Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer Page B
Authors: Jonathan Safran Foer
Tags: Fiction
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window. The flash lit up the street between us.
10. Walt
9. Lindy
8. Alida
Grandma said, 'I hope you never love anything as much as I love you. Over.'
7. Parley
6. The Minch I Toothpaste (tied)
5. Stan
I could hear her kissing her fingers and then blowing.
4. Buckminster
3. Mom
I blew her a kiss back.
2. Grandma
'Over and out,' one of us said.
1. Dad
We need much bigger pockets, I thought as I lay in bed, counting off the seven minutes that it takes a normal person to fall asleep. We need enormous pockets, pockets big enough for our families, and our friends, and even the people who aren't on our lists, people we've never met but still want to protect. We need pockets for boroughs and for cities, a pocket that could hold the universe.
Eight minutes thirty-two seconds…
But I knew that there couldn't be pockets that enormous. In the end, everyone loses everyone. There was no invention to get around that, and so I felt, that night, like the turtle that everything else in the universe was on top of.
Twenty-one minutes eleven seconds…
As for the key, I put it on the string next to my apartment key and wore it like a pendant.
As for me, I was awake for hours and hours. Buckminster curled up next to me, and I conjugated for a while so I wouldn't have to think about things.
Je suis Tu es Il/elle est Nous sommes Vous etes Ils/elles sont Je suis Tu es Il/elle est Nous
I woke up once in the middle of the night, and Buckminster's paws were on my eyelids. He must have been feeling my nightmares.
MY FEELINGS
12 September 2003
Dear Oskar,
I am writing this to you from the airport.
I have so much to say to you. I want to begin at the beginning, because that is what you deserve. I want to tell you everything, without leaving out a single detail. But where is the beginning? And what is everything?
I am an old woman now, but once I was a girl. It's true. I was a girl like you are a boy. One of my chores was to bring in the mail. One day there was a note addressed to our house. There was no name on it. It was mine as much as anyone's, I thought. I opened it. Many words had been removed from the text by a censor.
14 January 1921 To Whom Shall Receive This Letter: My name is XXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX, and I am a XXXXXXXX in Turkish Labor Camp XXXXX, Block XX. I know that I am lucky XX X XXXXXXX to be alive at all. I have chosen to write to you without knowing who you are. My parents XXXXXXX XXX. My brothers and sisters XXXXX XXXX, the main XXXXXX XX XXXXXXXX! I have written XXX XX XXXXX XXXXXXX every day since I have been here. I trade bread for postage, but have not yet received a response. Sometimes it comforts me to think that they do not mail the letters we write. XXX XX XXXXXX, or at least XXX XXXXXXXXX? XX XXXXX X XX throughout XXXXX XX. XXX XXX XX XXXXX, and XXXXX XX XXXXX XX XXX, without once XXX XX XXXXXX, XXX XXXXXXXX XXX XXXXX nightmare? XXX XXX, XX XXXXX XX XXXXX XX! XXXXX XX XXX XX XXX XX XXXXXX to write a few words to me I would appreciate it more than you ever could know. Several of the XXXXXX XXXX received mail so I know that XX XX XXXXXXXX. Please include a picture of yourself as well as your name. Include everything. With great hopes, Sincerely I am, XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX
I took the letter straight to my room. I put it under my mattress. I never told my father or mother about it. For weeks I was awake all night wondering. Why was this man sent to a Turkish labor camp? Why had the letter come fifteen years after it had been written? Where had it been for those fifteen years? Why hadn't anyone written back to him? The others got mail, he said. Why had he sent a letter to our house? How did he know the name of my street? How did he know of Dresden? Where did he learn German? What became of him?
I tried to learn as much about the man as I could from the letter. The words were very simple. Bread means only bread. Mail is mail. Great hopes are great hopes are great hopes. I was left
10. Walt
9. Lindy
8. Alida
Grandma said, 'I hope you never love anything as much as I love you. Over.'
7. Parley
6. The Minch I Toothpaste (tied)
5. Stan
I could hear her kissing her fingers and then blowing.
4. Buckminster
3. Mom
I blew her a kiss back.
2. Grandma
'Over and out,' one of us said.
1. Dad
We need much bigger pockets, I thought as I lay in bed, counting off the seven minutes that it takes a normal person to fall asleep. We need enormous pockets, pockets big enough for our families, and our friends, and even the people who aren't on our lists, people we've never met but still want to protect. We need pockets for boroughs and for cities, a pocket that could hold the universe.
Eight minutes thirty-two seconds…
But I knew that there couldn't be pockets that enormous. In the end, everyone loses everyone. There was no invention to get around that, and so I felt, that night, like the turtle that everything else in the universe was on top of.
Twenty-one minutes eleven seconds…
As for the key, I put it on the string next to my apartment key and wore it like a pendant.
As for me, I was awake for hours and hours. Buckminster curled up next to me, and I conjugated for a while so I wouldn't have to think about things.
Je suis Tu es Il/elle est Nous sommes Vous etes Ils/elles sont Je suis Tu es Il/elle est Nous
I woke up once in the middle of the night, and Buckminster's paws were on my eyelids. He must have been feeling my nightmares.
MY FEELINGS
12 September 2003
Dear Oskar,
I am writing this to you from the airport.
I have so much to say to you. I want to begin at the beginning, because that is what you deserve. I want to tell you everything, without leaving out a single detail. But where is the beginning? And what is everything?
I am an old woman now, but once I was a girl. It's true. I was a girl like you are a boy. One of my chores was to bring in the mail. One day there was a note addressed to our house. There was no name on it. It was mine as much as anyone's, I thought. I opened it. Many words had been removed from the text by a censor.
14 January 1921 To Whom Shall Receive This Letter: My name is XXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX, and I am a XXXXXXXX in Turkish Labor Camp XXXXX, Block XX. I know that I am lucky XX X XXXXXXX to be alive at all. I have chosen to write to you without knowing who you are. My parents XXXXXXX XXX. My brothers and sisters XXXXX XXXX, the main XXXXXX XX XXXXXXXX! I have written XXX XX XXXXX XXXXXXX every day since I have been here. I trade bread for postage, but have not yet received a response. Sometimes it comforts me to think that they do not mail the letters we write. XXX XX XXXXXX, or at least XXX XXXXXXXXX? XX XXXXX X XX throughout XXXXX XX. XXX XXX XX XXXXX, and XXXXX XX XXXXX XX XXX, without once XXX XX XXXXXX, XXX XXXXXXXX XXX XXXXX nightmare? XXX XXX, XX XXXXX XX XXXXX XX! XXXXX XX XXX XX XXX XX XXXXXX to write a few words to me I would appreciate it more than you ever could know. Several of the XXXXXX XXXX received mail so I know that XX XX XXXXXXXX. Please include a picture of yourself as well as your name. Include everything. With great hopes, Sincerely I am, XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX
I took the letter straight to my room. I put it under my mattress. I never told my father or mother about it. For weeks I was awake all night wondering. Why was this man sent to a Turkish labor camp? Why had the letter come fifteen years after it had been written? Where had it been for those fifteen years? Why hadn't anyone written back to him? The others got mail, he said. Why had he sent a letter to our house? How did he know the name of my street? How did he know of Dresden? Where did he learn German? What became of him?
I tried to learn as much about the man as I could from the letter. The words were very simple. Bread means only bread. Mail is mail. Great hopes are great hopes are great hopes. I was left
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