Unknown Story
Montāžas Teksta
- I returned to the backyard with the tomato patch and the little girl of the eyes. She was not there.Neither were the tomatoes. Even the smallest green ones were gone. But arrows were there. They werepainted on pieces of paper, and the papers were pierced by twigs and the twigs were poked into the ground.I followed the arrows. They led to a far corner of the garden. The last arrow pointed down. I dugwith my fingers. I came to something. I pulled it from the dirt and brushed it off. It was the size of awalnut and it was wrapped in thin golden foil. I peeled off the foil. It was a piece of chocolate-coveredcandy. I broke it open. It was a cherry. Red juice spilled onto the ground. I ate it. I licked my fingers.It was no hazelnut buttercream, but it was close.
- Haha
- When I looked up, the little girl was on the step.“Did you like it?” she said.“Yes,” I said. “But my favorites are buttercreams. With hazelnuts.”“I planted it in the spring,” she said. “I planted a potato seed. It was supposed to be a potato. Butnobody picked it when it was time to dig potatoes. Everybody missed it.” She threw her arms out andshrugged to show that everybody missed it. “So it became candy. That’s what happens when a potatostays in the ground too long. Did you know that?”“No,” I said. “My name is Misha Pilsudski. I’m a Gypsy from the land of Russia. . . .” I held out myyellow stone. “My father gave me this before I was kidnapped.” And I told her all about myself andmy family.She listened with her big eyes and her chin cupped in her hands. When I finished, she said, “It’s notnice to steal. What are you looking at?”“Your shoes,” I said. I loved to look at them. They were black and as shiny as her eyes.She held her leg out, turned her ankle this way and that. She held her foot in front of my face.“Look,” she said. “See yourself.”I looked. There I was, as clearly as in the barbershop mirror. I looked . . . and looked . . . and thenshe was laughing. I was so intent on seeing myself that I hadn’t noticed she was slowly lowering herfoot; now it rested on the step and I was on my hands and knees, still looking.We both laughed
- are you a jew?
- Then I said, “Are you a Jew?”She made her mouth like a fish and drew in her breath. She put her finger to her lips and shook herhead. She cupped her hands about my ear and whispered into it. “Yes. But I’m not supposed to tellanyone.”I said, “Does your father scrub the sidewalk with his beard?”She frowned. “My father doesn’t have a beard.”“Do you boil babies?”“Of course not,” she said. “What a stupid question.”“I’m a stupid boy,” I said.She cocked her head and stared at me. “How old are you?”“I don’t know.” Uri had not told me that.
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