Etta and Otto and Russell and James Read Online Free PDF

slip of water and so much dusty land. Two a week at least. One to Mother and Father, in a regular, pale brown envelope, and one tucked inside that, in a smaller, but sealed, blue envelope, for Etta, only.
    Dear Mother and Father,
    Much love to you, Etta, the house. Things are well here, everyone is very kind, very quiet, though we do sing in the mornings. There is more than enough food, even if much of it is fish, which I am not yet used to eating. I have met a girl here called Patricia Market who has cousins in Bladworth; I told her you would surely know the family.
    When we’re not praying or singing or eating fish, we knit, mostly socks, for those that need them. Cold feet are a horrible thing, especially here, where it can be so wet. Big socks and small socks, but mostly big, for men, or boys who are nearly men. More and more are coming through, in their matching shirts, trousers, caps. But their socks don’t match, as we knit with whatever wool we get on donation, sometimes orange sometimes green or red or white. So the boys only look the same until they take off their boots.
    Although I know you don’t mind one way or the other, I pray for you each day, between dinner and bed.
    Your loving daughter,
    Alma
    And, inside, in the blue envelope,
    Dear Etta,
    I’m not throwing up so much anymore. Food tastes so good now that I know I’ll (usually) get to keep it. Etta, I love food. Even fish, now. You should try it sometime, if you can find any, out there. Don’t let the eyes scare you.
    Your Sister,
    Alma
    After this, Etta went to her bureau and opened the drawer second from the top and lifted a small jar out from under two sweaters. She twisted off the lid and upended its contents, one fish skull, into her hand. She held it to her ear, very close. Ne me mangez pas.
    O r,
    Dear Mother and Dad,
    Did you know you can get a cramp just from knitting? A terrible cramp. And it won’t be prayed away, even.
    (Find, enclosed, socks. Three pairs.)
    Your Daughter,
    Alma
    And,
    Dear Etta,
    I am huge. I am so much bigger than I ever thought I could be. I never thought of myself as a big person, in any way. Not only my belly, but other things. My feet. My hair. My chest. It feels like my whole body is not mine right now.
    The nuns are good at seeing none of it. They have trained for years, I suppose, at seeing nothing. I am training too.
    But I still see some things. These boys who are passing through our tiny island by the hundreds now, weighing it down, taking our socks gratefully like they were from their own mothers, these boys all remind me of Jim. Of course they look nothing like him, but, still, I can’t stop seeing him in them. We pray, heads down, at the window, from 2 p.m. to 3 p.m., and, while I keep my head down, my eyes stay up, watching them walk past, in twos, in threes. I don’t know if I want to see him there for real, or not at all.
    But I’m happy, I think. Or maybe not happy, I’m just here, and this is where I am. And that’s Good. There is nowhere you can go on this island and not hear the rhythm of the water.
    I miss you, of course. I know you are taking care of yourself and being smart and and being Good. Tell me about home, and you, when you get a moment.
    Your Sister,
    Alma
    And,
    Dear Mom, dear Dad,
    I am thinking about coming home for a visit. We don’t have much money, here, but what I do have, combined with the little you send me, should cover the return train and ferry fare. One month from the post date of this letter? Does that sound good to you? If you say yes, I will go and buy the tickets right away. I hope you will find me not too much changed, but holier, of course. And perhaps a little fatter, from all the fish. (And lobster. Lobster! Sometimes there is so much of it that we find them crawling up, out of the water, onto our dock or lawn. I would bring one back, for you to try, but I’m sure Etta would want to keep it as a pet and companion.)
    Your Daughter, with