The Zigzag Kid Read Online Free PDF

I mean, I am his blood, after all. He must have told her that this grand production might be too much for a kid, that the humor would be lost on me. And she laughed and said he should only have one quarter of Nonny’s sense of humor, and that before he got to be such a stick-in-the-mud, he had earned himself a certain reputation—or were all those stories about him just a lot of hot air? So what could he do, he had to prove to her that he was still the dashing young man who used to tear through the streets of Jerusalem on a motorcycle with a sidecar and a tomato plant; and they went on and on, never asking themselves how the poor bar mitzvah boy felt about any of this.
    There was a sour smell of perspiration in the compartment, the lingering smell of the policeman and the prisoner. I wondered how theyhad planned this escapade. Was it hard to learn the lines, I wanted to ask, and where did they find those costumes, and the ball and chain, and how much did it cost to put on a performance just for me, and how about train fare, the tickets must have been pretty expensive, too, maybe Dad and Gabi had reserved every seat in the compartment to prevent any hitches. This was some big operation.
    Gradually I felt better. After all, they had meant well. They only wanted to make me happy. They’d tried so hard, it was really nice of them … Wasn’t this fun. I sat there, muttering to myself, till I felt calm enough to pick up Gabi’s note again, and then I saw that the writing had changed.
    â€œAs usual, the whole idea was Miss Gabriella’s,” scrawled Dad in big black letters. “Only, once she’d convinced me that you were going to have a perfectly wonderful time, our valiant Gabi suddenly got cold feet—what if it proved too much of a shock for you, and I told her—well, you can probably guess what I told her.”
    That at my age he was already running his father’s business, and that life is no insurance policy.
    â€œRight!” exulted Gabi’s small round letters. “And since your father, being a member of the Israeli police force, does not even have a quarter of a business to leave you, but only a fat pile of bills …” (here Gabi sprinkled three drops of liquid on the paper and drew a balloon around them with the words: “The tears of the crocodile amanuensis”) … he is therefore duty-bound to toughen you up as your bar mitzvah draws near, in order to prepare you for the struggles, challenges, and dangers of life. But first, my little fledgling, I must inform you that the meeting with your uncle, the esteemed Dr. Samuel Shilhav, will not take place today as planned. And at this point I shall pause to let you commune with your grief.” Outside, a white-haired farmer with a sunburned face riding across the field in a mule cart was jolted suddenly by the loud whoop that came from the boy at the train window.
    â€œI am sorry, my dear neglected child, for having cruelly misled you to believe that you were heading for Haifa and the talons of that eminent educator, your uncle. We only resorted to such baseness in orderto heighten the surprise and allay your suspicions, and for this we humbly beg your pardon.”
    I, too, bowed humbly before a fleeting image of my big, clumsy dad cracking his knuckles, and Gabi, curtsying like a ballerina with laughing eyes. I was utterly confused by the changes of the last hour: my misery about the trip to Haifa and the trick they had played on me quickly gave way to a thrill of anticipation. I felt like that tank filling up and emptying out in the famous algebra problem.
    Tight, dark letters invaded the bouncy round ones.
    â€œThirteen is a special age, Nonny, the age when you assume responsibility for your actions and behavior. When I was your age, because of the catastrophes that befell the Jewish people, I…”
    A long, crooked line across the page here indicated that a certain plump hand had