Lord of the Nutcracker Men Read Online Free PDF Page B

cap in his hands. He put it on, mounted his bicycle, and went trundling down the lane.
    The cries never stopped. Around the cemetery the trees shivered, and a flurry of leaves—nearly the last— fell down among the graves. The sounds made
me
shiver too; they turned me to ice inside as I ran along the path. I wished more than ever that my mum would be waiting at home. It was the worst thing of all that Auntie Ivy was there, her sharp little nose poking into my business.
    “Auntie!” I shouted, as I barged through the door. “I heard someone screaming outside.”
    She didn't even care. “Where have you been?” she asked.
    “At school,” I lied. “But, Auntie
    —” “And how was school today?” Her little eyes squinted. “How was Mr. Tuttle?”
    “Fine,” I said. “But
    —” “Oh, really? Come into the parlor, Johnny.” She turned her back and went thumping down the hall.
    I followed her with a fear in my stomach, a dread of what I would find. On the table by the doorway were letters from my mum and dad, but I barely glanced at those. Sitting in the rocking chair, his legs crossed at the ankles, was the last man in the world I wanted to see.
    “Well?” said Auntie Ivy. “Now you can tell
Mr. Tuttle
about your fine day at school.”
    He sat as still as a cat that had spotted a mouse. He watched me in that same way, as though he would pounce if I tried to run. The black gown that he'd worn in class was folded over his lap. His hands rested on it, his long fingers touching at their tips. “Hello, Johnny,” he said.
    His face was lumpy and wrinkled, like a squash that had lain in the field through the winter. The backs of his hands were covered with scratches. Very slowly, he started flexing his fingers, and his hands moved together and then apart, like a heart beating on his lap. “You've missed two days of school,” he said.
    “Johnny, you're wicked,” said Auntie Ivy.
    Mr. Tuttle's hands kept pulsing. “No excuses?” he asked. “I expect to see you in my classroom tomorrow.”
    “And you will!” cried Auntie Ivy. “I'll drag him by the ear if I have to.”
    I cringed at the thought of that, of what the boys would say to see my auntie with me, as though I was still in infant school. “I'll be there, sir,” I said.
    “Excellent,” said Mr. Tuttle. “We're reading the classics now; I imagine you're acquainted with Homer?”
    “Homer who?” I asked.
    He blinked. “The poet, Johnny.
    ” “No, sir,” I said.
    “Gracious.” His fingers beat faster. “Well, never mind. I live just down the road, and you can come and see me one evening a week—on Wednesdays, say—and Saturdays, of course. I shall tutor you in the classics, and get you caught up by the end of the term.”
    “Yes, sir,” I said. My few days of freedom had cost a terrible price.
    “We'll begin next Saturday,” said Mr. Tuttle, rising from his chair.
    Auntie Ivy gave me a black look, and went with him to the door.
    I fetched my letters and waited for Auntie to read them.

C HAPTER 5
    November 2, 1914
    Dearest Johnny,
    I like to think that I've never lied to you before, but once I did. It was just a little lie, but you caught me at it—do you remember? At that moment, when I saw the look in your eyes, I promised myself that I would never lie to you again.
    Well, right now it's very hard. I think of you there in the house where I grew up and see you as a child playing beneath that enormous tree. I want so badly to tell you that everything is fine, that I'm having a splendid adventure, and that you shouldn't worry in the slightest about me. But then I remember that you're ten years old now, not really a child at all, though not quite yet a man. And it wouldn't be fair to you or me to tell you simple things like that.
    The truth is, Johnny, that I'm crouched in the mud like an animal, and the man at my side is crying and holding himself, and there is nothing between us and the Boche but fifty yards of the most haunted