The Zigzag Kid by David Grossman Page A

Felix the words seemed now: his eyelids fluttered, his cheeks blushed red. He grasped the steering wheel with both hands and stared out the window, speechless.
    The silence lasted several seconds, and when Felix looked at me again, his eyes were utterly changed. Gone was the glint I had noticed in them earlier. I knew that something had passed between us, that we had fought a kind of duel, which I, for reasons unknown, had won.
    â€œYou are clever boy, young Mr. Feuerberg,” said Felix quietly. “But now we see if you are brave enough to continue on journey.”
    So we drifted along in the big black car. I had to decide whether tosay “Enough,” in which case it would be over, like some pleasantly confusing dream, an eerie dream which had just begun and would lead who knows where. I closed my eyes and tried to decide, but there were too many thoughts running around my head. In my heart lurked a nameless fear, a cold and heavy fear about what I was doing here with this Felix person, though I realized maybe I shouldn’t try too hard to get to the bottom of it, in case the solution turned out to be more frightening than the riddle itself.
    â€œLet’s continue,” I blurted.
    â€œVery well.” He sat upright behind the wheel. I could tell he was relieved, overjoyed in fact, that I was willing to continue our journey, despite what I had learned about him. I, too, sat up and looked him straight in the face. I was feeling rather proud of myself, though I didn’t fully understand what I had done to bring about this change both in him and in me.
    â€œBut first we must to switch over to Beetle, yes?” he said.
    This was a surprising turn in the conversation. And in the trip. I asked no questions. I literally bit my tongue and waited to see what would happen. We parked the massive car near an orange grove. We got out. I didn’t know where I was, or where he was leading me. He opened the trunk and took out the brown leather suitcase. He closed the car door and began to walk away. I followed him into the orange grove. I was still forcing myself not to ask where we were going. With Felix, I now realized, there was no predicting. Everything could change from one minute to the next: situations, plans, the future …
    We stepped through the trees and into the orange grove. On and on we traipsed, past the muddy watering ditches. There were red rags tied around the tree trunks here and there. When I turned to look, I couldn’t see the Bugatti anymore. Or the road either. We were surrounded by the trees and the silence. Him and me.
    And then, between two rows of orange trees, I saw a huge frog: that is, a green Volkswagen, called a Beetle, though it looks more like a frog. I could hardly speak. I was amazed again at the magnitude of the operation they had planned, and yet one little thought kept nagging me:Couldn’t they have chosen a simpler present? Like maybe a regulation soccer ball? More and more I felt as if I were floating downstream. I followed Felix. He walked at a quick but easy pace. It was beneath his dignity to rush ahead. He moved to a special rhythm, which naturally infected me as well. He opened his door, I opened mine. He got into his side, I got into mine. He started the car. I cleared my throat. We were silent. I liked that manly silence. The car went up and down the ditches, found the dirt road, and away we drove.
    â€œIt was important for me to start our trip with black Bugatti,” he explained. “Special car gives style, no?”
    He pronounced the word “style” as though tasting something sweet. But what would happen to the luxurious car he had shipped all the way to Israel for a half-hour drive? He had left it just as he had left his expensive watch with the silver chain. He never even bothered to lock it. Apparently Felix was the richest man in the world.
    â€œBut black is eye-catching, and with yellow doors, would take no more than few