The Zigzag Kid by David Grossman

stepped on the gas and winked at me conspiratorially. We knew—we both felt it—that this was the start of a special friendship between two adventurers, and he grabbed the toy gun from my hand,aimed it at the blue sky above us, shouted, “Hi-deh!” and pulled the trigger.
    The shot reverberated through the air. I was aghast. Suddenly I felt miserable and cold. A wispy trail of smoke rose up from the gun barrel. I slid back on the luxurious seat. All the air in my lungs escaped with a whistle, blowing out the fun of the adventure and the joy of our new friendship.
    â€œBut you said … a toy …” I mumbled.
    Felix held the steering wheel with one hand and sniffed the gun barrel. He looked at me with his baby-blue eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. “So what you think, young Mr. Feuerberg—someone in toy department was playing michievous trick on me?”

9
We Fugitives from Justice
    Gunsmoke wafted over my head through the open roof of the Bugatti and up to the sky. I could smell it, scorched and heavy.
    â€œMaybe we should go home now, back to Jerusalem,” I whispered.
    There was a look of disappointment in Felix’s eyes.
“Pardon”
he said. “Forgive me, please, that I frighten you when I want just to make you laugh.” His triangular eyebrows peaked in distress. “I am perhaps too old to make children laugh, yes?”
    I said nothing. What a team we made: an old man who can’t make children laugh and a child who can’t make grownups laugh.
    Sulkily I asked whether he had any children.
    Again he hesitated, weighing the answer in his mind, as though there were no such thing in this world as “reality” or “truth” and you could give several different answers to any question, depending on what the person asking it had in mind at a given moment.
    Then he decided. The familiar smile spread over his face. “One child,” he answered, “grown up now. She could be your mother.”
    I said nothing, out of pure courtesy. I mean, really, how could anyone be my mother, except Gabi, that is.
    â€œI did not know her so well in childhood,” said Felix, “because I was traveling always, for work and such. This is great pity, no? So much I miss, no?”
    I didn’t feel like answering. The truth is, he didn’t strike me as capable of raising a child. He seemed more the type who could be nice and have fun with a kid for an hour or two. I was sure, for example,that he knew how to make shadow puppets with his fingers and do three or four simple magic tricks, or tell the kind of story that would grab a child’s attention. But actually to be there for the child, giving discipline and care and comfort, the way Gabi is for me—that’s something else again.
    â€œWhy—why you looking at me like that?” stammered Felix with an awkward smile. I stared at him unswervingly, to let him see that I was angry.
    â€œI do love children …” he mumbled uneasily, apologetically. “Everyone says always—Felix is great hit with children! Children adore him …”
    Uh-huh. Just as I thought.
    Cruelly I held my tongue.
    â€œWhat’s this?” murmured Felix. “Cat has got our tongue, Mr. Feuerberg?”
    I could see that my silent scowl was troubling him, shaking his confidence. I had a feeling he could read my mind. Fine, then, I thought, go ahead, read on, here’s what I think of you, Mr. Felix: you are a vain and self-indulgent man who delights in raising himself as his only eternal child!
    It worked. Maybe it was mean of me, but that’s how I got even with him for the gun. Though I must confess, I am not the author of the wonderfully cutting line about the man who delights in raising himself as his only eternal child, et cetera. Gabi had said that once about her favorite actress, Lola Ciperola, and it was engraved in my mind forever. How strangely appropriate to