like the sun? Did the sun make a big lump in the ocean? Did the ocean put out the sun, the way water put out the candles?
Thinking about this, she felt sleepy again, and laid her head against the sofa arm. Anastasia saw the sun go down every day in the summer, and knew what happened. And someday she, Bella, would know too. Someday she would see it. Her arm fell limply against the chair back as she drifted into an Anastasia sleep. She sensed her aunt Mamie kissing her temple, and smelled her perfume. Then she slept deeply.
Sometimes, Momma took Bella to Poppaâs shop with her. Bella loved to go there, although she had to be very quiet and stay out of the way. Poppaâs shop was large and bright, with great crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. The floors were polished golden wood, and everyone in the shop wore beautiful clothes like Poppa. Momma didnât, of course, but she stayed in the back. Momma told her Poppaâs shop was very fine, and that the mayor of New York City came to Poppa to have his suits made. Many people came from all over the world to Poppaâs shop, Momma said, and Poppa could speak to them because he spoke seven languages. So Bella had to be very quiet here. And she was. She stayed in the back, only peeping out sometimes through the brocade curtain that separated the front from the back. Usually, she curled up in a corner with bits of silk Momma gave her, scraps from linings and from shirts, and tried to make herself a little pocketbook like one she had once seen, but she didnât know where. She had made seven of them, but they were no good because the string did not close them. She did not know how to make them work.
One day, after she had finished the eighth bag, only to find that it, like the others, did not close, she sat and stared at it hard, and thought about what would make it close. And it came to her, like a flash of light inside her head, that the two strings had to run opposite to each other. Quickly, she snatched a new piece of silk, red, with satin stripes like Poppaâs vest, and painstakingly stitched a new bag. She sewed in string, one going one way and the other going in the opposite direction. Then, with tiny neat stitches, she hemmed the top of the bag, leaving two little spaces for the string to emerge. It took her all afternoon, and she had to concentrate very hard because she was in a hurry. She wanted to finish it today because she did not know when Momma would bring her to the shop again. And she did finish, and the bag worked! It closed and opened, just like a real bag!
But her pleasure in this accomplishment was brief. She showed her bag to Momma, but Momma hardly looked. And then, the next time Momma took her to the shop, she had nothing to do. She no longer wanted to make string bags, for the one she had was enough. Anyway, she had nothing to put into it.
By now, the children were allowed to sit at the table with Momma and Poppa for dinner, all except Eugenia, Euga (which they pronounced Aowga), the baby who had just come. But something was wrong. Momma no longer bobbed her head and laughed at everything Poppa said. She looked away when he spoke, and he spoke very loudly now, and sometimes after he had drunk many glasses of wine, he talked funny too. Momma would mutter things about âher,â âshe.â Poppa would stand and yell, rip his napkin from his belt and storm from the table. Bella gaped with alarm. She froze in her chair and heard nothing, saw nothing.
One night Poppa was late for dinner. Momma had been to the shop but had come home early. She didnât run anymore, her body moved as if it was tired. She set the round table and lighted the gas in the fringed lamp hanging over it. She set out the two chickens she had roasted and rutabaga sprinkled with dill and mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. Everything was getting cold and Momma was fretting. She walked back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room, and
Thinking about this, she felt sleepy again, and laid her head against the sofa arm. Anastasia saw the sun go down every day in the summer, and knew what happened. And someday she, Bella, would know too. Someday she would see it. Her arm fell limply against the chair back as she drifted into an Anastasia sleep. She sensed her aunt Mamie kissing her temple, and smelled her perfume. Then she slept deeply.
Sometimes, Momma took Bella to Poppaâs shop with her. Bella loved to go there, although she had to be very quiet and stay out of the way. Poppaâs shop was large and bright, with great crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. The floors were polished golden wood, and everyone in the shop wore beautiful clothes like Poppa. Momma didnât, of course, but she stayed in the back. Momma told her Poppaâs shop was very fine, and that the mayor of New York City came to Poppa to have his suits made. Many people came from all over the world to Poppaâs shop, Momma said, and Poppa could speak to them because he spoke seven languages. So Bella had to be very quiet here. And she was. She stayed in the back, only peeping out sometimes through the brocade curtain that separated the front from the back. Usually, she curled up in a corner with bits of silk Momma gave her, scraps from linings and from shirts, and tried to make herself a little pocketbook like one she had once seen, but she didnât know where. She had made seven of them, but they were no good because the string did not close them. She did not know how to make them work.
One day, after she had finished the eighth bag, only to find that it, like the others, did not close, she sat and stared at it hard, and thought about what would make it close. And it came to her, like a flash of light inside her head, that the two strings had to run opposite to each other. Quickly, she snatched a new piece of silk, red, with satin stripes like Poppaâs vest, and painstakingly stitched a new bag. She sewed in string, one going one way and the other going in the opposite direction. Then, with tiny neat stitches, she hemmed the top of the bag, leaving two little spaces for the string to emerge. It took her all afternoon, and she had to concentrate very hard because she was in a hurry. She wanted to finish it today because she did not know when Momma would bring her to the shop again. And she did finish, and the bag worked! It closed and opened, just like a real bag!
But her pleasure in this accomplishment was brief. She showed her bag to Momma, but Momma hardly looked. And then, the next time Momma took her to the shop, she had nothing to do. She no longer wanted to make string bags, for the one she had was enough. Anyway, she had nothing to put into it.
By now, the children were allowed to sit at the table with Momma and Poppa for dinner, all except Eugenia, Euga (which they pronounced Aowga), the baby who had just come. But something was wrong. Momma no longer bobbed her head and laughed at everything Poppa said. She looked away when he spoke, and he spoke very loudly now, and sometimes after he had drunk many glasses of wine, he talked funny too. Momma would mutter things about âher,â âshe.â Poppa would stand and yell, rip his napkin from his belt and storm from the table. Bella gaped with alarm. She froze in her chair and heard nothing, saw nothing.
One night Poppa was late for dinner. Momma had been to the shop but had come home early. She didnât run anymore, her body moved as if it was tired. She set the round table and lighted the gas in the fringed lamp hanging over it. She set out the two chickens she had roasted and rutabaga sprinkled with dill and mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. Everything was getting cold and Momma was fretting. She walked back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room, and
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