| |
Jay sat back, stunned. He knew that his grandfather had come to Wisconsin as a little boy because of a war, but he hadn’t ever thought it was like that. He shivered and thought he might be sick. He swallowed it back and nibbled on the cinnamon stick.
“It’s true?” he asked. “Really true?”
“What did you see?” His uncle leaned forward, eyes too big in his head.
Voice shaking, Jay told him.
“Violence and triumph,” his uncle said. “You saw both.”
“It wasn’t a triumph. Everyone died.” It was too big to understand, but he trembled with horror.
“Except the little boy. He ran away and came here and met your grandmother and had your mother and me and then you and your sisters. That’s a great triumph.”
Jay swallowed hard and coughed. Little bits of cinnamon filled his mouth and stuck to his tonsils. He took a quick sip of cider and then a longer one because it had cooled. How long had he been sitting here?
“Try again,” said his uncle.
“Why don’t you try?”
“My eyes are too old.”
He lifted the lantern and shook it and inside it red and green sparks swirled and danced and turned into snowflakes and Jay was inside a house at Christmas time...
