I nodded.
Behind the barn was a small red henhouse painted neatly with white trim. In front of the house was a fenced area. Four chickens ran around, with red combs and a few black specks in their otherwise cream-colored feathers. “These are my princesses,” Tanja said proudly. “Sisi, Maria Theresia, Elisabeth, und Diana.”
Tanja threw some corn into the pen. The chickens eagerly ran over and pecked daintily at the grain on the ground. “Come,” Tanja said. “We get eggs.”
I followed her into the henhouse. It was warm and smelled of clean hay. There were little compartments, neatly labeled. In the one labeled “Diana,” on a bed of hay, was a fresh spotted egg.
“Take egg!” Tanja urged.
I picked it up. It was warm. It felt safe. Or maybe I wanted to keep it safe. In any case, I cradled it carefully in my palm as I backed slowly out of the tiny house.
Tanja was holding three more eggs in her apron. They didn’t look like the ones at the store. One was pure white, one tan, one brown, and mine was speckled. “I cook for you,” she said, holding out her hand. Almost reluctantly, I handed over my egg.
We went to sit at the long wooden tables in the sunlight. After a few minutes, Tanja came back with thick black bread, sliced fresh butter (“From Gerti,” she told us), and an egg. My egg. I could tell because of the spots.
“I don’t really like eggs,” I told Tanja.
“You like this one,” she said.
“You said I wouldn’t have to eat anything,” I said to Sara.
She shrugged. “You not have to. Your choice.”
Tanja was watching me expectantly. I picked up a knife. My hands were shaking, but I managed to cut off the top. I made a bit of a mess, getting the yolk on my fingers. The yellow was so deep and bright it was really more of an orange.
“It’s a weird color!” I said.
“Diana’s eggs always orange. Taste extra good!”
Felix passed me the salt and pepper. I picked up a spoon. How had I gotten talked into this? We’d passed a health clinic on the way. It wasn’t far. Maybe two bus stops. If I got sick, I could probably walk.
I wanted to do this. Didn’t I? Yes. I wanted to show myself how brave I could be. I dipped the spoon in the egg, coating the metal with orange yolk.
No, I couldn’t. I wasn’t brave after all.
I was about to put my spoon down when one of the chickens let out a loud call. We all turned and looked. It was Diana. She had walked to the edge of her pen and was looking at me through the wire. She tilted her head, as if to say, Go on, and let out another little coo.
So quickly, before I could think about it, I popped the spoon into my mouth.
Think of the lightest, fluffiest scrambled eggs you can imagine, but make them lighter, creamier. It almost didn’t taste like eggs at all, but a salty, rich pudding, warm on my tongue.
Before I knew it, I was taking another bite. And then another. Finally, I was scraping fully cooked egg whites from the edge of the shell.
“I did it!” I said.
Felix high-fived me. Sara smiled. Tanja and Frau Müller went about their business, serving the other customers.
I sat there, waiting for the stomach pains to begin. Waiting to feel sick. Waiting for my anxiety to come back. I could feel it starting. You did something so foolish! Even if it tasted good, why take the chance?! I started to feel hot, then cold, then hot again. Then a cool, wet nose came to snuffle my arm.
It was a dog. “He wants to play.” Sara laughed.
I threw the ball for the dog for a while. And I didn’t feel sick.
I petted the cow again and watched Tanja milk her. And I didn’t feel sick.
Before we left, Tanja gave me a handful of corn, and I threw it to the chickens. They all came running to me, and this time all I thought was, Thank you for the delicious egg.
* * *
I made Felix and Sara stick close to home the rest of the day. I wanted to be near the phone in case anything went wrong. I felt a little dizzy if I thought too much about what I had done. But I’d taken my temperature three times, and it had remained a steady 98.6 (or 37 degrees, according to Felix’s Celsius thermometer).
To keep my mind off the rod-shaped bacteria that were possibly at this very moment invading my intestinal track (although probably not—I mean, Diana did seem like a very nice chicken), Sara and I helped Felix decide who to invite to his birthday party. Turned out, he had lost that battle, and his mother had already scheduled it for the following weekend.
“There’s nobody I like at school!” Felix argued.
“No one?” Sara asked.
Felix ignored her and crossed his arms.
“Maybe you need a list too,” I said.
Felix glared at me. “I’m not afraid of having a birthday party!”
Sara and I glanced at each other.
“I’m not!” Felix protested.
“Okay,” I said.
“Just because you’re scared of stupid things like riding a bike or eating an egg doesn’t mean I . . .” He paused, and when I looked over at him, he was blinking frantically, as if a grain of sand had blown into his eye. “They don’t like me.”
“Why not?” Sara asked. “You very nice.”
“It’s hard talking to people I don’t know. It’s easier to just read a book.”
“We all fear different things,” Sara said.
“I ate the egg,” I pointed out.
“Fine,” Felix sighed.
I pulled my Doomsday Journal out of my bag and ripped out a page from the back. I only spent a moment worrying if I had weakened the binding of the book, before I handed the paper to Felix. Sara found a pen and gave it to him.
Felix wrote swiftly, reading his words aloud: “Nummer eins: Geburtstagsfeier beim Heurigen. I’ll have a party. Satisfied?”
Sara and I nodded.
“Now we just need to figure out who to invite,” I said. “Do you have a yearbook or something?”
There was no yearbook, but he did have a school directory. Sara and I studied tiny black-and-white photos as Felix described his classmates. Rasheed’s father was from India and his mother was Austrian, and according to Felix, he was the least annoying person in chess club.
“Chess club?” I asked.
“I only go because Mama said I had to join one club.”
“Hey,” I said. “I like chess.”
Daisy was English, a short girl with glasses and a blond ponytail. They’d worked on a science-fair project together once.
Peter was born in Nigeria but had lived in Austria since he was two. “He doesn’t say much,” Felix said, “but when he does, he’s funny.”
And then there was Mai. All Felix would say about her was that her family was from China. All I could tell from her picture was her hair was cut into a short black bob. “So you think she’s cute?”
Felix blushed so fiercely, I knew I was right. “She’s never spoken to me,” he said. “Mama said I had to pick four people. It’s not like any of them are going to come.”
Still, it had been fun picking them out. I was sort of looking forward to the party. That evening, as I was getting ready for bed, I realized I still didn’t have a fever or cramps or vomiting. I’d done it! I’d eaten a soft-boiled egg. And it felt really good to cross that first item off my list.
CHAPTER 19
At the Heuriger
Felix’s party was scheduled for Sunday afternoon. The Heuriger reminded me a bit of a log cabin, with a bundle of twigs tied to the front door, wooden paneling, and long tables for people to share. Katarina had reserved a spot on the back patio. She fluttered around like a monarch butterfly in her orange-and-black dress, calling out instructions to my dad, who arranged and rearranged the pitchers of new wine and sparkling juice until Katarina was satisfied. There were plates
of cheeses and meats, and baskets of fresh bread on our table. Although I wouldn’t have said it to Felix, it seemed like a pretty nice place to have a party.
All the kids we’d picked out had actually agreed to come. Katarina had called the families, told them it was Felix’s birthday, explained that I was visiting, and then invited their parents too. With my dad and me, Sara, a couple of Katarina’s friends, and our neighbor Frau Gamperl, it was going to be quite the little group. As we waited for them all to arrive, Felix paced from one side of the patio to the other. His mom had made him get a haircut, and he wore a new button-down shirt.
Seeing him so anxious made me sad. I mean, I’d never met these kids before, but from their pictures, they seemed okay. And they’d agreed to come, so they obviously didn’t hate him. How bad could it be? But as I watched Felix fidget and twist his napkin, I realized he felt exactly like I had when I was facing down that happy egg.
Daisy and Mai arrived first, their families walking in together. Daisy wore a jean skirt, a T-shirt, and sandals; Mai had on a dress covered in big sunflowers. Dad and Katarina welcomed them and pointed in our direction, but before they could move, Peter and his parents walked in.
The grown-ups started chatting, and I turned to Felix. “Why aren’t any of your friends Austrian?” I asked.
“I go to the International School,” he said. “It’s for the kids of diplomats and such. And they aren’t my friends anyway.”
“But your mom’s not a diplomat.”
“No, but she wanted me to be fluent in English.”
The kids were all bunched up by the entrance to the patio. Rasheed had joined them. He was as short as Felix but talked a whole lot more. Both he and Peter were wearing soccer jerseys.
Sara was taking the presents as people arrived and placing them on a table with the cake Katarina had baked the night before. (She’d had to do it twice. The first time she’d accidentally put in salt instead of sugar.) I caught Sara’s eye. She mouthed Help him and pointed to Felix.
He had pulled out his Revolutionary War book and was huddled over it, as if it were a fire on a cold night. I realized if I didn’t do something, he’d probably leave his own party even more convinced that no one liked him. I couldn’t let that happen to him on his birthday.
So I plucked the book from his hand and threw it under the table. “Come on,” I said, pulling him up. “I need you to introduce me to the other kids.”
“You already know their names,” he said.
I dragged him across the room. Daisy and Mai were chattering loudly in a language that definitely wasn’t German. “That sounds like French,” I said.
“That’s because it is French,” Felix mumbled.
“I thought you spoke German and English at school?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “But Daisy’s grandmother lives in Paris, and Mai has an aunt in Switzerland.”
“They each speak three languages?”
“No,” Felix said. “Mai and Peter speak four.”
We didn’t even start a language until eighth grade. Guess I was a little behind. I kept waiting to freak out myself. I mean, social situations don’t usually upset me, but it’s happened before. (There was that time at the fifth-grade Halloween party of which we will not speak.) But there was something about helping Felix that kept me calm. Like I had a bigger purpose. Besides, who cared if the others didn’t like me—I’d probably never see them again. But Felix would.
The four kids were clumped together in a corner as we approached. “Hi,” I said loudly. “I’m Becca.”
The conversation stopped, and they all turned to look at me. Okay, so my heart did start beating faster then. Beside me, Felix was staring at the floor and trembling, so I knew he felt even worse.
“My dad is dating Felix’s mom, so that makes him and me, like . . . friends.” Okay, so that was probably the stupidest thing I could say.
“You’re the American,” Peter said doubtfully, in a thick British accent.
“Yup,” I admitted. “How’d you know? I didn’t even bring my horse and cowboy hat.” Nope, that was even stupider.
But Daisy burst out laughing. “Becca, you are so funny! And you have the cutest accent.”
Me? They were the ones who all spoke English like they were on Masterpiece Theatre.
“I’m Daisy,” she continued. “This is Peter, Mai, and Rasheed.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Becca and this is Felix.”
They all laughed again, even Felix.
“Hi,” Felix whispered to the ground.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go get some food.”
We sat down at the table Katarina had reserved. Peter poured everyone a glass of the grape juice. We talked about movies. And the Statue of Liberty. Rasheed and Mai had been; I had not. Daisy wanted to go see the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I told them about how last summer, my mom had taken me on a covered-wagon trip where we pretended to be cowgirls. “Wow,” Peter said. “I thought you were kidding about the horse.”
I laughed. When the girls went to the bathroom and the boys went to get some more food, I nudged Felix. “They’re nice!” I said.
“I can never think of anything to say,” Felix grumbled.
“But you’re a good listener!” I pointed out. “That’s an undervalued skill.”
Felix didn’t look convinced.
By the time the others returned, it was time for cake. Dad and I sneaked off to a side room to light the candles. We had bought Felix some frog candles, since he still teased me about those pajamas. I couldn’t believe I’d already been in Austria for three weeks. Sara got out her violin and played along as everybody sang “Happy Birthday.”
Felix smiled when he saw the candles on the cake.
“Make a wish!” Katarina cried out.
Felix closed his eyes and made his wish. He blew, we clapped, and while Katarina cut the cake, Sara played songs on the violin. She was really good. Frau Gamperl tapped her foot in approval, and the owner of the Heuriger actually came over to listen. He disappeared for a moment and then returned carrying an accordion. He said something to Sara, she nodded, and then they launched into a folk song, which apparently everyone knew (except for me and my father), because they all started singing along in German.
It was super weird.
And kind of cool too.
I sat and ate my cake. Felix didn’t reach for his book again, but he still stayed close by my side. Daisy tried to get the other boys to do some traditional dance with her. Mai started laughing hysterically as Daisy spun Peter around and around in circles. Rasheed told a long, boring story about his favorite football team, and Felix listed so intently and politely, for a minute I thought he was actually interested. When Sara and the owner started playing the chicken-dance song, we all stood up and flapped our “wings,” as if we were, well, some of those happy chickens.
After the song, I threw myself down into a chair and poured myself another glass of juice. Katarina was standing behind me and talking to a woman who sounded familiar, though I couldn’t quite place her. Grown-up conversation isn’t usually that interesting, so I pretty much ignored them, until I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around.
It was the journalist I’d talked to on the plane.
CHAPTER 20
The Present
Ms. Madden still had her gold hoop earrings, but she looked more casual this time, in jeans, a pea-green shirt, and a leather jacket. “I thought it was you!” she exclaimed.
“Do you two know each other?” Katarina asked.
“Yes.” Ms. Madden said. “We met on the plane. Wait, you said you were going to visit your father. Is he that nice American man Katarina has been dating?” She pointed to my father.
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Ha!” She laughed. “As I say, Vienna is really just a big sma
ll town.”
“How do you two know each other?” I asked.
Katarina linked her arm with Ms. Madden’s. “We were roommates in journalism school.”
Dad walked over then. “Your daughter has quite the sense of curiosity,” Ms. Madden said to my father. “She made me give her a lecture on the geography of Yugoslavia in the middle of the night on an airplane!”
Everyone laughed.
“I didn’t make you,” I protested. “All I did was ask a couple of questions.”
“Spoken like a true journalist!” said Katarina approvingly.
“I did save the map you drew me,” I admitted. I’d taped it into my Doomsday Journal.
“That settles it. Mr. Greenberg, you must bring your amazing daughter to the candlelight vigil Katarina’s friends are organizing next month.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“We’re protesting Haider’s Österreich Zuerst petition,” Katarina explained. “Literally, it means Austria First. Jörg Haider is a former governor of Kärnten.”
“That’s one of Austria’s states,” Ms. Madden added.
“Haider and his party are hoping to get more-restrictive immigration policies in place,” Katarina went on, “to prevent more refugees from coming. He’s trying to get one million people to sign his petition outlining his twelve-step plan to keep Austria ‘pure.’”
Ms. Madden rolled her eyes. “Some people forget that the Austrian Empire included many different peoples: Germans, Hungarians, Czechs, Slovaks, Poles, Slovenes, Croatians, Serbians, Romanians, Italians, Ukrainians. Austria has always been a multicultural society. What is this idea of a pure Austrian?! It doesn’t exist.”
“We want to make sure the petition fails,” Katarina said. “So some friends of mine are organizing a protest in support of foreigners and refugees. Hester’s agreed to cover it. And I was actually just talking to Rasheed’s mother about it. She’s an immigration lawyer. We should all go together!”
The Thing I'm Most Afraid Of Page 11
