Free Pastel Orphans by Gemma Liviero

she can catch me, she can have one of my books.
    The game starts off well but after a while, when she is tired from wandering around the large paddock, she trips and falls face-first, her teeth hitting the metal pail as she lands hard on the ground. This knocks out both her front teeth. There is lots of blood but she only starts to cry when she sees that there is blood on her hand. I carry her into the house.
    “She fell over,” I say. “She wasn’t looking where she was going.” But I do not give the exact circumstances and neither does Greta, as if she thinks she will be in trouble too.
    Mama gets a cup of water and rinses Greta’s mouth out until the water runs clear.
    “You have to be more careful,” says Mama to both of us. “Henrik, you have to keep a better eye on her.”
    I don’t say anything but Greta smiles at me. When she smiles, there is a gap now and I feel guilt rise from my neck to my cheeks. She tells Mama that her mouth is feeling better, and she will be more careful when she runs, and she won’t do anything too silly. She has trouble saying words that end in t and s and I start to laugh, close to hysterically. Then Greta does too. It is not so bad; it is her baby teeth that she has lost.

C HAPTER 9
    Mama has begun to teach Polish to Greta and me. She says that if we want to go to school, we have to learn Polish.
    The words are more complicated than German words and we practice them over and over again. Now, at dinner we are to ask for things in Polish and if we don’t, then Mama and Femke won’t respond.
    I do not like the language. It sounds angry and looks messy.
    We pull out Mama’s old bike from the back of the barn. Mama helps me oil the chain and then we paint the bike so that it looks new again. Greta wants the bike too but she can’t ride. I show her how, but the handlebars wobble a lot and she can’t steady the front wheel. It turns too sharply and she falls onto rocky cow dung. I think she will cry because she has grazed her elbow, but instead she gets up and tries again. I think that it is all right; nothing too bad can happen to her now, with her front teeth already lost.
    After several goes, she is still riding unsteadily but she can stay on for ten seconds.
    Mama and I clap.
    Greta and I find a tree. It is wide and large and sits at the entrance to the forest behind our farm. I tell her that it is a magical tree, that only good things can happen if you believe in its magic. I tell her that it is also where we can store our memories, that the tree will remember and tell future generations about us. I tell her that if she tells the tree her hopes and dreams, they will come true.
    Every day for a week she goes to the tree and whispers things to it. I watch her and don’t know whether to laugh. It is fascinating to me that she does this, that she continues to do what I say.
    One time I am watching her from the window and Mama comes to stand beside me.
    “What is she doing? Is she talking to the tree?”
    “Yes,” I say.
    Mama puts her hands on her hips. “Riki, this is not another one of your tricks, is it?”
    But I don’t have to answer her. She already knows it is.
    I wander across the field to where Greta is talking, and she appears irritated that I have disturbed her.
    “What are you saying?”
    “You said I must keep it secret.”
    “Oh, but it is all right to share it with family, those of the same blood. The dreams and secrets are still sacred amongst family.”
    She tells me then, blushing slightly but also pleased.
    “I have asked the tree to watch over us, to keep us together. I have asked the tree to keep a special eye on you because you are important, because you make people happy.”
    I get a lump in my throat and feel suddenly undeserving.
    “That is very good,” I say in a formal-sounding voice. “But you know what we should do? I think that we should put new wishes in a tin beneath the tree and leave them there, and then we don’t have to keep coming