Free Mischling by Affinity Konar Page B

second, I was blurting something out in a move that was foolish, inevitable, and typical of me.
    “I heard that you keep the families of twins safe,” I said in a rush, my head bowed. As soon as I made this mistake, Pearl kicked the leg of my chair to prompt my usual apology.
    “Don’t be sorry,” Uncle soothed, and he swept the back of his hand softly across my cheek. I wondered how many times he’d said that to people like us before, because the phrase appeared to feel odd on his tongue. The corner of his mouth twitched a little, and he chewed on the edge of his mustache. It was a strange tic for a man of his composure, a bit bovine and low, but later, I came to recognize that it usually surfaced when he was taking care in choosing his words. After some thought, the mustache was released from his mouth’s grip, and he addressed us gravely.
    “I do take care of the families. Is there anything you’d like me to do for yours?”
    We told him that our zayde might look like an old man, but he was very young in his outlook, with a mind always prowling about in search of new things to poke at and study. In the cattle car, he’d made us promise two things: That someday we would learn to swim, and that, when we survived, we’d get a massive bottle of the finest wine and toast him. During this toast, we were to call for the obliteration of the murderers and wish on them a million mansions filled with thousands of rooms, and in every room, a hundred beds, and beneath every bed, a poisonous snake to bite their infernal ankles, and at every bedside, a doctor with an antidote, so that they might be cured and live to be bitten again and endure the same suffering over and over till the snakes got bored of the Nazi flavor, which would be never, because everyone knows that you can’t bore a snake with the taste of evil.
    At the conclusion of this outburst, Pearl glared and shifted in her seat uncomfortably, but Uncle appeared unbothered. In fact, he acted as if he hadn’t heard it at all. He simply resumed chewing on his mustache and continued the inquiry.
    “Does your grandfather like to swim?”
    Oh yes, we said. Zayde swims and flips and dives like a fish.
    “That is settled, then. We do have a swimming pool here, you know. I will arrange for an escort for him and inform his block supervisor.”
    I pointed out that Zayde would require swimming trunks.
    “Of course! How could I forget? I’m sure it’s unlikely that he brought a pair with him. We can’t have that elderly bum-bum frightening off the other bathers, can we?”
    I didn’t find the thought of my naked zayde funny, but he did, so I joined him again in laughing, much to Pearl’s alarm. I could only hope that she saw the strategy in my laughter, because when it finally subsided I made another request.
    “There is someone else,” I said. “Our mother.”
    “Yes?”
    “She is our mother” was all I could say at first, because thinking of her emptied me.
    “And?”
    “She draws and paints. Animals and plants, mostly. She makes a history of the living things and the things that don’t live anymore. It keeps her happy.”
    This was a polite way of putting it. I’m not sure that it kept her happy so much as it lessened her tears. I thought of the poppy on the wall of the cattle car, how the flimsiness of the petals supported her. But it didn’t seem to be the time to hash out such particulars with Uncle. Already, a glaze of boredom was threatening to wash over his face, and I knew I wouldn’t have much more time to barter with him.
    “Brushes, then,” he decided. “And an easel. Obviously, some paint.”
    We thanked him, we said that Mama and Zayde would be so grateful. It was more than enough, we said. Or, not more than enough, but—
    “I know what you are trying to say.” His voice was solemn. “It is good that you think of others, but your family should be entitled to advantages for bringing you into the world. Because you are special, you