Life: An Exploded Diagram by Mal Peet Read Free Book Online

Win put on her long black coat, sighing.
    A little later, there was a Coo-ee from outside and Chrissie Slender and Tommy came in, damp, and sang “Happy Birthday to You.”
    Then Chrissie said, “Go you on, then, Tommy. Give Clem his present.”
    It was a painted tin monkey attached to a string between two sticks joined by a spring. When Tommy squeezed the sticks together and released them, the monkey spun head over heels.
    It dawned on Clem that today was different from other days. His bafflement took on a happier coloring. He sucked the mouse and watched Tommy work the monkey. The grown-ups stood by the stove, drinking tea, talking. He picked up words: George, ration book, bacon, teeth.
    Then his mum lifted him out of his chair.
    “Right, then, young man,” she said. “Les go an see whas in the parlor.”
    The parlor door was closed, which was a thing Clem hadn’t known before.
    When they were facing it, Ruth said, “Close yer eyes. Tight. Are they closed?”
    Clem nodded. He heard the door open. An anxious thrill ran through him and lodged in his bladder. A small dampness warmed his pajama bottoms. He felt his mother’s hand take his and lead him in.
    “Open yer eyes,” she said.
    He didn’t know what it was, of course. He’d never seen such a thing before. It looked very big. It took up most of the space between the two armchairs on either side of the fireplace. It worried him, because it had not been there at bedtime the night before. It was beautiful, though: green, and very shiny. And because this strange morning had taught him this, he knew that it was his.
    He looked up at his mother’s face.
    “Thas a car, Clem,” she said. “D’yer like it?”
    By the middle of the day, Clem had started to work out that pushing the pedals with his feet — like walking, but sitting down — made the heavy thing move. Ruth guided him back and forth the short distance between the kitchen door and the front door, leaning over him to work the steering wheel, which he couldn’t get the hang of.
    In the early afternoon, the rain died off and a pallid light filled the garden. Ruth carried the car outside and set it down on the concrete. Clem climbed into it, bundled up in his winter coat. She steered him around the corner of the lav and onto the brick path that led down to the gate. His knees went up and down in a way that didn’t belong to him. He turned the steering wheel randomly.
    On the third trip to the gate, he became aware that his mother’s hand was no longer on his back. The car stopped, and he looked up at her. She had her hands to her face, which had changed color. She was looking at something beyond him. There was a man standing on the other side of the gate. Clem’s eyes climbed up him, from the wet-edged brown shoes to the legs and jacket of the gray suit to the suntanned face that was divided in half by a black mustache. The man wore a gray hat and carried over his shoulder a huge long bag with white lettering on it. Between the stranger and Ruth a silence stretched above Clem’s head, like a sheet hung on the washing line.
    The man put his bag on the ground and took off his hat. His hair was as black as the gloss on a beetle.
    “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, “but you’d be Clem, right? Is that your name?”
    “Yes,” Clem whispered. The man’s voice was not like other men’s voices.
    “Aye, I thought so. That’s a right handsome car you’ve got there. Would it be a birthday present, by any chance?”
    Clem wasn’t sure that he could get out of the car by himself. He looked to his mother for help and saw that she was crying. It frightened him. Then she walked past him as if he weren’t there. And she was saying, “Bloody hell, George. Bloody hell.”
    She pulled the gate open and let the man put his arms around her. Let him bury his fingers in her hair.

“G OD, GEORGE, I nearly died,” Ruth said, setting the kettle on the stove. “The fifteenth, you said. Next week.”
    “I