Beat the Turtle Drum Read Free Page A

people didn’t appreciate it, she was a nonstop talker. I figure if conservation is still a big thing when Joss reaches maturity, she might major in it at college.
    â€œSam’s not home now, Kate,” his mother said. “He went to the library to do some research. I’ll tell him you called.”
    â€œIt’s not really important,” I said. Sam and I are a week apart in age. I’m older. When Sam gets feeling like a really big wheel, I remind him of the fact. It doesn’t do much good. Sam is actually the smartest boy I know. Which is good because he’s not much to look at. Sam is homely. He has about eight cowlicks that make his hair grow all funny, and he has to wear thick glasses. If you see Sam and his father and older brother together, it’s comical, they look so much alike. I’m afraid there’s not too much hope that Sam will get better-looking. On the other hand, with him I don’t think it’s going to make a whole lot of difference.
    â€œTell him I might call back,” I said.
    â€œNot between seven and eight, please,” Sam’s mother said firmly. Sam’s father comes all over queer if his kids get phone calls during dinner, Sam says. Most times he’s very even-tempered, but this is one thing that irritates him.
    â€œO.K.,” I said and hung up.

The next day was Saturday. After breakfast we rode our bikes over to Essig’s.
    Mrs. Essig was on the front porch, shaking a rug over the railing. It was fascinating to watch. When she shook the rug, all the rest of her shook. Arms, chest, cheeks, and chin. I supposed her rear end was shaking too, but her jeans were so tight they held her in like a tourniquet.
    â€œWhat’s up, kids?” she called.
    â€œWe just want to look at the horses,” Joss said. She had about decided on Prince. Prince whinnied when Joss called him. He also came when she called. Maybe the fact that she always brought him a treat—a carrot or apple or lump of sugar—had something to do with Prince’s coming.
    Mr. Essig came out of the old shed that served as a barn. “You kids make up your mind yet? Don’t forget. One half when you decide, one half on delivery. I’m kinda short now. I could use the half if you made up your mind.”
    â€œI don’t have the money yet,” Joss said. She held out a gnarled carrot, and Prince came to the fence and ate it. “My birthday’s not until next month. I’m getting the money then.”
    â€œPrince is everybody’s favorite. Gentle as a lamb. Some horses kick, bite, like that. Not old Prince.” Mr. Essig smiled. That was quite a sight. He had about ten teeth in his head. They were broken and dark brown.
    â€œI’ll give you half as soon as I get it,” Joss said.
    Mr. Essig made a sweeping gesture with his right hand. “That’s O.K., babe, I’ll put a ‘Reserved’ sign on Prince so’s nobody else’ll get him. Don’t you worry none. Bert Essig’s as good as his word. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
    â€œCome on in and have a cuppa coffee,” Mrs. Essig called to us. “I got a fresh pot on the stove, you want some.”
    Our mother has a thing about kids drinking coffee. She thinks it’s bad for us, all that caffeine. We’re not allowed to drink it at home. Actually, I don’t even like coffee very much. But I could feel Joss tugging at my sweater.
    â€œLet’s,” she whispered. “I want to. Please.”
    We went. Mrs. Essig swabbed down the kitchen table with a sponge. Their bathroom was right off the kitchen. I could hear the toilet flushing. A lady almost as fat as Mrs. Essig came out. She had on a lot of eye make-up and the most fantastically long eyelashes I’d ever seen. Her hair was black, as black as a raven’s wing. Had I read that somewhere? If it was original, I might use it in my next poem.
    â€œMy girl friend