Colette and the Silver Samovar Read Online Free PDF Page A

trouble ahead.
    My mother put on her red cape and started to pack my lunch. Sometimes she does things backward like that. My father says she is eccentric, which means she doesn’t do things the way most people do.
    On the way to school, my mother hummed a song under her breath. She always hums when she is worried. My feet felt like they were locked into a pair of big lead boots.
    School did nothing to cheer me up. Oprah flashed me a smile, but then she started talking to Zain like she’d forgotten all about me. I took my new seat right under the teacher’s nose, kept my head down and poured all my thoughts into my journal. Sometimes my journal is my best friend.
    It was that way the whole week before my father went away. Each day I got up, ate my breakfast and walked to school alone. I didn’t run into any of my friends in the apartment building elevator—not Mr. Singh, or Auntie Graves. My mother was helping at a recreation center on the other side of town and had to go on the streetcar earlier than usual, and my father was either sleeping or working.
    I waited all week for my father to finish the story, but it seemed like he’d forgotten all about it.
    â€œHe’s working lots of extra shifts,” my mother explained when I complained to her. “He wants to make as much money as he can before he goes away. Now, don’t mope. In one month, everything will be back to normal.”
    The night before my father went away, I came home from school and my mother was polishing the silver samovar. She picked up a clean cloth and handed it to me. “You can polish the lid.”
    â€œTell me the story of the samovar again,” I asked.
    She rubbed her cloth over the base. The silver glowed like a soft summer moon. “A very old Iranian man who knew your father as a boy gave it to us on our wedding day.”
    â€œWhere were you married?” I asked.
    â€œColette,” my mother said, “you have heard this story a hundred times!”
    â€œI know,” I said, “but it is my favorite story.”
    â€œAll right,” my mother said. “But first we must have a cup of tea!” She went to the stove and put on the kettle. While the tea brewed, I rubbed and rubbed, thinking that, if only this was a magic samovar, I could make a genie come to life and get three wishes. My mother brought the tea to the table. “I am polishing the samovar to use tonight,” she said. “Tomorrow your father is going away, and we must make tonight a celebration.”
    â€œWhy should we celebrate something that is sad?” I asked.
    â€œIt is only sad for today,” my mother answered. “In one month he will be back, and it will be the beginning of a new life. We must celebrate his return.”
    â€œThat seems like bad luck,” I said.
    â€œDon’t be so negative,” Mom said. “When the samovar was given to your father and me, the old man who gave it to us said that we would have a long and happy married life and drink many cups of tea with our large family.”
    Well, he was wrong about that, I thought. It didn’t look like I was ever going to have a brother or a sister. It didn’t even look as if I was ever going to know my own grandparents. My mother must have been thinking the same thing, because a cloud of sadness covered her eyes. She stopped polishing for a minute, then shook her head and smiled.
    â€œI have invited a few of our friends from the building to join us after supper,” she said. “Go do your homework and then come and help me make some treats for our guests.”
    I put my backpack on my bed and pulled out my journal. I wrote: My father leaves tomorrow for Iran. He is going to ask his parents to help him become a teacher. I stopped and looked up at the posters, then started to write again. I wish I could go with him, but I need to watch over my mother. Ever since the lady read our tea leaves, I have been