Welcome to Bordertown Read Online Free PDF Page B

musician:
Yidl Mitn Fidl
!”
    From the back of the room, a short, scrawny guy with wiry arms and a little goatee came leaping up onto the small stage, brandishing a violin in one hand and a bow in the other. “Hey-
upp
!”he shouted, or something like that, and the music exploded into a dance tune. It sounded a little like that Polka Variety music her uncle Al liked, and a little like she’d always imagined gypsies would be: wild and happy and sad, all at once. Her feet beat time on the floor. She wished she knew some steps so she could dance.
    Some of the people did. Chairs were pushed back. Kids were forming a circle, joining hands, dancing and stamping to the music. Their heads were thrown back, they looked so happy—she realized she was happy, too, just watching. It was like being at the seashore with the sun shining down and the waves beating time.
    The music slowed and changed. People drifted back to their seats. The violin played soft now, and slow. Gentle.
    “By the hearth, a fire is burning,” Ossian murmured over the fiddle’s tune. “An old
rebbe
, a learned man, is teaching the children to read: ‘Learn, children,’ he says; ‘don’t be afraid. Every beginning is hard.’ ”
    He started singing in a strange language. Yidl closed his eyes, fiddled and swayed. She looked across to where the Harvard guy sat with the elf lady. He was staring at the musicians, longing on his dark face.
    What distant land had his people come from, and how had he gotten to go to Harvard? He knew all about books and fantasy and college. Trish wanted to know what he knew.
    Learn, children; don’t be afraid. Every beginning is hard
, Ossian sang in the language she didn’t know yet.
    She went over to the table where the dark prince sat with his elfin lady. “Hi,” Trish said.
    He looked at her blankly, like he’d never seen her before.
    “I met you yesterday,” she said bravely. “At the café?”
    He looked confused. Enchanted? The elf lady was ignoring her completely. Snotty bitch.
    “You’re Anush, right?”
    “Yes.” His face cleared a little. “I’m Anush.”
    “I’m Tara,” Trish said. He frowned. “Like Taran? In the Prydain books? Only a girl?” Anush smiled at her with beautiful white teeth. “So I was wondering,” Trish went on. “I mean, I just wanted to ask you—”
    “Anush Gupta,” said the beautiful lady, placing her long white hand on his, “can you arrange cold beer for me at this table?”
    Anush started to rise, then paused, his head turned toward the door, where some kind of commotion was erupting. The music fell silent.
    The Wheat Sheaf was supposed to be neutral territory, but everyone tensed, looking around the room to see who was elf, who was human, in case they needed to take sides.
    A girl burst into the center of the room.
    “Oh my
god
!” she shrieked. “Oh my fucking god! It’s The
Wheat Sheaf.
It really, really is, just like the Wiki said!”
    She had arrow-straight hair and a short straight dress. The guy with her was wearing thick black glasses and huge baggy pants. They looked like something out of a cartoon, which in Bordertown was saying a lot. Everyone stared.
    “Dude! We made it!” shouted the guy. “We’re in fucking Bordertown! Get out your iPhone, quick, see if you can still tweet—”
    “It’s back!” the girl yelled. “Bordertown’s really back! We made it!”
    *   *   *
     
    The day that my sister’s postcard comes, I make the decision to go and find her; the day after that my bag is packed and I’m ready to head for the Border.
    I know what people say: that Bordertown doesn’t exist, that it’s just a myth, a hoax, a mass delusion. Or else, if it does exist, thenthe road from
here
to
there
has long been closed. Or else, if the Way is open, then it’s a road not meant for a guy like me, with dirt under my fingernails and a duffel bag full of tools, not fairy-tale books.
    But the Border is real, and I know I’m going to find it. Why?