The first thing Roy’s mother, Kitty, read in the Tribune every morning was the weather report. After that she read Jenny Knight’s gossip column, Knight Out. Most of the time that’s all she read in the newspaper.
“Mom, why do you only read about the weather?”
“I read Jenny Knight, too. The rest isn’t worth bothering with. If the sky’s going to fall or already has there’s nothing we can do about it. I can’t control whatever else happens.”
“You can’t control the weather, either.”
“No, but I can prepare myself for it. Not yesterday’s, of course, but today’s and tomorrow’s.”
The only part of the paper Roy looked at was the comic strip page. He didn’t understand all of them but he liked the different ways the characters looked and how animals spoke like people.
“If the newspaper says it’s going to be a stormy day do you get worried?”
“No. Well, sometimes. It depends on what my plans are, if the weather will affect them. Here in Chicago the weather can change in a hurry. When we’re in Key West it’s not the same, we have more time to get ready.”
“Would you rather be in a hurricane or a blizzard?”
“Oh, definitely not a hurricane, it lasts too long. Sometimes the sky sits on top of you for days and the rain doesn’t stop, it makes me crazy.”
“It can snow for days, too.”
“I like the snow on the first day, maybe even the second. After that it gets dirty and it’s hard to get around, to drive or even walk. A hurricane can make you feel like it’s the end of the world.”
“Is it possible for the world to end?”
Kitty got up from her chair at the kitchen table.
“I’m going to make coffee for myself. Do you want cereal? We have Raisin Bran and Cheerios. Or I can make oatmeal.”
“Raisin Bran with a banana cut up in it. Dad said he liked when it snowed a lot because it reminded him of being in the old country. He told me the Gypsies put hats with large brims on their horses’ heads to keep snow out of their eyes when they have to pull carts and wagons around the villages. They cut holes in the hats so the horses’ ears could poke through.”
“Sometimes I think your father would have preferred to stay in Bucovina with the Gypsies rather than go with his family to America.”
“How old was he when they left the old country?”
“Ten, four years older than you are now.”
“What language do the Gypsies speak?”
“Romany, I think it’s called.”
“How come Dad never spoke it?”
“Who could understand him if he did? He probably forgot most of it.”
“Did he teach you any words?”
Kitty laughed. “Dja devlesa! Goodbye! That’s all I can remember.”
“Dja devlesa!” said Roy.
“Look out the window, honey, it’s really coming down.”
“If Dad were alive I’d ask him how to say it’s raining in Gypsy.”
