Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer Read Free Book Online Page A

found.
    His name was everywhere. He'd tested out markers and oil sticks and colored pencils and chalk and pens and pastels and watercolors. He'd even scratched his name into a piece of moldable plastic, and I found a sculpting knife with yellow on its end, so I knew that was what he did it with. It was as if he was planning on making the biggest art project in history. But I didn't get it: that had to have been more than a year ago.
    I found the manager again. “You said if there was anything else you could help me with, that I should just let you know.” She said, “Let me finish with this customer, and then you'll have my full attention.” I stood there while she finished with the customer. She turned to me. I said, “You said if there was anything else you could help me with, that I should just let you know. Well, I need to see all of the store's receipts.” “Why?” “So I can know what day my dad was here and also what he bought.” “Why?” “So I can know.” “But why?” “Your dad didn't die, so I won't be able to explain it to you.” She said, “Your dad died?” I told her yes. I told her, “I bruise easily.” She went over to one of the registers, which was actually a computer, and typed something on the screen with her finger. “How do you spell the name again?” “S. C. H. E. L. L.” She pressed some more buttons, and made a face, and said, “Nothing.” “Nothing?” “Either he didn't buy anything or he paid cash.” “Shiitake, hold on.” “Excuse me?” “Oskar Schell ... Hi, Mom ... Because I'm in the bathroom ... Because it was in my pocket ... Uh-huh. Uh-huh. A little, but can I call you back when I'm not going to the bathroom? Like in half an hour? ... That's personal ... I guess ... Uh-huh ... Uh-huh ... OK, Mom ... Yuh ... Bye.”
    “Well then, I have another question.” “You're saying that to me or to the phone?” “You. How long have those pads been by the displays?” “I don't know.” “He died more than a year ago. That would be a long time, right?” “They couldn't have been out there that long.” “You're sure?” “Pretty sure.” “Are you more or less than seventy-five-percent sure?” “More.” “Ninety-nine percent?” “Less.” “Ninety percent?” “About that.” I concentrated for a few seconds. “That's a lot of percent.”
    I ran home and did some more research, and I found 472 people with the name Black in New York. There were 216 different addresses, because some of the Blacks lived together, obviously. I calculated that if I went to two every Saturday, which seemed possible, plus holidays, minus Hamlet rehearsals and other stuff, like mineral and coin conventions, it would take me about three years to go through all of them. But I couldn't survive three years without knowing. I wrote a letter.
    Cher Marcel,
    Allô. I am Oskar's mom. I have thought about it a ton, and I have decided that it isn't obvious why Oskar should go to French lessons, so he will no longer be going to go to see you on Sundays like he used to. I want to thank you very much for everything you have taught Oskar, particularly the conditional tense, which is weird. Obviously, there's no need to call me when Oskar doesn't come to his lessons, because I already know, because this was my decision. Also, I will keep sending you checks, because you are a nice guy.
    Votre ami dévouée,
    Mademoiselle Schell
    That was my great plan. I would spend my Saturdays and Sundays finding all of the people named Black and learning what they knew about the key in the vase in Dad's closet. In a year and a half I would know everything. Or at least know that I had to come up with a new plan.
    Of course I wanted to talk to Mom that night I decided to go hunting for the lock, but I couldn't. It's not that I thought I would get in trouble for snooping around, or that I was afraid she'd be angry about the vase, or even that I was angry at her for spending so much time laughing with Ron