Read Online Etta and Otto and Russell and James by Emma Hooper - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emma Hooper
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the sides of the radio, but there were no new or unexpected knobs or switches or panels. He carefully pushed his body weight into it, pivoting the machine around, to expose its back. There, on the back, was the compartment his father had fashioned to fit the True-Tone battery. And there, in the compartment, was nothing.
Over by the wind-break trees, Otto’s mother and Russell wrapped an irritated and exhausted chicken in one blanket. In the other, still bundled and held firmly under Otto’s mother’s arm, against her side, was the battery.
D ammit, said Otto. Dammit dammit dammit.
She’s smart, your mother, said Russell. I told you, she’s smart.
I know she’s smart. Dammit.
You’re lucky the chicken didn’t jump down and kill itself.
Chickens aren’t stupid either, Russell.
They can be.
Not like that. Dammit. Damn! Now what? Nobody else round here has a radio. Only in town. And they lock their doors in town.
Well, said Russell. Some people do.
Lock their doors?
No, have radios.
Which people?
Some people. My aunt and uncle. They have a radio. We have a radio.
Otto stopped walking. They weren’t walking anywhere, just walking. What? he said. What? His face got hot, like it had been in the sun too long. Russell! he said. Goddammit. Why didn’t you say?
I trust your mother. She knows how to keep things, kids, alive.
Goddammit, Russell. No one’s gonna die from radio-listening. We’re going to your aunt and uncle’s. Right now.
R ussell’s aunt and uncle’s place was very different from the Vogels’. Everything was very quiet and breakable, decorated in blue and white. Otto had only been inside once before, when Russell was recovering. It felt then as it did now, like a hospital. Or, the way Otto imagined a hospital would feel, at least. They sat on the floor, in the middle of the living room, and listened to the low, steady voice of the CBC overseas report, looking straight ahead, not at each other, Russell growing colder and colder with each image the radio voice threw out at them, Otto growing hotter and hotter, while Russell’s uncle made them coffee in the next room.
You’re not old enough. They were hurrying back across the field. They were late for dinner help, the sun was setting.
We almost are. We soon will be.
No point thinking about it until then, though.
Planning, Russell, we’ll need to plan. How to tell the family, your aunt and uncle, what we’ll pack.
What you’ll pack.
What we’ll pack. Russell, I’m seventeen in two months, then five more and you are too. I can wait the five months.
You can wait forever, they won’t take me.
Of course they will, Russell, you’re smart. You’re smarter than me.
They won’t. It’s not about smart. You know they won’t.
Otto stopped because Russell had stopped, and was now three steps behind him. But, Russell, he said, if they don’t take you, what will you do?
I’ll stay here, I’ll wait. I’ll go to school. I wouldn’t be worried about me.
Russell, I’d go crazy, staying here.
But I won’t.
Well, we’ll see. What they say.
They’ll say no.
We’ll see. In seven months we’ll see.
A fter the students left on her first day of teaching, Etta stayed at the front of the class, facing the emptied desks, remembering, matching names to places. She went round three times, then wiped the chalk from her hands onto her skirt, picked up her things, and left the school, walking the fifty meters to the teacher’s cottage. To her cottage.
When she’d arrived the day before, she’d found neat piles of things laid out for her. A folded towel, kitchen linen, bedsheets. A teapot, a teacup, a teaspoon. Like an archaeologist’s carefully sorted evidence of civilization, of habitation, but whomever had laid it all out was gone. There was no one but Etta, the towels, the spoons. She considered leaving the door open so the wind could pass through, keeping her company with its humming and shuddering, but recalled the previous
Over by the wind-break trees, Otto’s mother and Russell wrapped an irritated and exhausted chicken in one blanket. In the other, still bundled and held firmly under Otto’s mother’s arm, against her side, was the battery.
D ammit, said Otto. Dammit dammit dammit.
She’s smart, your mother, said Russell. I told you, she’s smart.
I know she’s smart. Dammit.
You’re lucky the chicken didn’t jump down and kill itself.
Chickens aren’t stupid either, Russell.
They can be.
Not like that. Dammit. Damn! Now what? Nobody else round here has a radio. Only in town. And they lock their doors in town.
Well, said Russell. Some people do.
Lock their doors?
No, have radios.
Which people?
Some people. My aunt and uncle. They have a radio. We have a radio.
Otto stopped walking. They weren’t walking anywhere, just walking. What? he said. What? His face got hot, like it had been in the sun too long. Russell! he said. Goddammit. Why didn’t you say?
I trust your mother. She knows how to keep things, kids, alive.
Goddammit, Russell. No one’s gonna die from radio-listening. We’re going to your aunt and uncle’s. Right now.
R ussell’s aunt and uncle’s place was very different from the Vogels’. Everything was very quiet and breakable, decorated in blue and white. Otto had only been inside once before, when Russell was recovering. It felt then as it did now, like a hospital. Or, the way Otto imagined a hospital would feel, at least. They sat on the floor, in the middle of the living room, and listened to the low, steady voice of the CBC overseas report, looking straight ahead, not at each other, Russell growing colder and colder with each image the radio voice threw out at them, Otto growing hotter and hotter, while Russell’s uncle made them coffee in the next room.
You’re not old enough. They were hurrying back across the field. They were late for dinner help, the sun was setting.
We almost are. We soon will be.
No point thinking about it until then, though.
Planning, Russell, we’ll need to plan. How to tell the family, your aunt and uncle, what we’ll pack.
What you’ll pack.
What we’ll pack. Russell, I’m seventeen in two months, then five more and you are too. I can wait the five months.
You can wait forever, they won’t take me.
Of course they will, Russell, you’re smart. You’re smarter than me.
They won’t. It’s not about smart. You know they won’t.
Otto stopped because Russell had stopped, and was now three steps behind him. But, Russell, he said, if they don’t take you, what will you do?
I’ll stay here, I’ll wait. I’ll go to school. I wouldn’t be worried about me.
Russell, I’d go crazy, staying here.
But I won’t.
Well, we’ll see. What they say.
They’ll say no.
We’ll see. In seven months we’ll see.
A fter the students left on her first day of teaching, Etta stayed at the front of the class, facing the emptied desks, remembering, matching names to places. She went round three times, then wiped the chalk from her hands onto her skirt, picked up her things, and left the school, walking the fifty meters to the teacher’s cottage. To her cottage.
When she’d arrived the day before, she’d found neat piles of things laid out for her. A folded towel, kitchen linen, bedsheets. A teapot, a teacup, a teaspoon. Like an archaeologist’s carefully sorted evidence of civilization, of habitation, but whomever had laid it all out was gone. There was no one but Etta, the towels, the spoons. She considered leaving the door open so the wind could pass through, keeping her company with its humming and shuddering, but recalled the previous
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