a sack full of apples, I exhaled hard. It was a little easier in the next shop, and easier still in the third. When my basket was full, I crossed the threshold of the last shop, stepped onto the street, and sped down the hill toward home as though the Devil himself were trying to step on the backs of my shoes.
“Thank God,” Auntie Shakeh cried as I walked in the front door.
My brother took the heavy basket and carried it to the kitchen.
“Was there any trouble?” My mother followed behind me.
“No one noticed a thing,” I said.
“I told you,” Missak said.
As my mother unpacked the basket, she started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
My mother shook her head and smiled. “It was silly of me, but I thought because we had black-market tickets, there would be black-market food. I imagined butter and meat, isn’t that crazy? But it’s the same root vegetables . . .”
“Only more of them,” Missak said tersely.
8
“L IKE CARTHAGE, ENGLAND WILL be destroyed.” The radio commentator made the same pronouncement at the end of each of his nightly broadcasts. I braced myself for my father’s reaction—he snapped off the radio and shouted, “That fool will be the first one shot as a traitor when this cursed war is over.”
My mother said, “Not so loud. If he bothers you so much, why do you listen?”
“Don’t you think I’d rather hear ‘This is the French speaking to the French’? But the Germans have the BBC so jammed I can’t make out anything they’re saying,” my father replied.
“We could just keep the radio turned off. After all, Maral is trying to do her homework.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said.
My mother said, “Between that man’s foolishness and your father’s bellowing, I don’t know how you can work.”
My father snorted. “Speaking of fools, where is that son of yours?”
My mother answered, “He’s out with Zaven. I think they went to the cinema. They should be back soon.”
I glanced up from my book and smoothed my eyebrows with the tips of my fingers. The mention of Zaven made me worry about my appearance. I had developed an unfortunate habit of pulling at my brows when I studied. I went to the bedroom to check in the mirror that I hadn’t plucked out half an eyebrow without realizing.
I took a moment to straighten my sweater, and then I picked up my brush from the top of the dresser. I was sure my hair would wave nicely if it was cut to chin length, the way all the other girls wore theirs, but because my mother disapproved, I was stuck with hair that fell to my waist. I turned sideways to the mirror to examine the part of my figure I could see without climbing onto the bed.
“Are you expecting company?” my aunt asked.
I jumped. “Auntie, you scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you,
yavrum.
I thought you knew I was here. I’m not feeling well, so I came to knit in bed.”
I heard voices in the front hall.
“Missak is home,” observed Auntie Shakeh. “And is that Zaven with him?”
“It sounds like it.”
“Will you make my excuses, honey? I’m too tired to say hello. Can I ask you a favor? Would you get me an extra blanket? It’s not even so cold outside, but there’s a chill in my bones.”
I pulled a wool blanket from the dresser’s bottom drawer, spread it over the bed, and tucked it around my aunt.
“Is that good, Auntie?”
“Is there maybe another one?”
I looked in the drawers of the bureau and found a large woolen shawl, which I held up. “How about this?”
“That’s good.”
“I hope this keeps you warm.” I laid the shawl on top of the blankets.
“Thank you,
yavrum.
I’m going to sleep now.”
“Good night, Auntie,” I said, leaving and closing the bedroom door behind me.
I went into the front room, where my brother was sitting at the table with his sketchpad.
“Where’s Zaven?” I asked.
“He stopped in to say hello. We thought you had gone to bed.”
I
“Thank God,” Auntie Shakeh cried as I walked in the front door.
My brother took the heavy basket and carried it to the kitchen.
“Was there any trouble?” My mother followed behind me.
“No one noticed a thing,” I said.
“I told you,” Missak said.
As my mother unpacked the basket, she started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
My mother shook her head and smiled. “It was silly of me, but I thought because we had black-market tickets, there would be black-market food. I imagined butter and meat, isn’t that crazy? But it’s the same root vegetables . . .”
“Only more of them,” Missak said tersely.
8
“L IKE CARTHAGE, ENGLAND WILL be destroyed.” The radio commentator made the same pronouncement at the end of each of his nightly broadcasts. I braced myself for my father’s reaction—he snapped off the radio and shouted, “That fool will be the first one shot as a traitor when this cursed war is over.”
My mother said, “Not so loud. If he bothers you so much, why do you listen?”
“Don’t you think I’d rather hear ‘This is the French speaking to the French’? But the Germans have the BBC so jammed I can’t make out anything they’re saying,” my father replied.
“We could just keep the radio turned off. After all, Maral is trying to do her homework.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said.
My mother said, “Between that man’s foolishness and your father’s bellowing, I don’t know how you can work.”
My father snorted. “Speaking of fools, where is that son of yours?”
My mother answered, “He’s out with Zaven. I think they went to the cinema. They should be back soon.”
I glanced up from my book and smoothed my eyebrows with the tips of my fingers. The mention of Zaven made me worry about my appearance. I had developed an unfortunate habit of pulling at my brows when I studied. I went to the bedroom to check in the mirror that I hadn’t plucked out half an eyebrow without realizing.
I took a moment to straighten my sweater, and then I picked up my brush from the top of the dresser. I was sure my hair would wave nicely if it was cut to chin length, the way all the other girls wore theirs, but because my mother disapproved, I was stuck with hair that fell to my waist. I turned sideways to the mirror to examine the part of my figure I could see without climbing onto the bed.
“Are you expecting company?” my aunt asked.
I jumped. “Auntie, you scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you,
yavrum.
I thought you knew I was here. I’m not feeling well, so I came to knit in bed.”
I heard voices in the front hall.
“Missak is home,” observed Auntie Shakeh. “And is that Zaven with him?”
“It sounds like it.”
“Will you make my excuses, honey? I’m too tired to say hello. Can I ask you a favor? Would you get me an extra blanket? It’s not even so cold outside, but there’s a chill in my bones.”
I pulled a wool blanket from the dresser’s bottom drawer, spread it over the bed, and tucked it around my aunt.
“Is that good, Auntie?”
“Is there maybe another one?”
I looked in the drawers of the bureau and found a large woolen shawl, which I held up. “How about this?”
“That’s good.”
“I hope this keeps you warm.” I laid the shawl on top of the blankets.
“Thank you,
yavrum.
I’m going to sleep now.”
“Good night, Auntie,” I said, leaving and closing the bedroom door behind me.
I went into the front room, where my brother was sitting at the table with his sketchpad.
“Where’s Zaven?” I asked.
“He stopped in to say hello. We thought you had gone to bed.”
I
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