,” Papa said, pulling over, “and people won’t get out of their way. Idiots.” Papa’s unshaven face looked tired and grim.
Eventually, the crowd gave way a bit, and several trucks full of French soldiers drove through slowly, honking. In one truck, three of the soldiers had binoculars pressed against their eyes and were scanning the sky. One of the soldiers saw Gustave watching and saluted him, smiling.
Gustave put his hands up to his eyes, wondering what it was like to look through army binoculars. As the trucks full of soldiers passed, Papa maneuvered his way back into the flow of traffic. Gustave scanned the crowd, looking through his imaginary hand binoculars. Did putting your hands to your eyes like that make things look closer? It almost seemed as if it did, especially when he closed his fingers in the middle, making two circles. Gustave looked through his hands at the tops of the trees on the side of the road, at clouds in the sky, at the hat of a man walking by the side of the road.
From time to time, Gustave spotted the girl with the
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