The Avion My Uncle Flew Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jean it was too much. I was through talking French. I was finished. I said, “Father, can’t we go home now?” I said, “Please.”
    He stopped smiling. His face got the same tired gray look it had before we started saying “Bonne nuit” to each other. He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “The government has made me an officer in the army and I have a duty and I can’t run from that duty, can I? If I’m ordered to report to London on the Allied Aviation Committee it’s my duty to go and not complain. I’m sorry.” He shook his head and said, “I’m very sorry, Johnny.” He turned off the light and shut the door. He’d sounded sorry, too. I won’t ever forget how sorry he’d sounded. It was as though I’d done something to make him sorry.
    I couldn’t go right to sleep. I thought about the French changing my name into “Jean” and how queer names were and about Mr. Fischfasse and all at once I remembered he’d known my name. He’d called me “Mr. Littlehorn.” I couldn’t understand that. He hadn’t ever seen me before. I hadn’t told him my name, either. I couldn’t get over it. I was bothered. I went to sleep and had dreams about him, only he was like something made out of dry wood in my dreams, about a mile high, his white face stuck on top of the sticks, like a dead fish.

3
    THE BARGAIN
    When it was time, the next day, for Albert to wheel me outside I told him I didn’t want to go back to the parc. I didn’t explain the true reason; I merely said to Albert to push me through some other part of Paris because I was tired of seeing the same old streets. He nodded and replied, “Yess,” and shoved along, humming to himself.
    The fact was, I had a notion Mr. Fischfasse might be waiting in the parc and I didn’t want to see him again. I can’t explain exactly why. Maybe it was because of the dreams I’d had last night, seeing that fishlike white head of his miles up in the air on sticks, grinning down at me, as if it held a secret against me and was waiting for me to get in trouble.
    Despite being bundled in the blanket, I shivered a little. Albert wheeled me around the big opera house. He trundled me along through another street. I got to thinking I’d imagined everything, and was wondering why I’d been scared—feeling secure, of course, not expecting to run into Mr. Fischfasse again.
    Well, Albert either didn’t understand my directions or was just dumb. He ran smack into that parc again, this time from another direction. I didn’t want to kick up a row about it. It wasn’t important enough. Albert let go of the handle to the chair. He said if I didn’t mind, he’d leave me here a minute and buy himself more tobacco.
    I did mind. I was telling him I was tired and he could buy himself tobacco in the hotel but he merely smiled, pleased and cheerful, as if he hadn’t heard me, and thought I’d given him permission to go.
    I called, “Albert—”
    But he nodded. “I be back in vun minute,” and away he trotted, his fat legs moving faster than I realized they could go. I sunk down into the chair, wanting him to get back. When I looked up, Mr. Fischfasse was sauntering toward me through the trees.
    I tried not to notice him, hoping he’d go on.
    He didn’t. He halted. “Ah, bon jour, Jean,” he said to me.
    â€œBon jour, Mr. Fischfasse,” I said, knowing how to answer that. Next I asked, “How’d you know my name?”
    He looked perplexed. “But you told it to me yesterday.”
    I probably blinked at that. I never remembered telling him, but I must have done it after all. It explained everything.
    His greenish eyes lit up again. He smiled. He sat down on the bench, taking his time about doing it, as if he might break some of those sticks inside his dark suit.
    I