The Mysterious Edge of the Heroic World by E.L. Konigsburg

days later, they bombed our city Rotterdam and destroyed it. Dutch forces surrendered on the day of May 15, 1940. Queen Wilhelmina and our royal family fled to London and our country became Occupied.
    The whole time the Rijksmuseum stayed open but of course without those famous works of art which my brother had helped to move out in time. The director of the Rijksmuseum now filled in the empty spaces with minor works which he took out from storage.
    The next bad year was 1942. Here comes now the story of how came I to America, and I became from Johannes to John and from the three words van der Waal, I became one word Vanderwaal, like van der Bilt became Vanderbilt and Van Rosenfelt became Roosevelt. But never so rich or famous.
    The writing stopped in the middle of the page.
    Peter hurriedly flipped to the end of the tablet. There was nothing more. None of the other pages had been written on. He folded the sheets back and laid the yellow tablet on top of the other papers in the gray metal box.
    He was closing the box when he glanced to the right and left and saw that those seats had emptied. People were boarding. He checked the gate assignment. It was his flight. He hurriedly locked the box, rummaged in two jacket pockets before finding his boarding pass, and dashed across the waiting room. He presented his boarding pass and put its stub in his mouth as he ran down the jetway with his carry-on in one hand and the gray metal box in the other. Right and left, they bumped against his thighs and his reading glasses slid down his nose. By the time he got to his seat, he was exhausted and haunted. His father had briefly come back to life in that unfinished memoir. He felt that he had lost him again.

A MEDEO ALWAYS GOT OFF THE bus first. william followed, and by some unspoken agreement, they wouldn’t catch up with each other until they were well down the block, and the bus was out of sight. They walked together to the end of Mrs. Zender’s driveway, said, “See ya,” and parted.
    Before they would start their work, they shared a snack, which Mrs. Wilcox had prepared. It seemed there was no end to the work in the kitchen. The room was quiet except for the sounds of their voices as they talked and the groaning of the air conditioner. There was no music inside the kitchen until Mrs. Zender pushed open the door, and they would hear a slice of sound, sometimes a measure and sometimes a melody—depending on how much clothing had to follow her through the door. Sometimes Mrs. Zender stayed long enough to drink a glass and a refill of the champagne she kept chilled in therefrigerator. Sometimes she stayed and talked; they were pleased and flattered when she did.
    It was hot at the top of the ladder, and they took turns climbing up and handing down. They worked well together. William washed; Amedeo dried. Or Amedeo washed, William dried. They stacked and counted dishes. They polished silver and brass. William inspected. Amedeo inspected. They looked for cracks and chips in cheap coffee mugs and delicate champagne glasses. William had a china marking pen to circle any cracks or chips they found, and he used that same pen to mark prices on old Pyrex dishes and bake tins. William got to do all the marking.
    With his china marking pen, William wrote 50¢ smack in the center of an old pie tin. He said, “Sometimes the kitchen is the most work and the least profitable of all the rooms in our sale.”
    Amedeo asked, “If these old pie tins are so much bother, wouldn’t it definitely be better to donate them to that Emerson House?”
    â€œWe have to leave some stuff heaped up like this in the kitchen. Some liquidators leave all their stuff piled up, dusty and tarnished so that people can sort it out for theirselves and think they have found a prince among frogs.”
    â€œIsn’t any of this stuff valuable?”
    William used a customary long pause to walk over to a cabinet in the far corner of the