Read Online In the Land of Armadillos by Helen Maryles Shankman - Free Book Online Page B

third, hundreds.
    â€œ I’m sorry, they said . I missed you at school. I missed you at aviation club. I think of you every day of my life. I never meant you any harm. My father made me. Everybody else was doing it. I am ashamed of my behavior on that day. Forgive me. Forgive us. By the end of the week, an avalanche of notes and flowers spilled over the plaza, the flowers sanctifying the air like incense.
    â€œFinally, a cry was raised. The townspeople mourned for the boy who dared to fly, and atoned for their terrible crime. At that very moment, a great swarm of birds blackened the sky, descending on the town in numbers never seen in recorded history. Flamingos and egrets, starlings and macaws, peacocks and sparrows, cranes and canaries, the rarest exotic birds of the world could be seen roosting side by side on the enormous tree in the middle of the marketplace; you couldn’t see the leaves for the feathers.”
    Toby paused here, his index finger caressing his lower lip. Did he already know how the story would end? Or was he making it up as he went along?
    â€œOne by one, the people of the town came out of their houses to join their neighbors around the tree. When the last citizen had arrived, the birds began to caw and flap their wings. And then they took off, blinding the villagers with a whirling vortex of multi-hued feathers.
    â€œWhen the thick cloud of grit had cleared, the tree was gone, crumbled into powder at the villagers’ feet. Mourning doves with purple throats strutted through the sawdust, cooing, leaving delicate footprints. A snow-white stork settled onto a long-abandoned nest on top of a house. Sparrows picked up straws in their beaks and went straight to work. From that day forward, wherever the townspeople went, they were accompanied by the songs of birds. It filled their lives with beautiful music, but it also reminded them of what they were capable of. Remember, the songs warned them, and do not forget .”
    Toby was finished. The delirium evoked by his voice evaporated, leaving a husk of a man standing before an open window, with the cold air blowing through his hair.
    Max got to his feet. With an ominous thunk, he pulled the windows shut. “I don’t like it,” he grumbled. “Not at all appropriate for a child.”
    The fire in Toby’s eyes died back to a flicker. “Everyone’s a critic,” he said.
    The SS man caught Toby’s arm above the elbow and squeezed hard. “I get it, Toby,” he said softly. “I know what the story is about. The villagers throwing stones at the innocent boy are the Germans, aren’t they. You’re saying that after this period of senseless killing, there will be an era of remorse and reflection, and then we will all have to learn to live with what we’ve done. Do I have that right?”
    Toby cringed under his touch. Max leaned over him, bringing his flat, smooth face even closer. “You’re an artist, Toby. You have the luxury of being able to think in this way. As for me, I am a soldier. I deal with reality. And the reality is, Germany has enemies everywhere, enemies who wish to see her destroyed, enemies who must be put down with force. You know as well as I do, Stalin is the real villain in this war. Although it comes at a price, we must be vigilant.”
    Affectionately, he patted Toby’s shoulder. “Don’t feel bad,” he said. “We’ll keep working on it. Maybe we should just go with my idea. The knight slays the dragon, finds the gold, and marries the princess. The important thing is, we made a start today.” He shook his head, marveling at the randomness of life. “If you would have told me six months ago that my Peter would be a character in a book by Tobias Rey . . . ”
    â€œA book that will never be published,” Toby murmured, looking down into the street.
    â€œUch, such a pessimist,” said Max cheerfully, getting to