The Last Hiccup by Christopher Meades Read Free Book Online Page B

when, unexpectedly, Vladimir handed him the ladybug. The good doctor took the little creature on his finger and watched Vladimir march across the street and enter through the café doors.
    Sergei climbed inside the automobile and started the engine. He brought the insect up close to inspect it when, from out of the corner of his eye, he witnessed the most peculiar scene through the window of the café. The shopkeeper was standing against the far wall, his hands clutching the sides of his head. Vladimir’s thin shoulders and the back of his small head appeared directly in front of the man. From a distance, it looked as though the shopkeeper was backing away. Sergei watched in stunned silence as his young charge reached out his hand to give back the candy. The shopkeeper waved his hands in short, quick gestures. He wouldn’t take it. His face turned red, the top of his bald head too. They were a good eight meters away, but from inside the running car, Sergei could have sworn he saw in the shopkeeper’s expression the same curvature of the mouth, the same unfastened apprehension in his eyes, the indistinguishable acceleration of breath accompanying heart and lung distress that he’d seen in Markus’s petrified countenance.
    The man appeared terrified of young Vladimir.
    A few moments passed before Vladimir exited the café and walked back across the street. He rounded the car and took his seat in the passenger’s side. In virtual disbelief, Sergei watched the child shut the car door and look up at him with those expressionless eyes.
    â€œWhat did you say to that man?” he said.
    Vladimir hiccupped. His hollow expression remained unchanged.
    â€œAnswer me,” Sergei said.
    The boy continued to stare.
    Sergei didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t remember a time in his adult life in which he’d been quite so confused.
    â€œWait here,” he said. Sergei left the vehicle running and walked briskly across the road. He pushed open the café door and a bell rang to signal his entrance. The shopkeeper was madly sweeping the floor, back and forth, over and over again on the same spot. He stopped immediately when Sergei appeared.
    â€œMy good sir,” Sergei said, “what did that boy say to you?”
    The man didn’t respond. He took two steps backward and shook his head, then scurried behind the counter. When Sergei had purchased coffee here less than thirty minutes earlier, the man had been in good spirits. He even chatted with Sergei about current events and jokingly baited him into banter about the extraordinary success of the local women’s ice-hockey team. Now the shopkeeper’s face was drenched in sweat, his eyes sodden with the beginnings of an incapacitating fear. Sergei stepped forward and, like a prisoner anticipating lashes from the whip, the man trembled, his arms clasped to his chest.
    â€œWhat did Vladimir say to you?” Sergei said as gently as he could.
    â€œI will ask you to leave my store,” the man said.
    â€œNot until you tell me what the child said.”
    The shopkeeper’s yellow teeth dug into his bottom lip.
    â€œSir, I must insist,” Sergei said.
    The man slammed his fist down on the counter. A small teacup and saucer had been sitting in the exact location on the console where his fist landed, a tiny stream of steam curling its way into the cool air. The shopkeeper’s fist crashed straight into the teacup. Small shards of the fragmented cup scattered across the counter and spilled over onto the floor.
    The man paused. He closed his eyes, gathered his faculties and then opened them again. His voice quavered. “Leave my store. Leave my store and never come back!”
    Outside the light rain had picked up. Sergei stood in the burgeoning haze, watching the man from outside the shop. Across the street, Vladimir had crawled into the driver’s seat and was leaning against the window. Sergei, who’d