Read Online Z for Zachariah by Robert C. O’Brien - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert C. O’Brien
Ads: Link
Lesson Book", Thompson's "Easy Pieces", and a recital piece I once learned, "Fur Elise". The Lesson Book is about half finger exercises.
I put the lamp near the piano and started on "Easy Pieces". A lot of them are too babyish, but towards the end of the book there are some harder ones that are quite pretty. I played these, glancing at him now and then. He really seemed to like it, and I think because of that I played better than I usually do, and hardly made any mistakes. I mean he didn't clap or say anything, but he sat forward in his chair and listened without moving at all. When I finished "Easy Pieces" I played "Fur Elise", then a few things from the Lesson Book, and that was all I had, except hymns.
I can play hymns better than anything else, because I used to play them for our Sunday School singing. I opened the hymn book and played two of my favourites, "How Great Thou Art" and "In the Garden". The melodies are good, but the arrangements are not really meant for the piano, but for choir. I played "In the Garden" very softly, and when I looked around again he had fallen asleep, still leaning forward in his chair. I was afraid he would fall, so I stopped, and when I did he woke up.
"Thank you," he said. "That was beautiful." He paused, and then added, "This is the best evening I have ever spent."
I said: "Ever? You mean since the war."
"You heard me," he said. "I said 'ever'." He sounded angry. Of course, he has a fever and doesn't feel well.
He went to bed then; I told him to leave the bedroom door open, and I put some more wood on the fire, thick logs that would last all night. Then I went upstairs to my bedroom. It had turned surprisingly cold, not like winter, but sharp just the same. I had a couple of blankets and I lay there on the bed thinking and trying to warm up.
For some reason, playing the hymns had made me feel sad, as if I were homesick even though I was at home. They made me think of Sunday School. When we went to school, regular school, we went on the bus with other children, but when we went to Sunday School we drove to Ogdentown in the car with my mother and father, dressed in our good clothes, and it was always festive. I remembered so many things about it, with David and Joseph. That is not surprising, since I started when I was five; in fact it was my kindergarten; I learned the alphabet there, from a picture book called "The Bible Letter Book".
The first page said "A is for Adam", and there was a picture of Adam standing near an apple tree, dressed in a long white robe—which disagrees with the Bible, but of course it was for small children. Next came "B is for Benjamin". "C is for Christian", and so on. The last page of all was "Z is for Zachariah", and since I knew that Adam was the first man, for a long time I assumed that Zachariah must be the last man. I learned all the letters from that book, so that by the time I got to school I could already read a little.
Thinking about Sunday School and about Mr Loomis getting angry, I wished I were back in the cave again. It seemed cosier somehow. Finally I decided to go and sleep there (I had left some blankets and stuff up there) and come back early enough so that Mr Loomis would not know I had been away. I got up and started walking down the stairs towards the hallway and the door. As I passed the bedroom door where he was sleeping I heard a shout, and then another. He was talking loudly, but I could not hear what he was saying. He sounded troubled and I thought he might need help.
So I went back closer to the door. He was dreaming, a bad dream I could tell, a nightmare. He was talking in outbursts, sometimes quite angrily. Then he would stop, as if listening for an answer: I realized I was hearing half of a conversation. It was not all clear, but he was talking to Edward.
He said: "In charge. In charge of what?"
There was a pause.
Then he said: "Not any more, Edward. It doesn't mean anything now."
Another pause.
"What good can it do?
I put the lamp near the piano and started on "Easy Pieces". A lot of them are too babyish, but towards the end of the book there are some harder ones that are quite pretty. I played these, glancing at him now and then. He really seemed to like it, and I think because of that I played better than I usually do, and hardly made any mistakes. I mean he didn't clap or say anything, but he sat forward in his chair and listened without moving at all. When I finished "Easy Pieces" I played "Fur Elise", then a few things from the Lesson Book, and that was all I had, except hymns.
I can play hymns better than anything else, because I used to play them for our Sunday School singing. I opened the hymn book and played two of my favourites, "How Great Thou Art" and "In the Garden". The melodies are good, but the arrangements are not really meant for the piano, but for choir. I played "In the Garden" very softly, and when I looked around again he had fallen asleep, still leaning forward in his chair. I was afraid he would fall, so I stopped, and when I did he woke up.
"Thank you," he said. "That was beautiful." He paused, and then added, "This is the best evening I have ever spent."
I said: "Ever? You mean since the war."
"You heard me," he said. "I said 'ever'." He sounded angry. Of course, he has a fever and doesn't feel well.
He went to bed then; I told him to leave the bedroom door open, and I put some more wood on the fire, thick logs that would last all night. Then I went upstairs to my bedroom. It had turned surprisingly cold, not like winter, but sharp just the same. I had a couple of blankets and I lay there on the bed thinking and trying to warm up.
For some reason, playing the hymns had made me feel sad, as if I were homesick even though I was at home. They made me think of Sunday School. When we went to school, regular school, we went on the bus with other children, but when we went to Sunday School we drove to Ogdentown in the car with my mother and father, dressed in our good clothes, and it was always festive. I remembered so many things about it, with David and Joseph. That is not surprising, since I started when I was five; in fact it was my kindergarten; I learned the alphabet there, from a picture book called "The Bible Letter Book".
The first page said "A is for Adam", and there was a picture of Adam standing near an apple tree, dressed in a long white robe—which disagrees with the Bible, but of course it was for small children. Next came "B is for Benjamin". "C is for Christian", and so on. The last page of all was "Z is for Zachariah", and since I knew that Adam was the first man, for a long time I assumed that Zachariah must be the last man. I learned all the letters from that book, so that by the time I got to school I could already read a little.
Thinking about Sunday School and about Mr Loomis getting angry, I wished I were back in the cave again. It seemed cosier somehow. Finally I decided to go and sleep there (I had left some blankets and stuff up there) and come back early enough so that Mr Loomis would not know I had been away. I got up and started walking down the stairs towards the hallway and the door. As I passed the bedroom door where he was sleeping I heard a shout, and then another. He was talking loudly, but I could not hear what he was saying. He sounded troubled and I thought he might need help.
So I went back closer to the door. He was dreaming, a bad dream I could tell, a nightmare. He was talking in outbursts, sometimes quite angrily. Then he would stop, as if listening for an answer: I realized I was hearing half of a conversation. It was not all clear, but he was talking to Edward.
He said: "In charge. In charge of what?"
There was a pause.
Then he said: "Not any more, Edward. It doesn't mean anything now."
Another pause.
"What good can it do?
Similar Books
