The Nutcracker Mice by Kristin Kladstrup

Author:Kristin Kladstrup [Kladstrup, Kristin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780763697679
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2017-11-23T05:00:00+00:00

Irina ran over. She was just about to pick up the stunned mouse when someone shoved her out of the way.

“Let me get it!”

Konstantin Grigorovich Gurkin wielded his broom. He raised it high, ready to strike.

“Run!” Irina shouted.

The mouse lifted its head. . . .

“Run!”

Whack! The broom came down, but the mouse was gone — safe under the cupboard.

Gurkin glared at Irina.

She looked away and saw Monsieur Tchaikovsky crouched atop a chair.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” he gasped.

Monsieur Vsevolozhsky took his arm. “Please, Pyotr Ilich! Sit down!”

“Is it — is it gone?” said the composer. His face was completely white.

“Yes! Yes, the mouse is gone!”

Monsieur Vsevolozhsky helped the trembling composer down from his perch. Monsieur Tchaikovsky collapsed into the chair.

“Clear away, everyone! Give him some air!” said the director.

The composer buried his face in his hands. “Please forgive me. I — I’m afraid I have a terror of mice. When I was a child, I used to have nightmares.”

“My dear friend, what can I get you? Some water? Perhaps some brandy . . . ?” Monsieur Vsevolozhsky’s voice was soothing as he spoke to Monsieur Tchaikovsky.

But a moment later, the director beckoned to Madame Federova. He spoke to her in a sharp undertone. “Send someone to find the chief custodian. Tell him that I want to speak to him in my office!”

Madame Federova nodded and beckoned to one of the seamstresses. The young woman listened to Madame Federova’s whispered instructions and hurried out of the room.

Meanwhile, the director had returned his attention to Monsieur Tchaikovsky. He patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t know how I can apologize enough! I cannot think how such a thing could have happened, and I assure you that measures will be taken so that nothing like this will ever happen again. Come with me now. . . .” Monsieur Vsevolozhsky took the composer by the arm, helping him rise. He steered him out of the room.

When they were gone, Madame Federova threw up her arms. “Of all things to have in your sewing basket, Sonya Borisovna! Whatever possessed you to bring mice to the theater?”

Mama looked almost as white as Monsieur Tchaikovsky. “I didn’t! We don’t have mice at home!”

“Let me see that basket!” said Gurkin. He rummaged through Mama’s sewing supplies, pulling out scissors and spools of thread and packets of needles and bits of fabric, tossing everything aside. “It’s time to get rid of these vermin, once and for all!” he growled.

When the basket was empty, he glowered at Mama and said, “It appears that all the mice have escaped from the nest.”

At this, Mama burst into tears.

Madame Federova gave Gurkin a fierce look. She said, “I am quite sure that Sonya Borisovna did not mean to have a nest of mice in her sewing basket.”

Irina said, “There wasn’t a nest! And it was only one mouse!”

But nobody paid any attention to her. Gurkin stalked out of the room. Madame Federova comforted Mama, helping her into a chair. The other seamstresses returned to their work.

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