The Journey Back Read Online Free PDF Page B

walk home. I can go faster alone. The cow may already have been sold if I take too long to get there. But I’ll come home as soon as I’ve finished.” He kissed me, then continued down the street. Not quickly though, and his back was still bent.
    In a couple of weeks, it would be better. When he was stronger, he’d ask me to go with him again. Then we’d get there, all the way.
    Slowly I started home, across the rusty railroad u=cks and through the weeds that had grown up all mound them, past the poplars, the same ones”
    with the skinny trunks. Look, though! I bent down and put my hand on the ground right next to a tree. Moss, like velvet almost it was that soft, was growing against the bark. I bent down even more and smelled it.
    Musty but fresh, too.
    I heard a dog bark. I struggled to my feet. Bobbie? No. It might have been though. He had run away from the people who were taking care of him, Father said. Sure, that was a few years ago. Still … Calling his name over an dover again, I walked toward the house.
    It had been a strange afternoon. Rachel never stopped bustling around; Sini sat, in a daze; I yawned. The light that came into the kitchen started to grow dim. It was falling now only on what was close to the window. The table, set with the four plates. Father. For the first time since our return, I studied his face. It was thin, with many more wrinkles or with deeper ones; I didn’t know which. Almost all his hair was gray.
    Rachel looked different, too-pinched, pale, older They were like strangers almost, both of them, not like family. I was glad Sini was here. I did not have to turn my head to know what she looked like-pretty.
    “Father, Sini, Annie, come to the table,” Rachel said.
    We sat down. Such a good place I had, right opposite the window. I could see almost a whole meadow, and anyone going by. It was very silent though. It had been for a few hours now, with only Sini and me doing a little talking, in whispers. Ssbt, Father was going to say something.
    He started a few times, got out
    “I’m a happy man tonight,” and that was all. We could begin to eat, I guessed. I picked up my fork and stuck it in a potato. Confused, I stopped. What was the matter with Rachel? Her head was bent, her hands folded. Ssht.
    “Bless this food, O Lord …”
    “Not again,” Father muttered. “Enough.” Then, except for the clinking of our forks, it was silent. Maybe Father would say something rise? Or Sini? Or Rachel? Or me? What though? Just anything? I stared at my plate. It had been nicer in the’ Oosterveld kitchen. Much, much. There had been laughter and noise.
    “Get your butt off the chair and pour me another plateful of that pudding, woman,” Johan would say. “Why d’you think I married you, eh?
    No, Ma, you sit. It’s Dientje I’m talking to.”
    Was it only this morning that Sini and I had left them? How could that be? It didn’t make sense that we didn’t live there any longer. I forced another bite down, and another, till my plate, was empty.
    Instantly Father pushed his chair back. It scraped across the tiles, but not so loudly that I couldn’t hear what Rachel was saying: “… not for our sake, but for the sake of Jesus. Amen.”
    She opened her eyes and leaned toward me. Before her hand could touch mine, I got up.
    Plop. Suddenly the. electricity went on. Rachel had expected it and had already turned the switch. What now? Would we play a game? We used to, on special nights. The one where we all got eight cards?
    Maybe, maybe.
    Father was putting a hand in his pocket. Yes? Yes? There, he had pulled out a piece of paper. He pulled out a pencil stub. He licked the point.
    He began to write. But not our names, the names of cows.
    “Marietje, red and white, two years old.” Prices-of cows, rows of them.
    Additions and subtractions-cow ones.
    Rachel sat down on the chair opposite him. Her lips began to move, too.
    Once or twice Father scowled at the Bible in her lap. Rachel did not