Once by Morris Gleitzman Read Free Book Online

“I’ll tell you a story about a kid who spends three years and eight months living in a castle in the mountains.”
    She gives me that look again.
    I give up. I roll over and close my eyes. I’ve done my best. I’m so tired I don’t care anymore.
    Then I feel her lying down next to me.
    I sigh again. A promise is a promise. I roll over and face her.
    “Once,” I say, “there was a boy called William—”
    “No,” she interrupts, pointing to herself. “I’m a girl. My name’s Zelda. Don’t you know anything?”

 
      I woke up and I was at home in bed. Dad was reading me a story about a boy who got left in an orphanage. Mum came in with some carrot soup. They both promised they’d never leave me anywhere. We hugged and hugged.
     
    Then I really wake up and I’m in a haystack.
    Hay stalks are stabbing me through my clothes. Cold damp air is making my face feel clammy. The early morning sun is hurting my eyes. A young girl is shaking me and complaining.
    “I’m hungry,” she’s saying.
    I feel around for my glasses, put them on, look at her groggily, and remember.
    Zelda, the girl with the dead parents.
    And the bossy attitude. She made me tell her the castle in the mountains story about ten times last night, till I got it right.
    “I need to do a pee,” she says.
    “All right,” I mumble. “First a pee, then breakfast.”
    We both do a pee behind the haystack. Then I unwrap the bread and water. Zelda has a drink and I have a sip. I break her off a piece of bread and a smaller one for me. She needs extra because she’s injured. The bruise on her forehead is dark now, and there’s a lump.
    “Your hat still smells,” says Zelda.
    I open my mouth to explain why firefighters often have smelly hats, then close it again. Best not to remind her that her house has burnt down.
    “Sorry,” I say.
    Zelda is frowning and screwing up her face, and I don’t think it’s just because of my hat.
    “Are you all right?” I ask.
    “My head hurts,” she says. “Don’t you know anything?”
    “It’ll feel better when we get to the city,” I say. I don’t mention Mum’s healing powers this time in case it makes her wail for her parents again.
    My head hurts too.
    It’s hot and throbbing. Last night when it started hurting I thought it was just overheated from the fire. But it can’t be that now because my skin is cold and clammy.
    I’m hearing things too, which can happen when you’ve got a fever. I can hear voices and footsteps and the rumble of cartwheels. I must still be half asleep, dreaming about our street on market day.
    No, I’m not.
    I’m wide awake. The sounds are real. They’re coming from the road on the other side of the hedge.
    “Stay here,” I whisper to Zelda.
    “What is it?” she says, alarmed.
    “I’ll be back in a minute,” I say. “Then we’ll go to the city.”
    “To see our mums and dads,” says Zelda.
    I run to the hedge, wriggle into the leaves and branches, and peer out at the road. And gawk in amazement. The road is crowded with people. Men and women and kids and old people. A hundred or even more. They’re all walking wearily in the direction of the city. Most of them are carrying bundles or bags or suitcases or cooking pots. A few are carrying books.
    Each person is wearing an armband. Not a red and black armband like the Nazis had at the orphanage. These are white with a blue star, a Jewish star like on some of the Jewish houses at home. Must be so these travelers can recognize the other members of their group. We used to have paper saints pinned to our tops on sports day so everyone could see which dormitory we were from.
    A sudden loud noise makes me shrink back into the hedge.
    Several soldiers on bikes with motors are driving up and down, yelling at the people in a foreign language and waving. The soldiers have all got guns. None of the people have. The soldiers seem to want the people to go faster.
    With a jolt I understand.
    These soldiers are Nazis.