be cold,” she sighed, counting out some rubles. “Will we have hot water?”
“I don’t know, Ester dear. They’re planning another repair in the boiler room.”
“In the winter?” Mama was terrified. “But does that mean we won’t have heat for two months again?”
“Does the management care? They’ll have heat.”
After expressing his opinion about the management, the plumber left. Mama called us to have breakfast.
Our kitchen was small, but a table for two fit into it. Emma and I sat down at the table, and Mama served breakfast – sweet cheese curds with raisins. Mama cooked very well, but for Emma and me, none of her culinary miracles compared to the sweet vanilla cheese curds from the dairy store. Those cheese curds were the most desirable and delightful delicacy. The smell of sweet cheese curds mixed with vanilla was wonderful. Its whiteness speckled with dark raisins was beautiful. And the taste was superb.
Mama cut the cheese curds and put them into bowls. Emma grabbed her bowl and examined its contents, comparing it with mine – what if Mama had divided it unevenly and I got a bigger part? Her inspection was successful. We ate slowly, savoring each piece, trying to prolong the pleasure.
Meanwhile, Mama appeared behind Emma holding a comb. The kitchen was certainly not a beauty salon, but it was so difficult to comb Emma’s curls that she needed to seize the proper moment to do it, like now, when Emma was enjoying her cheese curds and was willing to put up with any torture, even that one. Her very thick chestnut hair became so tangled during the night that it would have been easier to cut off some of the little knots than try to comb them. But Mama handled the comb skillfully, patiently combing out one strand after another.
“More!” Emma demanded, licking her bowl.
“Please, give me more,” Mama corrected her. “Don’t forget that you’re a big girl. You’re five.”
Emma repeated her request, and she got a second helping. There wasn’t enough cheese curd for me to have more, though I received a tender glance from Mama. It was more than a glance. That expression on Mama’s face could assuage all my sorrows and quiet my whims. The corners of her lips rose in a tender smile, her thick brows merged into a smooth wave… “She’s just a little girl, son. We must forgive her.” That was what her glance and her face conveyed, as if unifying us in our concern for Emma.
It was all right. I would be able to settle scores with my little sister later. Meanwhile, she was enjoying her second helping, and Mama ran her comb through Emma’s now obedient curls, taking fluffy little balls of hair off the comb and setting them on the windowsill. Was it possible, I thought, that Mama would style Emma’s hair in a hair bun one day? Oh no, that wouldn’t be at all becoming on Emma. Mama was a different story… And I squinted, trying to imagine how unattractive my little curly-haired sister would look with a bun at the back of her head.
They both finished their work. I awoke from my reflections and suddenly noticed that my sister was smacking her lips as she stared at me. Why was she staring? Did I look like sweet cheese curd? Oh, well, let’s do it.
It wasn’t the first time that we played the game – who could out-wink whom? Emma always lost, but she often seemed to forget that. I usually didn’t perform my principal trick right away. At the beginning, everything seemed quite innocent – first I squinted, then, quite the opposite, I stared wide-eyed so that my eyeballs almost popped out of their sockets. I followed that by glancing all the way to the left, then to the right, then up and down and finally rolling my eyes. And could she do that? Yes, Emma could, and she obediently repeated everything after me. I was about to reach my goal. I began to flutter my lashes very fast. Emma did too, but it wasn’t easy for her. And then I resorted to my foolproof move – I began to wink one eye at a time. That was what Emma couldn’t do at all. She squinted, winced, moved her nose, even her upper lip, all in vain. Oh, what despair was reflected in her face! That was what I had been waiting for. I even knew how it would end. Emma jumped out of her chair, stomping her feet and squealing. And it was quite a squeal! She didn’t just squeal at the top of her lungs. Her squealing was so loud, piercing and continuous that it must have been heard all over the building.
All little kids go to great lengths to get what they want. But my sister had extraordinary abilities. She outdid all the girls in our building with her squealing skills and her loud voice. I thought about it as I savored my victory. Of course, I felt a bit sorry for my little sister. It wasn’t difficult to quiet her down. All I would have to do was pity her, hug her, and kiss her on the cheek. She was such a sneaky thing. Did that mean it was I who had to apologize? No way…
So, I sat there as if nothing had happened. Why was she doing it? Had she gone out of her mind? Had she had too many cheese curds?
I just sat there shrugging my shoulders and looking innocently at Mama, with the smile of a tolerant grown-up on my lips, “She’s just a little girl. We must forgive her.”
Chapter 22. Once in the Evening
It was the day before that evening, which I thoroughly enjoyed. And the evening was simply wonderful.
At first, I sat drawing on the veranda. After placing a sheet of paper on the windowsill, I began to draw snowflakes. I was using a thick red pencil with a soft waxy core. It was a wonderful imported pencil. The snowflakes turned out so beautiful.
“What are you doing there?”
It was Dima calling to me from outside.
Our verandas shared a common wall so Dima, who lived in entrance number six, was my closest neighbor. That was why we were almost friends, even though Dima was three years older than I. Besides, he had reason to act important – his father was an officer.
“Look,” I said proudly, showing Dima my artwork. I had to bend over and lean out of the window frame. “Look how beautiful it is. Do you know why the color is so bright? It’s because I moistened the pencil with saliva.”
My achievements in the field of fine arts didn’t impress Dima. Quite the contrary, he grimaced as if he had seen something disgusting.
“Aren’t there better things to do? The weather’s so nice. Let’s go play officers.”
The weather was really splendid. It was autumn. My first summer vacation had recently ended. The unbearably hot summer days were also over. The sun no longer scorched from its zenith. Its light was mild and gently embraced everything. It was certainly a day to be outdoors.
I sighed. Mama was working the second shift, Papa was due back home at eight, and it was close to five now. That meant I would have to stay locked in the apartment for three more hours. Emma and I were forbidden to go outside when out parents weren’t home.
“I don’t have the keys,” I informed Dima sadly. “And Mama locked the lower lock.”
“What floor do you live on? Have you forgotten?”
Of course, I hadn’t forgotten. I had climbed out the veranda window many times; it wasn’t difficult. Something else was bothering me – how was I to deal with Emma? She was also at home. Of course, nothing would happen to her. She could stay home by herself. She was a big girl. But the little tattletale would tell our parents about it.
I stood on the veranda pondering the situation. Kids’ voices and laughter could be heard from the street. They were getting ready for the game.
