Anastasia Again! by Lois Lowry

Author:Lois Lowry [Lowry, Lois]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Ages 9 & Up
ISBN: 0395311470
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 1981-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

8

It was not easy to push the doorbell without spilling the goldfish bowl, but after a moment Anastasia managed a good shrill ring. After another moment, she could hear Gertrustein's shuffling footsteps and then her voice: "Who's there?"

"It's Anastasia again."

The door opened, and Gertrustein peered out. "Anastasia Again? It looks like Anastasia Krupnik to me! Hah!" The "hah" was a hiccuppy sort of laugh, which was more of a laugh than her dumb joke deserved, Anastasia thought.

"I brought you something. A goldfish."

Gertrustein looked at the goldfish and the goldfish bowl for a moment. Then she nodded and invited Anastasia inside. That was a relief. Anastasia had thought that she would have to explain about the goldfish. I guess when you get old, she thought, you get over being surprised by stuff. So when someone brings you a goldfish, you don't even ask why.

They put the goldfish bowl on a table in the living room next to a plastic vase of artificial flowers. Gertrustein leaned close to the bowl and watched intently as the fish swam in circles, flipping his tail. The little diver stood on the bottom of the bowl, tilted slightly, wearing his huge plastic helmet.

Suddenly Gertrustein began to laugh. Anastasia thought that was rude, to begin to laugh at a gift before you had even said thank you.

"What are you going to name your goldfish?" asked Anastasia politely, pretending not to notice that Gertrustein was laughing.

But she just laughed harder.

"My goldfish is named Frank," said Anastasia. "I don't know if yours is male or female, though."

Gertrustein looked at her, still chuckling. "It's male, of course. It's the funniest thing I've ever seen. I'll name him Mr. Stein. He looks exactly like my husband. The same popeyes."

Anastasia glanced around the room for signs of a husband. At her house, there were always pipes lying in ashtrays or size-twelve sneakers in a corner. But there was no indication of a Mr. Stein.

"Where is your husband?" she asked.

"Oh, goodness. I haven't any idea. He's been gone for forty years. He ran off with a lady mandolin player who wore bright blue shoes."

"Well," said Anastasia uneasily, "I'm very sorry he did that."

But Gertrustein was laughing again. "Oh, don't be. He looked like a goldfish, although I never realized it until this afternoon. I was glad when he ran off. I never should have married him."

"Why did you, then?"

"I was a spinster. Do you know what a spinster is?"

"Yeah. I think I'm going to be one, because I'm so tall, and everything. Boys don't like me, except one boy, and I don't like him."

"Nonsense. Give yourself time. How old are you?"

"Twelve."

"Well, I was over thirty, and not married. Lived right in this house, the same house where I had been born. Lived here all alone because my parents were both dead by then. And along came Mr. Stein one day, selling cookware door to door..."

"Did you buy any?"

"Bought the whole batch. Still have it. It outlasted Mr. Stein."

"Excuse me, but why do you call him Mr.

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