Read Online Pastel Orphans by Gemma Liviero - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gemma Liviero
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silent.
Greta climbs into our bed. She leans over and kisses me. “Happy Christmas, Riki,” she says, and passes me a piece of paper. It is a drawing of the two of us milking a cow. The cow is smiling. I kiss her on the forehead like I have seen Papa do.
“Happy Christmas, Greta,” I say and turn off the lamp beside our bed.
Mama has spent much of the day at the sewing machine while Greta and I explore the farm. We have done our milking and are allowed to run around the fields. I have seen other children walk and cycle by our house and look forward to meeting them. Mama tells us that we will be going to school soon.
When we come inside, Mama pins up the lilac-colored curtains and ties them back with yellow cord.
Femke pulls down the sides of her mouth. I have grown used to the meaning of this look. It means that something is not completely distasteful.
“You still have skill with the sewing machine. You have that, at least.”
In between our chores, Greta and I run in the fields and when there is nothing to do, I find other things to do.
One time, I leave a chicken head on the kitchen table for Femke to find, with a note under it that says, “Has anyone seen the rest of me?” Then I pull Greta’s arm so she will come and hide with me, and we watch from behind the door when Mama and Femke enter.
Femke looks at the note and shakes her head and mutters something in Polish.
Mama laughs so hard there are tears in her eyes.
Another time I take some of the white paint that Mama has been using to paint the walls in our bedroom and draw a square in the fields.
I tell Greta that it is the “safety square,” that when you walk inside it, nothing can harm you. Then, as luck would have it, thunder comes from the sky.
Greta looks at me fearfully because she hates the sound of thunder.
“Oh no!” I say. “The thunder gods are angry that I have revealed such a secret.”
“What secret?”
“The one I just told you, stupid. About the safety square.”
Greta nods as if she understands.
I tell her a story that comes into my head right at that moment, about how once, everyone was trying to leave a giant safety square that went around a fortress and had been put there by the king and queen of England. But when the people stepped out of the square, the king and queen could no longer protect and control their people nor stop them from going mad. Then the thunder gods got so angry they shot bursts of lightning at the people as they tried to step out.
“Now the thunder gods are angry that I have revealed the secret,” I say.
Greta is standing just inside the square and I am outside. She goes to walk towards me and I tell her to stay or she will be zapped to dust by lightning. The urgency of my tone convinces her to stay, since I am right about most things. But it may not be that she believes me. It may be that she wants to believe me.
I tell her that she must stay there until the thunder passes. It starts to rain and I run inside where it is dry, to watch her from the window.
“What are you doing?” asks Mama, who has walked up behind me. “And why is Greta sitting out there in the rain?” The rain is getting heavier. She doesn’t wait for my response, but rushes outside and I follow.
“Greta!” calls Mama. “Inside now!”
“No,” Greta says stoically. “The thunder gods will strike me if I leave.”
“Oh, Henrik, you naughty boy!” Then Mama turns to Greta angrily, though her anger is directed at me. “In the house now, Greta! You are more likely to be killed from the rain and cold than from the thunder gods. Your brother makes up silly stories.” Mama smacks me on the arm and tells us both to go inside before we catch our deaths.
Femke says that my practical jokes will lead to trouble one day. Another time, I put a milk pail on Greta’s head and tell her that she has to twirl around three times and then count to twenty. Then she has to follow my voice and walk towards me. I tell her that if
Greta climbs into our bed. She leans over and kisses me. “Happy Christmas, Riki,” she says, and passes me a piece of paper. It is a drawing of the two of us milking a cow. The cow is smiling. I kiss her on the forehead like I have seen Papa do.
“Happy Christmas, Greta,” I say and turn off the lamp beside our bed.
Mama has spent much of the day at the sewing machine while Greta and I explore the farm. We have done our milking and are allowed to run around the fields. I have seen other children walk and cycle by our house and look forward to meeting them. Mama tells us that we will be going to school soon.
When we come inside, Mama pins up the lilac-colored curtains and ties them back with yellow cord.
Femke pulls down the sides of her mouth. I have grown used to the meaning of this look. It means that something is not completely distasteful.
“You still have skill with the sewing machine. You have that, at least.”
In between our chores, Greta and I run in the fields and when there is nothing to do, I find other things to do.
One time, I leave a chicken head on the kitchen table for Femke to find, with a note under it that says, “Has anyone seen the rest of me?” Then I pull Greta’s arm so she will come and hide with me, and we watch from behind the door when Mama and Femke enter.
Femke looks at the note and shakes her head and mutters something in Polish.
Mama laughs so hard there are tears in her eyes.
Another time I take some of the white paint that Mama has been using to paint the walls in our bedroom and draw a square in the fields.
I tell Greta that it is the “safety square,” that when you walk inside it, nothing can harm you. Then, as luck would have it, thunder comes from the sky.
Greta looks at me fearfully because she hates the sound of thunder.
“Oh no!” I say. “The thunder gods are angry that I have revealed such a secret.”
“What secret?”
“The one I just told you, stupid. About the safety square.”
Greta nods as if she understands.
I tell her a story that comes into my head right at that moment, about how once, everyone was trying to leave a giant safety square that went around a fortress and had been put there by the king and queen of England. But when the people stepped out of the square, the king and queen could no longer protect and control their people nor stop them from going mad. Then the thunder gods got so angry they shot bursts of lightning at the people as they tried to step out.
“Now the thunder gods are angry that I have revealed the secret,” I say.
Greta is standing just inside the square and I am outside. She goes to walk towards me and I tell her to stay or she will be zapped to dust by lightning. The urgency of my tone convinces her to stay, since I am right about most things. But it may not be that she believes me. It may be that she wants to believe me.
I tell her that she must stay there until the thunder passes. It starts to rain and I run inside where it is dry, to watch her from the window.
“What are you doing?” asks Mama, who has walked up behind me. “And why is Greta sitting out there in the rain?” The rain is getting heavier. She doesn’t wait for my response, but rushes outside and I follow.
“Greta!” calls Mama. “Inside now!”
“No,” Greta says stoically. “The thunder gods will strike me if I leave.”
“Oh, Henrik, you naughty boy!” Then Mama turns to Greta angrily, though her anger is directed at me. “In the house now, Greta! You are more likely to be killed from the rain and cold than from the thunder gods. Your brother makes up silly stories.” Mama smacks me on the arm and tells us both to go inside before we catch our deaths.
Femke says that my practical jokes will lead to trouble one day. Another time, I put a milk pail on Greta’s head and tell her that she has to twirl around three times and then count to twenty. Then she has to follow my voice and walk towards me. I tell her that if
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