The Zigzag Kid Read Online Free PDF Page B

snatched the letter away from the pen, which was becoming lost in reminiscence.
    â€œYour father forgets that this is not a police briefing,” Gabi’s writing continued, “and I sometimes wonder whether he is in fact so different from his brother Samuel …”
    â€œOnce you reach the age of thirteen you are no longer a child,” Dad’s black pen reiterated, “and though I wish I could be certain that you’ll undergo your transformation precisely then, unfortunately …”
    Here there were three blank lines. I could imagine them arguing in the kitchen, what she said and what he said. Gabi losing her temper and stamping her foot, and Dad insisting that they had to use the opportunity to teach me a lesson, and the winner, as usual, was the stronger of the two.
    â€œHaving persuaded your father to fix himself a cup of coffee, I can now continue uninterrupted,” she went on in a feverish scrawl.
    â€œDearest Nonny, your grouchy old dad is right, as usual: thirteen is a special age that marks the beginning of adulthood. I only hope you will be as nice an adult as you are a child.”
    I knew that here she would write: “says Gabi fawningly,” or “says Gabi groveling at the feet of the heir to millions,” as she usually did after expressing affection. Only this time she didn’t.
    â€œAnd we both wanted to plan something very special for your bar mitzvah, in addition to the shindig on Saturday and the camera your father promised you. We wanted to give you something money can’t buy, something to remind you of the three of us together, you, your dad, and I, while you were still a boy.”
    Those words, “the three of us,” reminded me of the trouble that was brewing: did “the three of us” mean we were going to be a permanent unit from now on, with Dad’s consent? Or was there a note of farewell in her words? I read them over. Everything seemed momentous to me. I couldn’t quite make up my mind. On the one hand, it was encouraging that Dad and Gabi had managed to plan such a complicated operation together, without any help from me. That seemed a good omen. Well done, bravo! On the other hand, the words had a parting tone I found alarming. “Something to remind you of the three of us together.” What did she mean by that, I wondered. Weren’t we together anymore?
    â€œAnd so we came up with this idea. That is, I came up with a modest idea, which in typical fashion your father developed into a major operation, oops, there he goes, pulling the letter away from—”
    The writing changed again. The tug-of-war was over, leaving a large coffee stain in the margin.
    â€œJustice has triumphed!” proclaimed Dad’s big ugly scrawl. “Let us not waste words! On this journey, anything can happen! Why, you may never get to Haifa! You may end up having the most incredible, hair-raising adventure of your life!”
    It was touching the way Dad imitated Gabi to make me like him better, kind of like a trained bear trying to dance the hora, and though he never laughed at my jokes, I was generous enough to smile.
    And he continued: “Perhaps you’ll meet new friends, or old enemies! Or maybe you’ll meet us! Get ready, get set, go!”
    â€œBut first, how about a little scratch between the ears?” Gabi slipped in, very tiny.
    Nice girl, nice Gabi. I remote-scratched the frizzy hair between her ears, and Gabi purred with her legs crossed in the air and her tongue hanging out, and jumped up to write the following in a single breath:
    â€œThe adventures we’ve planned for you are about to commence, if you so desire. But if, God forbid, you do not, just stay put for the next four excruciatingly boring hours, all the way to Haifa, and when you get there take the next train back to Jerusalem and you’ll never know what you’ve missed.
    â€œBut if you are a valiant youth, rise up, O