Princess of Passyunk by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff Page A

butcher shop, he straightened and shook himself all over.
    Then, he nearly laughed aloud. If the ball was in that trash barrel, he had just come perilously close to being wed to an alley cat.
    Back to that gaping, smelly maw he went, and peered down inside.
    The Baseball sat upon a pillow of crumpled, greasy butcher paper in a shaft of brilliant sunlight. And atop The Baseball sat the largest, shiniest cockroach Ganady Puzdrovsky had ever seen.
    He stared at it in stunned revulsion. It wriggled long antennae at him, but did not scurry away.
    After a moment of consternation, he reached down to flick it aside. His hand froze in the act. His mind had also frozen, caught in the moment like a butterfly in amber. But the thaw brought a flood of thought and feeling that was nearly as paralyzing.
    Eventually, Ganady unfroze his hand. He nudged the ball. The cockroach did not move.
    He picked the ball up and shook it gently. The cockroach stayed put.
    He glared at the cockroach. It merely waved its antennae at him again, perhaps in curiosity.
    In the end, Ganady Puzdrovsky made a ponderous journey homeward, baseball cradled in his glove, the gleaming insect perched unmoving over Eddie Waitkus’s autograph.
    No one saw him enter the house or, if they did, they saw nothing unusual in the reverence with which he carried The Baseball. Possibly, the cockroach was too small to be seen. Little did it matter.
    He carried the ball upstairs and placed it carefully, gingerly, upon his dresser between the Virgin Mary and a box of marbles that had been Baba’s gift at Hanukkah. The Virgin did not blink or take exception to this juxtaposition.
    The highboy dresser came up to Ganady’s chest. He slumped, resting his chin on its worn mahogany top, and watched the cockroach.
    She—for it certainly must be a she—waved her antennae at him slowly, as if sizing him up. He thought of honor and duty and Old-World magic and felt as if he had walked into one of Baba’s stories.
    oOo
    After dinner, he found Baba on the stoop, for the evening was unseasonably balmy.
    â€œBaba,” he said, “were you and Papa happy?”
    â€œSuch a question!”
    â€œWell, were you?”
    â€œI haven’t already answered this?”
    â€œSort of. And sort of not.”
    â€œAh, well, the answer is that it was a good marriage and your grandfather was a good man.”
    â€œBut that’s not—” Ganny protested.
    â€œThat was how I felt at first. Just that. But, as the years passed and we grew together, I was very happy indeed, and so was he. Which is not to say that it didn’t take some patience...and faith. And perhaps some stubbornness.”
    â€œWhat if you hadn’t married him?”
    â€œWhat—you mean what if he hadn’t asked after me?”
    â€œNo. I mean what if you said you didn’t want to marry him?”
    â€œWhy should I have said such a thing? Never would I have said such a thing.”
    Ganny believed her absolutely. “Just like Ivan wouldn’t have said ‘no’ to the Frog Princess, huh?”
    Baba laughed. “Your grandfather was no frog, let me tell you! Every girl in Keterzyn batted lashes at him. But no, Ganny, Ivan wasn’t honoring the frog. He was honoring his father’s wishes.”
    Something like relief flash-flooded through Ganady’s heart. He’d certainly made no covenant with Vitaly Puzdrovsky to marry a cockroach.
    â€œOf course,” Baba continued, “once he found Princess Frog, his duty was to her.”
    â€œOh.”
    She turned slightly toward him on the stoop, her stiffening neck moving with her shoulders. “Now, why all this worry about duty and marrying frogs, hm?”
    Ganady blushed, something his Baba’s sharp eyes clearly saw, even by street lamp. They twinkled at him.
    He told her a little about the boyish pact, then—the flight of the ball, Nick’s Italian princess, Yevgeny’s