Girl Unwrapped Read Online Free PDF

The woman in the photograph is not as beautiful as Toni’s mother, but she does seem to have the same will of iron. Her back ramrod straight, she stares fiercely out of the photo and right into Toni’s heart. I know you hate the name Antonia. What kind of granddaughter shuns her Grandma’s name?
    In her mind Toni argues that “Toni” sounds nicer and could even be a boy’s name, while “Antonia” sounds creaky and old. Grandma’s photo-face remains unconvinced.
    One mind in two bodies . The thought makes Toni feel left out. She flings herself against her mother, who still holds the picture in her hands.
    “Oof, careful, you’ll break it,” Lisa grunts, shoving Toni away. But the next moment she has scooped Toni into her arms and clutches her hard, squeezing the breath out of her, causing a hot, bright warmth beneath Toni’s ribs and a smothered sensation too, so that it is she who must push away at last.
    “Lay the cards, Mama. Please,” Toni begs, seized with longing for magic and revelations. “Maybe you have to warn someone they’re going to die.”
    “Nonsense. I wouldn’t do such a thing. I only tell good fortunes.” Lisa narrows her eyes at Toni. “So you want to know what lies ahead, do you? All right then, fetch the cards.”
    Toni hands over the deck. Her mother lays long rows face down on the table. “Hmm. Interesting.” She sucks in her lip as she peers first at the card she’s turned over, then at Toni over the tops of her reading glasses.
    “What? What?”
    But Lisa shakes her head. Let’s not be hasty and interpret too soon. One card means nothing on its own. More must be turned over to know whether there is a pattern here, a story, or only random bits of cardboard on the table. Aha, the Queen of Diamonds. Now all is revealed. A progression, see? A three of clubs grows up to become a lovely feminine face card. There can be only one meaning—a wedding foretold. Toni will one day become a beautiful bride in a frothy white gown. The guests will cry “ l’chayim ,” they will dance the hora . Her mother’s eyes shine with happily-ever-after.
    A frothy white gown, Toni mutters under her breath as she lays the table for supper. She shouldn’t have asked for the cards to speak. Now she’s stuck with this picture in her head of the gown coming at her with outstretched sleeves, the spooky veil floating over a cold, dark emptiness. Over on the counter, the flame in the jar convulses in silent laughter.
    Julius sits at his desk, bent over his ledger books. His shoulders are hunched, his long back curved like the arch of the goose-necked lamp that casts a glow on his bald head. Papa’s skull is like a delicate shell, with bumps and indentations and a thin, tight layer of skin—the same aged, yellowish colour as the pages in some of the old books he collects. Tappa, tappa , go the fingers of his left hand, dancing over the keys of the adding machine, tappa, tappa, kachunk , while his right hand makes neat, precise entries in the ledger squares, never straying over the lines. Now and then he tugs the short grey hairs of his goatee and sighs. Her father is a bookkeeper, which has nothing to do with real books; it means keeping track of other people’s money and not seeing much of your own. During the day, he hurries on foot or by streetcar from one client to another, carrying two bulging leather briefcases that knock against his sides.
    “You can come in if you stay quiet,” he says without lifting his head. “Sit in the corner and read.”
    The room embraces her, a narrow, cosy cave, crammed with Papa’s things, but with everything in its place, shipshape. Books stand at attention on bookshelves that rise from floor to ceiling on two sides. The wide wooden desk by the window has a view of stained brick walls, backdoor landings, metal rails, and circular stairs that wind down to a tiny courtyard between their apartment building and its twin next door. Through the raised window sash comes