Little Klein by Anne Ylvisaker Page B

go more gently this time. He dangled, his fingers growing red and sweaty on the bar. He pulled. He heaved. Little Klein toiled under the weight he didn’t know he owned until his slippery hands betrayed him and he crumpled on the grass.
    Everyone looked down on him in silence as LeRoy bathed his face again. These were boys and a man who’d never known weakness. From the day they stepped out of their cradles, they’d not given strength a thought. Strength, like height and girth, simply was — like eye color or curly hair. So this boy whose arms would not lift the rest of the body was an inexplicable curiosity to them. A mystery. As he caught up on his breath, Little Klein grasped a handful of the long and tangled hair he refused to get cut. He’d read the story of Sampson and his strength-giving hair, but it certainly didn’t seem to be giving Little Klein any advantages.
    “How about push-ups?” suggested Mark. “Push-ups would help him do pull-ups.”
    “That’s thinking,” said Stanley Klein.
    All three boys and Stanley lay on the ground under the laundry line, then one by one demonstrated the proper form for Little Klein. When it was his turn, Little Klein’s belly would not leave the grass. LeRoy lay down on all four paws and barked.
    “Sit-ups would make his stomach stronger for lifting himself in push-ups,” suggested Luke.
    “Good idea,” agreed their dad.
    Again, demonstrations followed. This time it was Little Klein’s back that would not give up its resting place.
    “Maybe if he didn’t sit in the tree all the time,” Matthew said. “Maybe if he walked around more, his whole body would get stronger and he could do all of these things.”
    Little Klein stood and went to his tree. He climbed up halfway.
    “This takes strength,” he said. “None of the other guys can do this.”
    “That’s because we’re too big,” Matthew answered. “Dad, he hardly has to walk anywhere. He gets to catch a ride on the bike or go piggyback all the time. Mother doesn’t think he should get worn down.”
    Stanley stood up and brushed off his pants.
    “Let me think,” he said. Truthfully, with no results to inspire him, he was already losing interest in this project.
    “You’re absolutely right, Matthew. Little Klein,” he called up to the tree, “I’m going in to talk to your mother. You’re going to start with basic conditioning, and by that I mean getting around on your own two flippers, duckling. Got it?”
    Little Klein nodded and climbed higher than he ever had before, so high he could see clear over his own roof and three streets beyond to the station, where a train would take his father away again the next morning.

Harold was recognized as part of the Klein Boys when he was with his brothers, but on his own he was anonymous. His chin did not clear the counter at Gamble’s Hardware, and he often lost his place in the line at Candy’s Candies when people overlooked him.
    Since the Minister incident, Mother Klein worried about Little Klein being pulled into the river by a hooked fish and drowning. While she had not exactly forbidden him to go angling with his brothers, she had managed every time to find some reason he had to stay behind. The garden needed weeding and watering. The floors needed dusting and he was the only one who could get all the way under the davenport.
    One day with two quarters in his pocket to buy stamps, Little Klein and LeRoy took the long way to the Lena post office, past the Skelly gas station. On a bench outside the station door, Mr. Holt and Mr. Cutter were muttering over their checkers game. When Mr. Cutter won, as always, Little Klein took LeRoy inside to inquire after any current money-making ventures. Sam was busy with a customer, so he pulled a stool up to the counter and studied the customer’s son, who was fiddling with a deck of cards.
    “Pick a card,” the boy said to Little Klein. Little Klein pulled a two of spades.
    “Two of spades,” said the