Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer Read Free Book Online Page A

encounter the American again one day in America, and that the American will offer to take him to a Chicago Bulls game, and buy him blue jeans and white bread and delicate toilet paper. This guard dreams of speaking English without an accent and obtaining a wife with an unmalleable bosom. This guard will confess that he does not love where he lives.
    The other kind of guard is also in love with America, but he will hate the American for being an American. This is worst. This guard knows he will never go to America, and knows that he will never meet the American again. He will steal from the American, and terror the American, only to teach that he can. This is the only occasion in his life to have his Ukraine be more than America, and to have himself be more than the American. Father told me this, and I am certain that he is certain that it is faithful.
    When we arrived at the car, Grandfather was loitering with patience as Father ordered him to. He was very patient. He was snoring. He was snoring with such volume that the hero and I could hear him even though the windows were elevated, and it sounded as if the car was operating. "This is our driver," I said. "He is an expert at driving." I observed distress in the smile of our hero. This was the second time. It had been four minutes. "Is he OK?" he asked. "What?" I said. "I do not make to understand. Speak more slower, please." I may have appeared noncompetent to the hero. "Is ... the ... dri ... ver ... heal ... thy?" "With certainty," I said. "But I must tell you, I am very familiar with this driver. He is my grandfather." At this moment, Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior made herself evident, because she jumped up from the back seat and barked in volumes. "Oh Jesus Christ!" the hero said with terror, and he moved distant from the car. "Do not be distressed," I informed him as Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior punched her head against the window. "That is only the driver's Seeing Eye bitch." I pointed to the shirt that she was donning, but she had masticated the major of it, so that it only said: OFFICIOUS BITCH. "She is deranged," I said, "but so so playful."
    "Grandfather," I said, moving his arm to arouse him. "Grandfather, he is here." Grandfather rotated his head from this to that. "He is always reposing," I told the hero, hoping that might make him less distressed. "That must come to hands," the hero said. "What?" I asked. "I said that must come to hands." "What does it mean come to hands?" "To be useful. You know, to be helpful. What about that dog, though?" I use this American idiom very often now. I told a girl at a famous nightclub, "My eyes come to hands when I observe your peerless bosom." I could perceive that she perceived that I was a premium person. Later we became very carnal, and she smelled her knees, and also my knees.
    I was able to move Grandfather from his repose. If you want to know how, I fastened his nose with my fingers so that he could not breathe. He did not know where he was. "Anna?" he asked. That was the name of my grandmother who died two years yore. "No, Grandfather," I said, "it is me. Sasha." He was very shamed. I could perceive this because he rotated his face away from me. "I acquired Jon-fen," I said. "Um, that's Jon-a-than," the hero said, who was observing Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior as she licked the windows. "I acquired him. His train arrived." "Oh," Grandfather said, and I perceived that he was still departing from a dream. "We should go forth to Lutsk," I suggested, "as Father ordered." "What?" the hero inquired. "I told him that we should go forth to Lutsk." "Yes, Lutsk. That's where I was told we would go. And from there to Trachimbrod." "What?" I inquired. "Lutsk, then Trachimbrod." "Correct," I said. Grandfather put his hands on the wheel. He looked in front of him for a protracted time. He was breathing very large breaths, and his hands were shaking. "Yes?" I inquired him. "Shut up," he informed me. "Where's the dog going to be?" the hero