who’s only hungry? The one who might lie to the German soldiers in return for a meal?”
Petros said nothing. Surely neighbors could be trusted.
Zola sighed in a world-weary way. “People talked last month. They disagreed but still they spoke up. This month neighbors are divided by those words. Each disagreement is a gate locked against them.”
This kind of talk troubled Petros. He couldn’t help thinking of Elia’s father. But then he thought of GrandfatherLemos, who never agreed with Elia’s father either, and yet they lived in the same house.
Petros said, “Still, people talk to each other.”
“People used to talk. Now they whisper. They read notes,” Zola said. He appeared to grow bored. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to sleep?”
Petros didn’t like Zola’s tone. “You can’t leave all this in the house,” he said, waving a hand over the ink and notes. “If Mama finds it, I’ll get blamed too.”
Zola got up fast and knocked Petros back onto his bed. The dog jumped off. “You’re not to say one word to anyone,” Zola whispered fiercely. “Do you hear?”
Petros pulled his legs up hard, thumping Zola in the ribs with his knees. Zola leaped away.
“Just be quiet,” he said.
Petros got under the sheet. If Zola needed more mulberries, he would have to climb the tree and get them himself.
chapter 14
By the next morning, Zola had printed his messages.
He stepped up on the end of Petros’s bed over and over, until Petros woke from a dream of earthquakes. He got up to avoid being stepped on.
Outside, the sky was a deep purple. The only dim light in the room came from the desk lamp, covered with a towel. The birds were trying out a few peeps before beginning the morning song.
Zola was hiding his notes on the upper shelves, moving two at a time. He could leave them to dry there while the morning’s work was done. “They dry slowly,” he said.
Petros came to life.
He saw a great many pieces of that white paper strewn around on the desk and a low bookcase that now held only a few books. Again, Petros wondered where Zola had gotten such excellent paper.
“Once the Germans come, you and Elia can help,” Zola offered graciously. “I’m going to need a lot of mulberries.”
It was on the tip of Petros’s tongue to tell his brother to takea big bucket, but he saw the notes looked like a young child had written them very neatly. He said, “These look strange.”
The wording remained the same:
Germans lose battle to British in North Africa
. Not exactly news. But so many notes looked like a secret. An important secret. This might be the best sport Zola had ever suggested.
“I must make the lettering plain, very plain,” Zola said, “so the soldiers can’t ask me to write something and say, see, these letters are written by the same hand.”
Petros nodded, although he didn’t care for the sound of anyone guessing Zola had written these notes. He handed them up to Zola, who stood on the bed. “How will you deliver them?”
“Carefully,” Zola said in a self-important way. “Enemies are everywhere.”
This was true. Even now, the enemy of these notes slept just down the hall. “So. In secret, then?” Petros said, as if there were ever any doubt.
“Yes. I’ll go this afternoon when everyone is napping.”
Petros tried to look like he was thinking very hard. “Perhaps Elia and I should deliver them. Perhaps Stavros.”
“Why is that?”
“Soldiers won’t pay any attention to us. We’re only boys.”
This reasoning could have tipped the scale either way. Petros saw it on Zola’s face. “It protects you, Zola,” Petros hurried to say. “What if you got arrested?”
“If you get arrested, Mama will kill me. And I’ll kill you.”
“So we won’t get arrested,” Petros said, closing the deal.
* * *
Petros ate his breakfast of bread and olives quickly, eager to get on to his garden. It wasn’t long before he spotted Elia working across the
Petros said nothing. Surely neighbors could be trusted.
Zola sighed in a world-weary way. “People talked last month. They disagreed but still they spoke up. This month neighbors are divided by those words. Each disagreement is a gate locked against them.”
This kind of talk troubled Petros. He couldn’t help thinking of Elia’s father. But then he thought of GrandfatherLemos, who never agreed with Elia’s father either, and yet they lived in the same house.
Petros said, “Still, people talk to each other.”
“People used to talk. Now they whisper. They read notes,” Zola said. He appeared to grow bored. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to sleep?”
Petros didn’t like Zola’s tone. “You can’t leave all this in the house,” he said, waving a hand over the ink and notes. “If Mama finds it, I’ll get blamed too.”
Zola got up fast and knocked Petros back onto his bed. The dog jumped off. “You’re not to say one word to anyone,” Zola whispered fiercely. “Do you hear?”
Petros pulled his legs up hard, thumping Zola in the ribs with his knees. Zola leaped away.
“Just be quiet,” he said.
Petros got under the sheet. If Zola needed more mulberries, he would have to climb the tree and get them himself.
chapter 14
By the next morning, Zola had printed his messages.
He stepped up on the end of Petros’s bed over and over, until Petros woke from a dream of earthquakes. He got up to avoid being stepped on.
Outside, the sky was a deep purple. The only dim light in the room came from the desk lamp, covered with a towel. The birds were trying out a few peeps before beginning the morning song.
Zola was hiding his notes on the upper shelves, moving two at a time. He could leave them to dry there while the morning’s work was done. “They dry slowly,” he said.
Petros came to life.
He saw a great many pieces of that white paper strewn around on the desk and a low bookcase that now held only a few books. Again, Petros wondered where Zola had gotten such excellent paper.
“Once the Germans come, you and Elia can help,” Zola offered graciously. “I’m going to need a lot of mulberries.”
It was on the tip of Petros’s tongue to tell his brother to takea big bucket, but he saw the notes looked like a young child had written them very neatly. He said, “These look strange.”
The wording remained the same:
Germans lose battle to British in North Africa
. Not exactly news. But so many notes looked like a secret. An important secret. This might be the best sport Zola had ever suggested.
“I must make the lettering plain, very plain,” Zola said, “so the soldiers can’t ask me to write something and say, see, these letters are written by the same hand.”
Petros nodded, although he didn’t care for the sound of anyone guessing Zola had written these notes. He handed them up to Zola, who stood on the bed. “How will you deliver them?”
“Carefully,” Zola said in a self-important way. “Enemies are everywhere.”
This was true. Even now, the enemy of these notes slept just down the hall. “So. In secret, then?” Petros said, as if there were ever any doubt.
“Yes. I’ll go this afternoon when everyone is napping.”
Petros tried to look like he was thinking very hard. “Perhaps Elia and I should deliver them. Perhaps Stavros.”
“Why is that?”
“Soldiers won’t pay any attention to us. We’re only boys.”
This reasoning could have tipped the scale either way. Petros saw it on Zola’s face. “It protects you, Zola,” Petros hurried to say. “What if you got arrested?”
“If you get arrested, Mama will kill me. And I’ll kill you.”
“So we won’t get arrested,” Petros said, closing the deal.
* * *
Petros ate his breakfast of bread and olives quickly, eager to get on to his garden. It wasn’t long before he spotted Elia working across the
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