out.
That’s
what I call an eccentric hobby.”
S EEMA HAD THE GORGEOUS hair and sexy bearing and Flora had the curvy feminine body, but it was Margot with her winter-pale skin and long slender legs who was the real looker. She was the youngest, and as far as Seema knew, she’d never had any more unhappiness than the usual theatrics that play out in a young girl’s life. Yet even as a child, Margot was inclined to extremes. She collected stories from the kids at school and later from newspapers and magazines. The more bizarre, the more she favored them: the little Indian girl born with eight limbs whom everyone thought was the reincarnation of the Hindu goddess of wealth and prosperity, Lakshmi; or the man in Brussels who weighed 850 pounds and couldn’t get out of his house until the fire department came and broke down his door. Along with stories, she collected symptoms. God forbid any of them got a rash or a cold. Margot would become convinced they were on their way to malaria, pneumonia, or some other dreaded disease. From as early as Seema could remember, Margot had that hairline furrow in her brow, which grew deeper as she got older. She remembered how their mother would rub her finger on that spot between her eyes and say, “It’s a shame. You’re such a pretty girl, if only we could clear your head of all that nonsense and make your worry go away.”
When Aunt Hannah and Uncle Paul first suggested that the Grossman girls come to America, there was never a question of whether or not Margot would go with them. She’d read about the hooligans in the Gas House Gang in New York and the Indian massacre at Wounded Knee, and that was all she needed to know about America. “No, thank you, it’s not for me,” she’d said.
Right before Flora and Seema left, Margot began to get violent headaches. Sometimes she would take to bed for days at a timeand lie in the dark, a damp cloth over her eyes, her skin so translucent that her temples and arms were a map of veins. The merest sound made her flinch. Seema remembered how their mother would tiptoe into their room and whisper, “Would you like a bowl of soup,
mein Schatz
? Something to warm your stomach?” Margot was convinced she was going blind, which was another reason she gave for not going to America. Who would take care of a blind young girl except for her mother? No, she’d stay right here in Kaiserslautern.
Margot was the only one of them for whom their mother had a pet name. Maybe it was because Margot was the most like her and had inherited her nervousness and streak of melodrama. Whatever the reason, the two of them were emotionally tethered. One day, when the sisters were very little girls, a bird flew into their house and couldn’t find its way out. The bird was shiny with a black head and a black beak—a crow, Seema realized now. It swooped and zigzagged and made piercing caw-caw-caw cries as their mother chased it with a blanket. When its wing glanced Margot’s shoulder, she began to shriek, “A bat! A bat!” Someone at school had told her about a vampire bat in Budapest who had sucked all the blood out of a child while he was sleeping, and when his mother came to wake him up the next morning, he was dead. Seema shushed her and whispered, “It’s not a bat at all, it’s really the wicked witch from ‘Hansel and Gretel,’ and if you aren’t quiet right now she’s going to pick you up and eat you alive.”
Margot gulped back her tears and froze in place. The air went out of her and she crumpled to the floor. Her mother dropped the blanket she was using to trap the bird, turned on the balls of her feet, and slapped Seema across the face. “You are the cruelestchild I have ever known,” she shouted, before kneeling down to hug Margot. “It is your job to protect your little sister, and if you ever do anything like this again, your punishment will be worse.”
Seema was glad her mother was thousands of miles away.
A S SHE GOT OFF the train
That’s
what I call an eccentric hobby.”
S EEMA HAD THE GORGEOUS hair and sexy bearing and Flora had the curvy feminine body, but it was Margot with her winter-pale skin and long slender legs who was the real looker. She was the youngest, and as far as Seema knew, she’d never had any more unhappiness than the usual theatrics that play out in a young girl’s life. Yet even as a child, Margot was inclined to extremes. She collected stories from the kids at school and later from newspapers and magazines. The more bizarre, the more she favored them: the little Indian girl born with eight limbs whom everyone thought was the reincarnation of the Hindu goddess of wealth and prosperity, Lakshmi; or the man in Brussels who weighed 850 pounds and couldn’t get out of his house until the fire department came and broke down his door. Along with stories, she collected symptoms. God forbid any of them got a rash or a cold. Margot would become convinced they were on their way to malaria, pneumonia, or some other dreaded disease. From as early as Seema could remember, Margot had that hairline furrow in her brow, which grew deeper as she got older. She remembered how their mother would rub her finger on that spot between her eyes and say, “It’s a shame. You’re such a pretty girl, if only we could clear your head of all that nonsense and make your worry go away.”
When Aunt Hannah and Uncle Paul first suggested that the Grossman girls come to America, there was never a question of whether or not Margot would go with them. She’d read about the hooligans in the Gas House Gang in New York and the Indian massacre at Wounded Knee, and that was all she needed to know about America. “No, thank you, it’s not for me,” she’d said.
Right before Flora and Seema left, Margot began to get violent headaches. Sometimes she would take to bed for days at a timeand lie in the dark, a damp cloth over her eyes, her skin so translucent that her temples and arms were a map of veins. The merest sound made her flinch. Seema remembered how their mother would tiptoe into their room and whisper, “Would you like a bowl of soup,
mein Schatz
? Something to warm your stomach?” Margot was convinced she was going blind, which was another reason she gave for not going to America. Who would take care of a blind young girl except for her mother? No, she’d stay right here in Kaiserslautern.
Margot was the only one of them for whom their mother had a pet name. Maybe it was because Margot was the most like her and had inherited her nervousness and streak of melodrama. Whatever the reason, the two of them were emotionally tethered. One day, when the sisters were very little girls, a bird flew into their house and couldn’t find its way out. The bird was shiny with a black head and a black beak—a crow, Seema realized now. It swooped and zigzagged and made piercing caw-caw-caw cries as their mother chased it with a blanket. When its wing glanced Margot’s shoulder, she began to shriek, “A bat! A bat!” Someone at school had told her about a vampire bat in Budapest who had sucked all the blood out of a child while he was sleeping, and when his mother came to wake him up the next morning, he was dead. Seema shushed her and whispered, “It’s not a bat at all, it’s really the wicked witch from ‘Hansel and Gretel,’ and if you aren’t quiet right now she’s going to pick you up and eat you alive.”
Margot gulped back her tears and froze in place. The air went out of her and she crumpled to the floor. Her mother dropped the blanket she was using to trap the bird, turned on the balls of her feet, and slapped Seema across the face. “You are the cruelestchild I have ever known,” she shouted, before kneeling down to hug Margot. “It is your job to protect your little sister, and if you ever do anything like this again, your punishment will be worse.”
Seema was glad her mother was thousands of miles away.
A S SHE GOT OFF the train
Similar Books
