Milkweed by Spinelli Jerry

Author:Spinelli, Jerry [Spinelli, Jerry]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2003-09-09T04:00:00+00:00

The sun came up and we went to sleep. We woke at noon and scattered. I looked for Himmler everywhere. I didn’t see him. I was disappointed. I wanted to get a look at the Number Two Jackboot. I had heard of a man called Hitler, who was boss of all the Jackboots, who were also called Nazis. But it was Himmler, Enos said, who was in charge of the ghetto. In charge of the Jews. In charge of us.

I usually brought food to the Milgroms. This time it was news: “Himmler is coming!” I announced. After giving me his greeting—“Ah, the smelly intruder”—Uncle Shepsel looked me over and said, “Where’s the food?”

Mr. Milgrom was lancing a boil on his wife’s leg. “A little gratitude would be nice.”

“I hate Himmler,” said Janina. She was playing pick-up-sticks on the floor. She had brought them from the old house.

“Don’t you want to see him?” I said.

“If I see him,” she said, “I’m going to go right up and kick him.” To show me, she stood and kicked the leg of the table.

“Who says he’s coming?” said Uncle Shepsel.

“Big Henryk,” I said.

“Who’s Big Henryk?”

“He’s big,” I said. “He didn’t used to wear shoes. Now he wears dead Jon’s.”

“I’ll stop there,” said Uncle Shepsel. “Are you going for food?”

“Not now,” I said.

“I’m hungry now.”

Mr. Milgrom snapped: “Shepsel!”

Uncle Shepsel slunk back into his usual corner. Mr. Milgrom finished with the boil and pulled Mrs. Milgrom up to a sitting position, her back against the wall. She had become skinny and gray. She no longer worked at the uniform factory. She tilted to one side. Her hair was like a mop. She looked like rag dolls I had seen Doctor Korczak’s orphan girls carry. She coughed, and the force of the cough toppled her over. Mr. Milgrom straightened her up again.

He pushed himself to his feet. He shuffled across the room to me. I knew he was going to talk to me. He seemed to feel he had to be close to me in order to speak. And he never spoke without touching me. Sometimes he laid his hand on my head, sometimes he ran his fingertip across my shoulder. He did this with Janina too. And he always smiled when he spoke to us.

“You’re a good boy,” he said.

I was sure he was about to praise me more, but Janina interrupted. “Am I a good girl?” she said, pressing up to his leg.

He laid his other hand on her head. “You are both good. You are the best children.”

“But who’s better,” said Janina, “Misha or me?”

Mr. Milgrom looked down on us. His smile seemed to double, so we would both have a full share. He pretended to give the question great thought. “No one is better,” he said at last. “It’s a tie.”

Janina stomped her foot. “Tata! It can’t be a tie. Somebody has to be better.”

“Who says?” said her father.

“Tata! I beat Misha all the time when we race.” (This was a lie. It was I who always won.

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