and neck from modeling clay using the toothpicks. Make holes in them for wire with the toothpick. Let the clay harden.
2. Glue pipe cleaners into the holes and bend them into a figure. The spine must be thin enough to bend but not thin enough to break.
3. Give the man a nose (upturned, in this case), two eyes (blue, for example), a mouth (big teeth), and whatever else you fancy (freckles).
4. Give the man mohair hair (yellow, cowlick). Give him a mood (a frown, tears).
5. Wrap wool around the pipe cleaners. Measure the wool, then cut it off.
6. Paint the man’s shoes (or trainers). Give him trousers (or warm-up pants: black cotton and Wite-Out stripe). Give him a coat (or Puffa jacket: umbrella material).
7. Breathe into his lungs and stand him up.
A Knock at the Door
I PUT THE man I had made in the middle of a group of people. The people stood around and pointed. The man tried to break through the ring, but the people didn’t let him. He walked around, but the people wouldn’t let him pass. He sat down and put his hands over his ears. I felt better just looking at him. I had no idea what was going to happen yet, but whatever it was, I didn’t think Neil Lewis was going to like it.
Then I wrote up my journal. When I heard the front door shut I hid it under the loose floorboard and ran downstairs. My legs felt like I had just run a race and my heart was beating in my ears.
* * *
T HAT EVENING F ATHER lit the fire in the front room, which meant he was in a good mood. The front room is where all of Mother’s things are: the black piano with the gold candleholders, the Singer sewing machine with the pedal underneath, the three-piece suite she made white-and-pink covers for, the lupine and hollyhock curtains, the cushions she embroidered. I will be allowed to use Mother’s sewing machine when I am older.
It was nice in the front room, like being in a boat. Dark and rain buffeted the windows but couldn’t get in. The wind clamored and the waters rose higher and spray spattered the sides, but we were safe and dry. Father sipped his beer and poured me a lemonade and listened to Nigel Ogden while I lay on my belly in the half circle of firelight.
I was drawing the angel standing on the earth from the Book of Revelation who gave the apostle John the little scroll that was sweet and then bitter. That was what the old man in the dream said about the stone I had chosen, and I still didn’t know what he meant. I wondered if it mattered whether the sweetness came first or the bitterness did and tried to remember which way round it had been but couldn’t.
I liked Revelation. It was mostly about the end of the world and the last few chapters were about what it would be like afterward, in the Land of Decoration. “What will Armageddon be like?” I said.
“The biggest thing the world has ever seen,” Father said, and his voice was calm and good-tempered. He was settled deep in the chair and his legs were stretched out.
I sat up on my knees. “Will there be thunder and lightning?”
“Perhaps.”
“Earthquakes?”
“Maybe.”
“Hailstones and balls of fire rolling down streets?”
“God will use whatever He sees fit.”
“But it’s strange though, isn’t it?” I said. “Killing all those people…”
“Not really,” Father said. “They will have been warned for years, remember.”
“But what if one or two didn’t get the message,” I said, “and it couldn’t be helped? Like—what if they didn’t listen because someone had told them not to? Would God let them off?”
I looked at my drawing. The angel’s face was stern. Muscles bulged from his arms. He didn’t look like he would let anyone off.
“God can read hearts, Judith,” Father said. “We have to leave these things to Him.” I felt better when I remembered that and went back to drawing the angel.
When I had finished, I showed it to Father. The angel had blue eyes and hair like the sun. He had one foot on
2. Glue pipe cleaners into the holes and bend them into a figure. The spine must be thin enough to bend but not thin enough to break.
3. Give the man a nose (upturned, in this case), two eyes (blue, for example), a mouth (big teeth), and whatever else you fancy (freckles).
4. Give the man mohair hair (yellow, cowlick). Give him a mood (a frown, tears).
5. Wrap wool around the pipe cleaners. Measure the wool, then cut it off.
6. Paint the man’s shoes (or trainers). Give him trousers (or warm-up pants: black cotton and Wite-Out stripe). Give him a coat (or Puffa jacket: umbrella material).
7. Breathe into his lungs and stand him up.
A Knock at the Door
I PUT THE man I had made in the middle of a group of people. The people stood around and pointed. The man tried to break through the ring, but the people didn’t let him. He walked around, but the people wouldn’t let him pass. He sat down and put his hands over his ears. I felt better just looking at him. I had no idea what was going to happen yet, but whatever it was, I didn’t think Neil Lewis was going to like it.
Then I wrote up my journal. When I heard the front door shut I hid it under the loose floorboard and ran downstairs. My legs felt like I had just run a race and my heart was beating in my ears.
* * *
T HAT EVENING F ATHER lit the fire in the front room, which meant he was in a good mood. The front room is where all of Mother’s things are: the black piano with the gold candleholders, the Singer sewing machine with the pedal underneath, the three-piece suite she made white-and-pink covers for, the lupine and hollyhock curtains, the cushions she embroidered. I will be allowed to use Mother’s sewing machine when I am older.
It was nice in the front room, like being in a boat. Dark and rain buffeted the windows but couldn’t get in. The wind clamored and the waters rose higher and spray spattered the sides, but we were safe and dry. Father sipped his beer and poured me a lemonade and listened to Nigel Ogden while I lay on my belly in the half circle of firelight.
I was drawing the angel standing on the earth from the Book of Revelation who gave the apostle John the little scroll that was sweet and then bitter. That was what the old man in the dream said about the stone I had chosen, and I still didn’t know what he meant. I wondered if it mattered whether the sweetness came first or the bitterness did and tried to remember which way round it had been but couldn’t.
I liked Revelation. It was mostly about the end of the world and the last few chapters were about what it would be like afterward, in the Land of Decoration. “What will Armageddon be like?” I said.
“The biggest thing the world has ever seen,” Father said, and his voice was calm and good-tempered. He was settled deep in the chair and his legs were stretched out.
I sat up on my knees. “Will there be thunder and lightning?”
“Perhaps.”
“Earthquakes?”
“Maybe.”
“Hailstones and balls of fire rolling down streets?”
“God will use whatever He sees fit.”
“But it’s strange though, isn’t it?” I said. “Killing all those people…”
“Not really,” Father said. “They will have been warned for years, remember.”
“But what if one or two didn’t get the message,” I said, “and it couldn’t be helped? Like—what if they didn’t listen because someone had told them not to? Would God let them off?”
I looked at my drawing. The angel’s face was stern. Muscles bulged from his arms. He didn’t look like he would let anyone off.
“God can read hearts, Judith,” Father said. “We have to leave these things to Him.” I felt better when I remembered that and went back to drawing the angel.
When I had finished, I showed it to Father. The angel had blue eyes and hair like the sun. He had one foot on
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