The Night Garden by Polly Horvath

Author:Polly Horvath
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

THE LETTERS

At lunch Sina gave Zebediah his letter and off he trotted upstairs, presumably to read it. Winifred and I were in near despair. If we followed him to steal it, he would only tell Sina again. We had come up with no other way to find out what was going on. Old Tom had told me once that even little children in France were doing dangerous jobs helping the French resistance. I couldn’t help but feel that the Vichy regime would be doing happy slap-dancing if Winifred and I joined the French resistance.

After lunch, Gladys suggested that she and Sina listen to the radio together.

“I’ve been listening to it all week at Brookman’s and ever since I got this one home,” said Sina despondently. “I am ready to give it a break.”

“What have you been listening to?” asked Gladys patiently.

“Oh, all kinds of things. Mostly the CBC,” said Sina.

“That’s your trouble right there,” said Gladys. “You want to be listening to bebop.”

“I do not,” said Sina.

“You do. If you want to hear aliens, you need more music, less talk. Think about it. Why would a bunch of aliens connect with some channel that goes blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah? They wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. We all have more sense. Bebop! That’s the ticket. Something they can, you know, dance to in those flying machines of theirs.”

“Are you suggesting,” said Sina dangerously, “that Martians are hurling around through space snapping their fingers in time to the music?”

“If they’ve got fingers, they’re snapping them,” said Gladys, and stared down Sina defiantly.

Sina eyed her narrowly. “I am not convinced that the aliens will be speaking to me at all,” she said. “But I am even more positive that if they do, it won’t be musically. And if it were musically, it would not be bebop.”

“I didn’t say they’d be singing to you,” said Gladys, rolling her eyes. “The messages will be embedded in the music.”

“And how do they expect me to de-embed them?” asked Sina.

“Ah well, that would be up to you, wouldn’t it?” said Gladys challengingly.

“Yes, it would. I’m going to go listen to the CBC now. Alone. And you’re going to get the baking done. See if you can’t find something new to burn. Cornbread, perhaps.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t burn things if I had some bebop in the kitchen,” said Gladys.

“I’m sure you would,” said Sina coldheartedly.

But this interesting debate was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door and the appearance of Miss Macy, who had come over to scout for good Brownie hikes and camping sites.

“Hello, this is little Ermintrude. She’s my trial tyke. I’m taking her with me to see just how much her little legs can stand,” said Miss Macy, pointing to an extremely nervous-looking six-year-old in full Brownie regalia.

“How do you do, Ermintrude,” said Sina. “Well, have a nice hike.” She waved them off airily. She had Martians to decode.

“I just thought I’d let you know I was going into the woods,” Miss Macy went on.

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