Gretel could see Hansel sifting through some boxes on the shelves near the stairs, and knew that his boredom would draw him to her soon; but the book was just out of her reach, and she didn’t want to risk arousing his inquisitiveness by struggling and groaning on her tiptoes. Careful not to make any sudden motions, she pulled a large bucket from under the old wash basin and tossed aside a crusty towel that had dried crumpled and deformed inside, probably sometime in the last decade.
Gretel then placed the flashlight on the workbench, beacon down, reducing her visibility to a small halo of light on the table surface, and blindly flipped the bucket on its rim.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Hansel cried, his voice dripping with suspicion.
“Hansel, don’t come over here, you’ll trip on something,” Gretel replied, trying to sound casual.
The sudden darkness had alerted her brother and Gretel silently cursed herself. She could hear him making tentative steps toward the bookshelf and Gretel quickly stepped up on the bucket, nearly missing the bottom brim and toppling to the floor. She began feeling for the black leather. She couldn’t even make out the shadowy forms of the books without the flashlight, let alone any of the writing, but there was no doubt she would know her book by touch.
“Gretel?” Hansel again, edging closer.
“Han, I’m very serious, there are a million things that you could fall on and hurt yourself.”
“I’ll hold the light for you so you can see.”
“I don’t need the light, I’ve got it.”
Gretel continued to feel for the book knowing she must be close. If it were in its proper spot she would have gotten it already and been done with it, now all this commotion would force her to make up some story about it. It didn’t matter, he couldn’t read the book anyway. She couldn’t even read it. In fact, she couldn’t even read the letters.
Gretel moved her hand over from a thin laminated book, and as instantly as the forefinger of her left hand brushed the cold, dead leather, she knew she had found it. By now Hansel had reached the shelf and was looking up at Gretel on the bucket.
“Han, shine the light up here,” she barked in a loud whisper. “I don’t want to knock anything off.”
Hansel placed his hand on the flashlight, but before he could lift it to aid in his sister’s search, a large beam of light shone in from the stairs, illuminating her face and the goal of her quest.
“Ah yes,” her grandfather said, pointing the hanging bulb toward Gretel, “that book. It fascinates me, too.”
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The Sighting Page 15
