Read Online Noah Barleywater Runs Away by John Boyne - Free Book Online
Authors: John Boyne
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old, you know. After all, I was eight myself once.’
Noah thought about it for a moment. The man was so old, he was surprised he could even remember what it was like to be his age.
‘Did you ever run away from home when you were eight?’ he asked, looking up and swallowing hard, for there was something he didn’t want to think about because if he did, he would only become upset. He had been trying not to think about it ever since he woke up that morning, but it had a terrible habit of reappearing in his toes and running all the way along his ankles and up his legs and into his back and racing up into his brain and then sending pictures to his eyes that he didn’t want to see.
‘I did a lot of things when I was a boy,’ said the old man. ‘And not all of them were very sensible.’
Noah quite liked the idea of doing things thatweren’t very sensible and was going to ask the old man about them, but before he could he noticed a large wooden box sitting on the floor next to his feet. He was a little surprised he hadn’t seen it when he had first sat down, for it was very ornate and looked like the sort of antique his mother always picked up and examined in shops and wished she could buy for their house. It had a carving of a puppet on the top, one that was quite unlike the puppets on the walls downstairs, and Noah bent down to examine it closer.
‘Did you make this?’ he asked, looking up for a moment, and the old man shook his head.
‘Oh no,’ he replied. ‘No, not me. I’m not quite as good a craftsman as that. The detailing, as you can see, is quite superb.’
‘It’s wonderful,’ said the boy, reaching a hand down and tracing the lines of the carving with his fingers. The puppet on the top of the box seemed like a very cheerful fellow. He had a long, cylindrical body and a pointed cap on his head. His legs were remarkably skinny and he didn’t look as if he could stand on them for very long without collapsing entirely.
‘You’d be surprised,’ said the old man, as if he could read the boy’s mind. ‘If you use a very old tree to carve the puppets, then the wood is so strong it can last for an eternity if it’s treated right. That puppet could probably run to the ends of the earth and back and it would only need a fresh coat ofvarnish at the end of it.’
‘If you didn’t make the box,’ asked Noah, ‘then who did?’
‘My father,’ replied the old man. ‘A long time ago now. I haven’t looked inside it for many years. There are a lot of memories in there, and sometimes it can be quite difficult to face the mementoes of the past. Even to glance at them can make you very sad. Or regretful.’
All this only served to make Noah even more intrigued by the contents of the box and he looked down at it, biting his lip, then looked up again, desperate to know what was inside.
‘Can I open it?’ he asked after a moment, deciding that the simplest thing was to ask the question straight out. ‘Can I see what’s inside?’
The old man opened his mouth to reply but then looked away, his expression confused, as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted his box of memories to be released to the world. Not wanting to disturb his host while he was deciding, Noah didn’t say a word until the old man looked back and smiled, nodding his head a little as he did so.
‘If you like,’ he said quietly. ‘Only take a care with what you find in there. Those things are very precious to me.’
Noah nodded enthusiastically and reached down to lift the box onto the table before him. He noticed now that the sides displayed carvings of the same puppet that was depicted on the top,surrounded by foreign-looking buildings that he was sure he had seen in his geography books at school. One of them looked a bit like the Eiffel Tower in Paris, another like the Colosseum in Rome. He placed both hands at the sides of the lid and raised it carefully, holding his breath as he did so, convinced he was going to find
Noah thought about it for a moment. The man was so old, he was surprised he could even remember what it was like to be his age.
‘Did you ever run away from home when you were eight?’ he asked, looking up and swallowing hard, for there was something he didn’t want to think about because if he did, he would only become upset. He had been trying not to think about it ever since he woke up that morning, but it had a terrible habit of reappearing in his toes and running all the way along his ankles and up his legs and into his back and racing up into his brain and then sending pictures to his eyes that he didn’t want to see.
‘I did a lot of things when I was a boy,’ said the old man. ‘And not all of them were very sensible.’
Noah quite liked the idea of doing things thatweren’t very sensible and was going to ask the old man about them, but before he could he noticed a large wooden box sitting on the floor next to his feet. He was a little surprised he hadn’t seen it when he had first sat down, for it was very ornate and looked like the sort of antique his mother always picked up and examined in shops and wished she could buy for their house. It had a carving of a puppet on the top, one that was quite unlike the puppets on the walls downstairs, and Noah bent down to examine it closer.
‘Did you make this?’ he asked, looking up for a moment, and the old man shook his head.
‘Oh no,’ he replied. ‘No, not me. I’m not quite as good a craftsman as that. The detailing, as you can see, is quite superb.’
‘It’s wonderful,’ said the boy, reaching a hand down and tracing the lines of the carving with his fingers. The puppet on the top of the box seemed like a very cheerful fellow. He had a long, cylindrical body and a pointed cap on his head. His legs were remarkably skinny and he didn’t look as if he could stand on them for very long without collapsing entirely.
‘You’d be surprised,’ said the old man, as if he could read the boy’s mind. ‘If you use a very old tree to carve the puppets, then the wood is so strong it can last for an eternity if it’s treated right. That puppet could probably run to the ends of the earth and back and it would only need a fresh coat ofvarnish at the end of it.’
‘If you didn’t make the box,’ asked Noah, ‘then who did?’
‘My father,’ replied the old man. ‘A long time ago now. I haven’t looked inside it for many years. There are a lot of memories in there, and sometimes it can be quite difficult to face the mementoes of the past. Even to glance at them can make you very sad. Or regretful.’
All this only served to make Noah even more intrigued by the contents of the box and he looked down at it, biting his lip, then looked up again, desperate to know what was inside.
‘Can I open it?’ he asked after a moment, deciding that the simplest thing was to ask the question straight out. ‘Can I see what’s inside?’
The old man opened his mouth to reply but then looked away, his expression confused, as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted his box of memories to be released to the world. Not wanting to disturb his host while he was deciding, Noah didn’t say a word until the old man looked back and smiled, nodding his head a little as he did so.
‘If you like,’ he said quietly. ‘Only take a care with what you find in there. Those things are very precious to me.’
Noah nodded enthusiastically and reached down to lift the box onto the table before him. He noticed now that the sides displayed carvings of the same puppet that was depicted on the top,surrounded by foreign-looking buildings that he was sure he had seen in his geography books at school. One of them looked a bit like the Eiffel Tower in Paris, another like the Colosseum in Rome. He placed both hands at the sides of the lid and raised it carefully, holding his breath as he did so, convinced he was going to find
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