Once Read Free Page A

and Dad would have taken those books. We love all books, even old and tatty ones.
    I can’t watch anymore.
    I turn away from the smoke and flames and hurry down to Mother Minka’s office. Rather than risk mentioning Mum and Dad out there, I’ll wait for her to come back inside.
    I stand by her desk.
    Suddenly a voice yells at me. It’s not Mother Minka—it’s a man’s voice, and he’s shouting in a foreign language.
    I turn, trembling.
    In the doorway stands one of the librarians. He’s glaring at me very angrily.
    “This isn’t a library book,” I say, pointing to my notebook. “It’s my notebook.”
    The librarian scowls and takes a step toward me.
    I’m confused. Why would Mother Minka call in foreign librarians? Perhaps people who don’t speak Polish are faster library-tidiers because they don’t get tempted to read the books before they tidy them.
    Mother Minka hurries into the room. She looks very unhappy. I’m starting to think this isn’t a good time to ask her about Mum and Dad.
    “What are you doing here?” she demands.
    I can’t tell her the truth in front of the librarian, so I try to tell her that I’ve come down to make sure none of the sparks from the fire blow in and singe her furniture or stationery. But at this moment, with her and the librarian glaring at me, I can’t get the words out.
    “Um…,” I say.
    “I remember now, Felek,” says Mother Minka. “I asked you to come down and collect your notebook. Now you’ve got it, go back upstairs.”
    I stare at her, confused.
    Why is she calling me Felek? My name’s Felix.
    I don’t wait to try and work it out. I head for the door. The librarian is still scowling at me. Mother Minka is still looking very stern. But also, I see as I brush past her, very worried.
    Suddenly she grabs my ear.
    “I’ll take you myself,” she says.
    She drags me along the corridor, but instead of dragging me upstairs, she pulls the kitchen door open and bundles me inside.
    I’ve only been in the kitchen a few times before, to trim mold off bread as a punishment for talking in class, and I’d forgotten what a great soupy smell there is in here.
    I don’t have a chance to enjoy it today.
    Mother Minka has shut the door behind us and is crouching down so her face is level with mine. She’s never done that before, ever.
    Why is she acting so strangely?
    Maybe whoever trimmed her bread for dinner last night didn’t do a very good job. Dodie says eating bread mold can affect your brain.
    “This must be terrible for you,” she says. “I wish you hadn’t seen what they’re doing out there. I didn’t think those brutes would bother coming all the way up here, but it seems they go everywhere sooner or later.”
    “Librarians?” I say, confused.
    “Nazis,” says Mother Minka. “How they knew I had Jewish books here I’ve no idea. But don’t worry. They don’t suspect you’re Jewish.”
    I stare at her.
    These Nazis or whatever they’re called are going around burning Jewish books?
    Suddenly I feel a stab of fear for Mum and Dad.
    “When my parents sent the carrot,” I say, “did they mention when they’d actually be getting here?”
    Mother Minka looks at me sadly for a long time. Poor thing. Forgetting my name was bad enough. Now she’s forgotten what Mum and Dad told her as well.
    “Felix,” she says, “your parents didn’t send the carrot.”
    I desperately try to see signs of bread-mold madness in her eyes. It must be that. Mother Minka wouldn’t lie because if she did she’d have to confess it to Father Ludwik.
    “Sister Elwira put the carrot in your soup,” says Mother Minka. “She did it because she…well, the truth is she felt sorry for you.”
    Suddenly I feel like I’m the one with bread-mold madness burning inside me.
    “That’s not true,” I shout. “My mum and dad sent that carrot as a sign.”
    Mother Minka doesn’t get angry, or violent. She just puts her big hand gently on my arm.
    “No, Felix,” she