Free The Zigzag Kid by David Grossman Page A

into the locomotive.
    Felix asked him questions, too. Like where the brakes were, and how do you pick up speed, and blow the whistle? The engineer, delighted, even flattered by Felix’s interest in the train, forgot his worries for the moment and told us more and more. He showed us the main brake that stops the whole train, and the smaller brake that stops only the locomotive; he let me pull the whistle switch, and a mournful wail resounded, as though the train were bemoaning the deception, but I was sad about something else—nobody in my class would ever believe that I got to blow the whistle—and I knew I had no choice but to leave thewhistle part out if I wanted to convince them that the story was true.
    Then the engineer showed us how to speed up to 120 kilometers per hour, and Felix recalled how as a boy in Romania he loved to lie on a clifftop and watch the trains go by below, and hold his breath when the steam blew up around him, and the engineer reminisced about the old-fashioned steam locomotives back in Russia, not like these modern babies, with their twelve-cylinder diesel engines made by General Motors, no sir, and in Russia once, in the middle of our regular run, wouldn’t you know it, the engineer got drunk, so I, though still a fireman, had to come to the rescue,
tfoo!
(He spat out the window for luck.)
    Under Felix’s caressing gaze, the engineer became loquacious, describing the wonders of his locomotive, which weighed a hundred tons, while all the other cars, including passengers, came out to another hundred. A heavy responsibility, he said, showing us the soiled and crumpled letter of commendation he kept in the pocket of his overalls. At this point, I started worrying that the trip would be over before I could get on with the adventure Dad and Gabi had planned for me.
    But then:
    â€œWhat say, Mr. Engineer?” Felix beamed his enchanting smile at him. “You like to let this boy here drive train now?”

7
Some Personal Reflections on Driving Locomotives; and the Difficulty of Breaking the Habit Thereof
    No, I thought, he doesn’t really mean it, and I put on the old quarter-smile, knowing that if the engineer consented (oh, if only—God forbid—if only and God forbid), then I would have to drive the locomotive. Felix repeated his question. The floor groaned beneath my feet. The locomotive raced guilelessly on. Disjointed thoughts clattered through my brain: there are cars attached to the locomotive. There are people in the cars. These people have done me no wrong. Felix may not realize how inexperienced I am at driving on rails. No child should be allowed to drive a locomotive … I sank down on the side bench, at the mercy of sickly Eliezer.
    â€œGod forbid!” The engineer was frightened, too, and firmly shook his head. “Something the matter with you, mister? You must be crazy! Are you an adult, or what? I could lose my job!”
    I sent a faint smile of encouragement his way, but Felix was smiling at him just then, too, and the way Felix smiled, you had to smile back, even if you did not feel particularly cheerful. The engineer was anything but cheerful, and yet, when Felix flashed his smile at him, a smile that expanded slowly from his lips to his eyes, and the three creases around his eyes smiled, too, making him look like a movie star who had alighted from the screen to visit mortal kind, and his smile grew even brighter, with the radiance of a sunrise, suffusing everything in its light, then slowly, and unaware, the lips of the engineer formed an answering smile.
    Luckily for me there was more to the engineer than his wimpy lips.In one angry motion, he wrenched his gaze away from the blue glow of Felix’s eyes, shouting, “Look, mister, no offense—but that’s all! You take the kid out of here right now or else!” But Felix was no quitter. He beckoned him closer, and when the engineer shrank back, as though in response to