to have trouble saying much more. When I got excited about something my talking went all the way haywire. I started thinking about what I was going to say three sentences ahead and then I got stuck on the sentence I was trying to get out. Words stirred around in my brain like the propeller on the milk shake machine at the drugstore.
I s-s-s-s-know about Jason and the s-s-s-s-A … and his gang.
There had been a story in
My Weekly Reader
called “The Golden Fleece” about Jason and the Argonauts who lived a long time ago trying to find a sheep with its wool made out of gold.
Good for you, Young Messenger.
s-s-s-s-Can I ask … was s-s-s-s-Jason real?
If you are asking if the story of Jason and the Argonauts is fiction or nonfiction, I will answer that there is no difference between the two in the world I inhabit. Therefore the question does not have a valid answer.
I felt like I was falling off a cliff and trying to grab for tree limbs or anything to slow me down like cowboys do in television shows.
s-s-s-s-But fiction is a story and s-s-s-s-nonfiction is the s-s-s-s-truth.
And I reply that you are referring merely to the rule of law. I contend that one is likely to find more truth in fiction. A good painting after all is more truthful than a photograph. Remember that, Young Messenger, for all your days.
I kept his words rolling around in my head until I was sure I had everything put away in the right place.
We’ll have plenty of time to explore your queries at a later date but let’s drop our sails for now.
One s-s-s-s-more question s-s-s-s-today. Do you s-s-s-s-know about s-s-s-s-Demosthe-s-s-s-s-nes?
I had wanted to say that name out loud ever since I had read in
My Weekly Reader
about this guy who lived a long time ago and had to put pebbles in his mouth to keep from stuttering.
Mr. Spiro smiled another kind of smile and then his head went back and he laughed a real honest-to-goodness laugh for the first time. It was a loud laugh. Almost like one of Mam’s field whoops that she used to call me from my room.
Yes. But I suggest you not try putting pebbles in your mouth. You might accidentally swallow one.
Too late I wanted to tell him. I had already swallowed two of my shootin’ marbles trying to copy Demosthenes. It might have worked a long time ago but not anymore. At least not with shootin’ marbles.
Mr. Spiro started back into his house.
Thanks for your excellent service and good conversation, my young Candide. We have a date next Friday when we will continue to cultivate our garden.
He closed the door.
I had just finished the first official conversation I had ever had with a grown-up stranger. But Mr. Spiro didn’t feel like a stranger to me anymore. He had said things that would keep me busy thinking all week and then I could come back for more next Friday.
Mr. Spiro had talked about his world. I wanted to know more about what was in it because he knew so much about my world. Bob Feller and Ryne Duren and Mr. Candide.
I needed to remember to ask Mr. Spiro who the Candide guy pitched for.
Chapter Six
I was anxious to get to Mrs. Worthington’s house to see if my good luck would hold out. I couldn’t beat two conversations in a single day with two strangers that I liked.
I pulled up on my bike at Mrs. Worthington’s house right on time. I would be able to get the collections over to Rat’s house before dark.
Mr. Worthington’s black car was in the driveway and not the blue Ford that belonged to Greaser Charles. A good thing. I leaned my bike on the edge of the porch and ran up the steps. I heard shouting but I rang the bell anyway. The door jerked open. Mr. Worthington in a long-sleeved white shirt and blue necktie was sweating and red in the face like he had been doing push-ups in PE class.
Whaddya want?
The question surprised me along with the way he said it but I wasn’t going to let anything twist me around. I had a trick I had beensaving. Instead of trying to
I s-s-s-s-know about Jason and the s-s-s-s-A … and his gang.
There had been a story in
My Weekly Reader
called “The Golden Fleece” about Jason and the Argonauts who lived a long time ago trying to find a sheep with its wool made out of gold.
Good for you, Young Messenger.
s-s-s-s-Can I ask … was s-s-s-s-Jason real?
If you are asking if the story of Jason and the Argonauts is fiction or nonfiction, I will answer that there is no difference between the two in the world I inhabit. Therefore the question does not have a valid answer.
I felt like I was falling off a cliff and trying to grab for tree limbs or anything to slow me down like cowboys do in television shows.
s-s-s-s-But fiction is a story and s-s-s-s-nonfiction is the s-s-s-s-truth.
And I reply that you are referring merely to the rule of law. I contend that one is likely to find more truth in fiction. A good painting after all is more truthful than a photograph. Remember that, Young Messenger, for all your days.
I kept his words rolling around in my head until I was sure I had everything put away in the right place.
We’ll have plenty of time to explore your queries at a later date but let’s drop our sails for now.
One s-s-s-s-more question s-s-s-s-today. Do you s-s-s-s-know about s-s-s-s-Demosthe-s-s-s-s-nes?
I had wanted to say that name out loud ever since I had read in
My Weekly Reader
about this guy who lived a long time ago and had to put pebbles in his mouth to keep from stuttering.
Mr. Spiro smiled another kind of smile and then his head went back and he laughed a real honest-to-goodness laugh for the first time. It was a loud laugh. Almost like one of Mam’s field whoops that she used to call me from my room.
Yes. But I suggest you not try putting pebbles in your mouth. You might accidentally swallow one.
Too late I wanted to tell him. I had already swallowed two of my shootin’ marbles trying to copy Demosthenes. It might have worked a long time ago but not anymore. At least not with shootin’ marbles.
Mr. Spiro started back into his house.
Thanks for your excellent service and good conversation, my young Candide. We have a date next Friday when we will continue to cultivate our garden.
He closed the door.
I had just finished the first official conversation I had ever had with a grown-up stranger. But Mr. Spiro didn’t feel like a stranger to me anymore. He had said things that would keep me busy thinking all week and then I could come back for more next Friday.
Mr. Spiro had talked about his world. I wanted to know more about what was in it because he knew so much about my world. Bob Feller and Ryne Duren and Mr. Candide.
I needed to remember to ask Mr. Spiro who the Candide guy pitched for.
Chapter Six
I was anxious to get to Mrs. Worthington’s house to see if my good luck would hold out. I couldn’t beat two conversations in a single day with two strangers that I liked.
I pulled up on my bike at Mrs. Worthington’s house right on time. I would be able to get the collections over to Rat’s house before dark.
Mr. Worthington’s black car was in the driveway and not the blue Ford that belonged to Greaser Charles. A good thing. I leaned my bike on the edge of the porch and ran up the steps. I heard shouting but I rang the bell anyway. The door jerked open. Mr. Worthington in a long-sleeved white shirt and blue necktie was sweating and red in the face like he had been doing push-ups in PE class.
Whaddya want?
The question surprised me along with the way he said it but I wasn’t going to let anything twist me around. I had a trick I had beensaving. Instead of trying to
Similar Books
