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Authors: Neal Shusterman
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paper animals. He picked up a paper cat. “This world of new things—you think it is strong like a lion, when in truth it is fragile like paper.”
He crumpled the origami cat in his hand and flicked it with his fingers across the room. “There. Destroyed by a single finger.”
Then Grandfather let loose a hacking cough that rattled the room so much Karin wondered how his lungs could stand it. When his coughing fit was over, the old man turned to a shelf filled with old knickknacks and pulled down a black box about the size of a shoe box. At first Karin thought it held tissues, but there was no opening on it. Anywhere.
“This is very old,” Grandfather said, brushing his finger across the smooth, ebony surface. “Even older than me. Hard to believe anything is older than me, hah?” And he let out a laugh that sent him into another coughing fit.
Karin and Randy looked at the box.
“What is it?” Karin asked as Grandfather handed it to her.
“Puzzle box,” answered the old man.
Randy grabbed it from her and pawed his fingers all over it, leaving dull fingerprints on the shiny lacquered surface. “There’s no way to open it,” he said.
Karin grabbed it back from him and examined it again herself. Randy was right—it was solid all the way around!
Grandfather gently took it back from her. He tapped the top twice, then placed three fingers on one side, two on the other, then pressed inward with his thumbs. A panel slid open. Karin was amazed.
“No way!” said Randy, his eyes wide.
“Way,” Grandfather said simply. He pressed and prodded different pressure points, deftly and skillfully, as if playing an instrument. The box began to open up with dark, textured surfaces. When Grandfather was done it looked more like a black flower than a box, and in the center of that flower was another, smaller box, even blacker than the first one. It was perfectly square, about two inches wide.
Karin and Randy just stared. “Another puzzle?” asked Karin.
“No,” answered Grandfather. “A solution.”
Grandfather held the inner box in his hand and placed his fingertips on it. Instantly, a lid opened, revealing a carved jade panel, and in the center of all that sparkling green jade was a bright gold button. Not the kind of button you wear, but the kind of button you press. Tiny Chinese characters were carved into the jade all around the gold button, but Karin couldn’t read them.
“Oooh!” said Karin.
“It must be worth big bucks!” said Randy.
“Never mind that,” snapped Grandfather. He put the little box down on the table. Randy and Karin couldn’t take their eyes off it.
“I want to give this to the right person before I die,” Grandfather said. “Your parents and your older brothers and sisters—they are worse than you. They hate the old ways, and the old things. They want to forget them. This is how I know that one of you must get this gift.”
“Thanks!” Randy reached out his hand, but Grandfather slapped it away.
“Not so fast.” He picked up the little box and handed it to Karin. Her eyes lit up, and she gazed at it as if it were a diamond ring in a jewelry box.
“You are the trustworthy one. Your cousin Randy here, he would trade this for a baseball card, yes?”
“No!” said Randy, but Karin knew that it probably depended on how good the baseball card was.
Grandfather turned his gaze back to Randy. “I bring you here, Randall, so you will always remember the honor you did not receive from me. Someday you will learn to respect old things.”
Randy scowled and pouted, and then said under his breath, “I don’t want it. It’s a girl’s thing, anyway.” But he knew that it was not.
Karin moved her finger across the rough jade and around the smooth gold button, then her fingertip came across the button and she started to press it. Grandfather gasped and pulled her finger away with his bony hand.
“You must not!” he cried out. “Can’t you read?”
“It’s in
He crumpled the origami cat in his hand and flicked it with his fingers across the room. “There. Destroyed by a single finger.”
Then Grandfather let loose a hacking cough that rattled the room so much Karin wondered how his lungs could stand it. When his coughing fit was over, the old man turned to a shelf filled with old knickknacks and pulled down a black box about the size of a shoe box. At first Karin thought it held tissues, but there was no opening on it. Anywhere.
“This is very old,” Grandfather said, brushing his finger across the smooth, ebony surface. “Even older than me. Hard to believe anything is older than me, hah?” And he let out a laugh that sent him into another coughing fit.
Karin and Randy looked at the box.
“What is it?” Karin asked as Grandfather handed it to her.
“Puzzle box,” answered the old man.
Randy grabbed it from her and pawed his fingers all over it, leaving dull fingerprints on the shiny lacquered surface. “There’s no way to open it,” he said.
Karin grabbed it back from him and examined it again herself. Randy was right—it was solid all the way around!
Grandfather gently took it back from her. He tapped the top twice, then placed three fingers on one side, two on the other, then pressed inward with his thumbs. A panel slid open. Karin was amazed.
“No way!” said Randy, his eyes wide.
“Way,” Grandfather said simply. He pressed and prodded different pressure points, deftly and skillfully, as if playing an instrument. The box began to open up with dark, textured surfaces. When Grandfather was done it looked more like a black flower than a box, and in the center of that flower was another, smaller box, even blacker than the first one. It was perfectly square, about two inches wide.
Karin and Randy just stared. “Another puzzle?” asked Karin.
“No,” answered Grandfather. “A solution.”
Grandfather held the inner box in his hand and placed his fingertips on it. Instantly, a lid opened, revealing a carved jade panel, and in the center of all that sparkling green jade was a bright gold button. Not the kind of button you wear, but the kind of button you press. Tiny Chinese characters were carved into the jade all around the gold button, but Karin couldn’t read them.
“Oooh!” said Karin.
“It must be worth big bucks!” said Randy.
“Never mind that,” snapped Grandfather. He put the little box down on the table. Randy and Karin couldn’t take their eyes off it.
“I want to give this to the right person before I die,” Grandfather said. “Your parents and your older brothers and sisters—they are worse than you. They hate the old ways, and the old things. They want to forget them. This is how I know that one of you must get this gift.”
“Thanks!” Randy reached out his hand, but Grandfather slapped it away.
“Not so fast.” He picked up the little box and handed it to Karin. Her eyes lit up, and she gazed at it as if it were a diamond ring in a jewelry box.
“You are the trustworthy one. Your cousin Randy here, he would trade this for a baseball card, yes?”
“No!” said Randy, but Karin knew that it probably depended on how good the baseball card was.
Grandfather turned his gaze back to Randy. “I bring you here, Randall, so you will always remember the honor you did not receive from me. Someday you will learn to respect old things.”
Randy scowled and pouted, and then said under his breath, “I don’t want it. It’s a girl’s thing, anyway.” But he knew that it was not.
Karin moved her finger across the rough jade and around the smooth gold button, then her fingertip came across the button and she started to press it. Grandfather gasped and pulled her finger away with his bony hand.
“You must not!” he cried out. “Can’t you read?”
“It’s in
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