Read Online Sparkers by Eleanor Glewwe - Free Book Online

what I might find. There it is: “More Deaths from Inexplicable Illness Confirmed.” In the first paragraph, the words “black irises” leap out at me. The article reports four new cases: a kasir banker, a halan autoworker, a kasir cloth merchant, and a halan mother of three. Nothing appears to connect their deaths.
    I slide the newspaper in front of Caleb and jab my finger at the article.
This is why you shouldn’t be walking around the city by yourself
.
    He barely glances at the page.
If you can, why can’t I?
    I don’t want you to get sick!
I sign.
    Caleb glares at me.
I can take care of myself
.
    Stung, I cast about for a cutting retort. Before I can think of one, he adds,
You were younger than me when you started going to the Ikhad to see Tsipporah
.
    That stops me short. I want to argue, but I can’t deny the unfairness of it.
Where do you go?
I sign helplessly.
    Caleb doesn’t answer for a while. Finally he signs,
Just here and there. I like to walk around the city without anyone knowing who I am or that I’m . . .
After a brief hesitation, he taps his ear, then his mouth.
    For a long moment, I don’t know what to say. The stillness between us stretches on.
    Here
, I sign at last,
let’s make omelets for lunch. And from now on, just tell me when you’re leaving the apartment.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    O N F IRSTDAY , I trudge to school alone. Leah is still sick, so Caleb isn’t going to the Avrams, though I can’t trust he’ll actually stay home. Our medsha concert is this morning, and it occurs to me this will be my first time performing without Leah beside me.
    At school, instead of climbing the stairs to the music room, I head to the decrepit auditorium for our dress rehearsal. The stage is set up for the medsha, and everyone is tuning. I unpack my violin, trying not to look at the empty chair next to me. My throat feels tight, and my fingers slip on the strings as I warm up.
    The sounds die away when Aradi Imael walks out from the wings with her stack of scores.
    â€œWhere’s Leah?” she asks.
    â€œShe’s ill,” I say. “The dark eyes.”
    For a fleeting moment, Aradi Imael looks shocked, but then her expression eases to one of gentle concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. We’ll miss her today. Perhaps you could play her solo in the dance suite, Marah? I have extra parts.”
    â€œI can try to do more than that,” I offer. “I know the places where her part is more important than mine.”
    Our conductor blinks at me and then hands me a folder of extra music. I pull out all the second violin parts. Putting two stands together in front of me, I arrange my music on the left and Leah’s on the right, already thinking through the passages where I’ll change to her part. I can’t be two musicians at once, but I’ll attempt to preserve as much of the melody as possible.
    We turn first to “Where Wind Blows Not.” Aradi Imael lifts her baton, and I tuck my violin under my chin. We breathe as one, and the music begins.
    Despite the weekend’s grim news hanging over me, my arms tingle. Reuven and I shift from note to note, creating the peaceful opening chords. The cellos enter with the plaintive melody. I play the first violin descant and, as it draws to a close, switch seamlessly to Leah’s soaring line. The opening is exquisite, until Miriam falters on her flute entrance. Soon after, Tamar’s horn comes in at an unexpected place, and we fall apart.
    Aradi Imael raps her music stand with her baton. “Start seven bars before the horn entrance.”
    Halfway through the piece, we flounder again. We lower our instruments, contemplating the musical wreckage. The concert starts in two hours.
    â€œDoes anyone know the words to this song?” Aradi Imael asks.
    â€œI’ve heard it sung before,” says Devorah. “It starts with ‘Where wind blows