Breath (9781439132227) Read Free Page B

Father with a laugh. He sinks into a chair at the table. “A nice long walk after a day in the field, ha! And visits to the church more than once a week—that’s a good joke. All I want after a day in the field is a full plate and a dry bed.” He shakes a finger at us. “And no one’s bread is better than Großmutter’s. Don’t forget that.”
    I feel suddenly disloyal. I look quickly at Großmutter’s face to see if she took offense.
    She’s busy scraping mold off a round of cheese; it doesn’t seem she’s heard at all. She looks up at us, at this unexpected attention. “We’ll eat this cheese tonight. I fear the mold will get the better part of it by Sunday.”
    Tomorrow’s Friday. We don’t eat meat, fowl, lard, eggs, or dairy products on Friday or Saturday—or on church holidays or during Lent or before saints’ holidays, for that matter. Großmutter observes fasting rules strictly. That’s why I caught the birds today. Thursday’s dinner is always meat, to keep us from getting too cranky by Sunday
    Großmutter puts the cheese on a board with a knife and sets it in the center of the table.
    â€œOur arguments would be a lot better if you’d let us talk about the danger of living out here,” says Bertram.
    â€œDanger? You’re back to danger again. Hogwash. You think Germany is off to another Crusade, and you boys will go be soldiers, so the rest of us will need the safety of town?” Father pulls the cheese toward him and rips off a hunk. “The only Crusade that wasn’t a total disaster was the first one—the only one our good emperors had no part in. Germany’s sick of failure by now. We won’t be marching off to Africa or Asia Minor again. We can leave the dirty Arabs to themselves.” He takes a big bite of cheese.
    â€œThere are smaller battles all the time,” says Bertram. “Wars against the heathen Prussians.”
    â€œThat’s way in the east,” says Father, chewing large. “Nobody’s threatening Saxony. We don’t need to squirrel away behind walls.”
    Bertram takes the chair across from Father. Melis and Ludolf sit now too. I place wooden spoons in front of everyone, and at the spots for Großmutter and me too.
    Bertram grabs the cheese off the board and picksat a blue spot that Großmutter’s failing eyes missed. “Even the cheese mold is on our side.”
    Father holds his spoon by its throat and rubs his thumb inside its smooth bowl. “How do you figure that?”
    â€œIt keeps raining. Mold’s growing on everything,” says Bertram. “I can’t remember the last time it was sunny. Melis is right: This is a strange year.”
    Clouds cover us more days than not, year-round—but it’s true this spring has been rainier and chillier than usual. Still, I remember the last time it was sunny, and it wasn’t that long ago—just a couple of weeks. It was the day I met the stranger in the forest—the piper who was headed for Hannover. It was so warm he had his shirt off to rest, his red, red shirt.
    â€œAck!” Großmutter jumps back from the bread bin.
    Two rats go skittering across the kitchen floor to an upright. They climb the timber fast and disappear into the flooring of the upstairs bedrooms.
    Großmutter presses her lips together in a determined line. She cuts the gnaw marks off the bread and puts the rest of the loaf on the table. “Rats,” she says with a little shiver. I can feel herdisgust. She always says animals have no place in the house.
    I’m glad I left Kröte upstairs in his earthen pot, on a nice bed of wool, with a piece of milk-soaked bread beside him. Even my harmless Kröte annoys Großmutter. This is a new Kröte—I name all my toads Kröte, and I never keep them for more than a couple of days at a time. Longer than that is cruel. Tomorrow