Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (19 page)

Everyone ordered a lot of weird food, and Matt and I ordered lamb. The lamb was completely smothered in spinach sauce, which I didn't like, so I kept wiping it off with my napkin. Matt didn't like the sauce either, so he kept dipping his lamb bites into his water glass and stirring until his lamb came out squeaky clean.

Well, Mom suddenly noticed our sauce-removal techniques and was
totally
grossed out and horrified. “Where are your table manners?” she asked, and started fussing at us. (At least she didn't add, “You don't see
Cecily using her napkin as a washcloth or her water glass as a sink.”) When she was all done scolding us, Mom said, “Who raised you kids?” which showed that at least she had a tiny speck of a sense of humor about the whole thing. Then she reminded Matt to stay away from hot and spicy sauces.

I separated the yummies from the yuckies on my plate, but I did not do any food transfers.

Back at the canal house, Hendrik said our luggage still had not arrived!

At least we have new pajamas and clean underwear.

We got in our pj's, and Matt, instead of doing his usual rush-brush, was holding his toothbrush still and moving his face from side to side. He showed Cecily his sickeningly wiggly tooth. He even showed her a little lamb chunk he flossed out from between his back teeth. He is inventing a new game called Disgusting Discoveries: Whoever flosses out the biggest thing wins.

“
Ewww
!!” Cecily said. “I'm sorry, Matt, but I don't want to play Floss Show-and-Tell or whatever you call it!” She might be finally finding out that having a brother full-time even for a few days has serious downsides.

“Hate to break it to you, Newt Brain,” I said. “But face it: You are a major dork.” Matt stuck out his tongue at me, so I added, “I should know because I'm older.”

“You
are
older,” Matt agreed, “and that just means you're going to die first.”

“Does not!” I was about to pummel him when Dad walked in.

“Lights out,” Dad said and within about two minutes, Matt started breathing all evenly, DogDog or no DogDog.

For a few minutes, our room was really quiet.

Then Cecily whispered, “Mel, are you asleep?”

I almost almost almost was, but I was so glad we were friends again that I whispered, “No.”

“When my mom first told me she had cancer, she tried to make it sound like it was no big deal,” Cecily said. “But then everyone started phoning and sending cards and stopping by, so I knew it was a big deal. And now the thing I'm worried about most is that my grandmom died of breast cancer.”

I didn't know what to say, but finally I asked, “Did you know her?”

“Yes. Her name was Florence—my middle name— and she died when I turned five.”

“Was she nice?”

“Really nice. She always wore bangly bracelets and the tops of her arms were all jiggly and flappy and soft. You know?”

I nodded, but then I realized it was pitch-black in our room, so I said, “I know what you mean.”

“Whenever she came to visit,” Cecily said, “she brought homemade brownies.”

I was so tired, I think I started dozing and half dreaming about chocolatey brownies. But when I heard Cecily say, “I also remember that—” I turned and propped myself on my elbow. “—Grandmom Flo had a really nice laugh,” Cecily continued. “When she laughed, you felt really happy, and you tried to say or do something that would make her laugh again.”

“What was it like when she died?”

“Sometimes my mom would cry in the middle of washing dishes or listening to the radio or when I didn't expect it.”

“I wish I could have met your grandmom,” I said. “But it's good you have her middle name.”

“It's old-fashioned, but I like it.”

“And it's good you have her laugh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your laugh makes people happy too.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. And you know what else is good?”

“What?”

“It's good that medicines are better today than they used to be and doctors know more.” I was glad it occurred to me to say that. Cecily probably was too. She didn't say anything, though, so I added, “My mom told me that a lot of women get breast cancer, but not so many die of it. She said most women get better because nowadays doctors usually find out about it early enough to, you know, fix it.”

Cecily stayed quiet but I knew she was awake. Then she said, “The operation is tomorrow morning—which I guess means tomorrow afternoon here.”

“Your mom will be okay,” I said. “Don't worry.” (I can't believe I told Cecily not to worry!)

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

She didn't say anything after that and I was wondering if she was upset because I heard her make a snuffly sound. But then I heard her breathing as evenly as Matt the Brat and I realized she was fast asleep.

P.S. I'm crossing my fingers for Mrs. Hausner! Before bed, Mom took me aside and said that tomorrow we'll have to think positive and stay busy.

(Ba Hhhain Hof)

Dear Diary,

At 9:30 A.M. Holland time, our luggage
still
hadn't come. Dad called, and the man said they were “searching it right now.”

“I thought you've been searching for it!” Dad said. The man explained that they were
searching it
not
searching for it
—in other words, they found our luggage and it's going through customs! So now they will deliver it to us very soon.

If and when it truly comes, I'll write hip hip hurray!!

All we kids really wanted to do was stay inside and wait for our stuff. But Dad said he was starving, so he dragged us out for a breakfast buffet. Next thing you know, he and Mom were eating salmon and herring and cheeses and Matt was having a ham sandwich— for breakfast! Cecily and I just had fruit salad and pastries. There were also little boxes of chocolate sprinkles on the buffet table, so Matt made himself a sprinkle sandwich for dessert, and Cecily and I sprinkled sprinkles on our hot chocolate.

We were talking about middle names, and Cecily said, “My grandmother was named Florence and my grandfather was named Lawrence, but nobody called them Florence and Lawrence. Everyone called them Flo and Lo.”

Mom and Dad laughed and I did too.

Matt went to the
toiletten
, and when he came back, he announced, “I have toilet paper on my shoe.”

Cecily said, “Here, let me step on it and get it off for you.”

“No!” Matt said. “I like it!” He started walking around our table with a bright white half-square of t.p. trailing behind him.

Ordinarily, I would have told him not to be an idiot. But I was so happy that Cecily and I made up and that our luggage got found that instead of calling Matt an idiot, I said, “Go faster!”

Matt started circling the table faster and faster and faster, and Cecily and I started laughing and laughing.

Dad said, “Sit down this instant, young man!”

Mom said, “Children, you are being very disruptive!”

Matt sat down but he peeked up at us and Cecily winked and I had to bite my lip to stop laughing.

Dad looked really annoyed (hee hee), so, probably to get back on his good side, Matt picked up a sign on our table and asked, “What's this?” The sign had a yin-yang with a cigarette and a rambling paragraph in
English and Dutch about “harmony and mutual respect” and how it's quite all right to smoke, just not right here.

Personally, I do NOT think it's quite all right to smoke and I do NOT think yin-yangs and cigarettes belong together! I even said so. Dad agreed, but he said the Dutch pride themselves on being tolerant. They actually have coffee shops just for smokers!

“What's tolerant?” Matt asked.

“Tolerant is having respect for other people and accepting their differences. You know about the Pilgrims, right?”

Cecily and I both nodded, but I was thinking that I might have forgotten whatever I was supposed to know. Matt said, “What about them?”

“Long ago in England, everyone was forced to join the Church of England. Some people said, ‘No way!’ and left. They were the Pilgrims. Guess where they went?”

“Where???” Matt asked, as though nothing could be more fascinating.

“Here! To Holland—the little country with the big history.”

“Why???” He glanced at me and I had to keep biting my lip.

“Because they knew no one would boss them around or discriminate just because their religion was different. They would be welcomed and accepted.” I could feel a full-fledged Dad lecture coming on. Once, Dad went on and on about politics on the walk to school, and I was about to fall asleep standing up, but then that very day, Miss Sands asked if anyone could name both our state's U.S. senators and I raised my hand and everybody looked at me like I was this amazing genius (even Norbert, who was new in school).

“Follow me,” Dad said. “I'm going to show you a place that's frozen in time.” I think he and Mom mostly wanted us to be outside before we got disruptive again.

We followed Dad down a few streets, being careful not to get run over by bicyclists. Matt was walking extra slowly so the t.p. on his shoe wouldn't fall off, but it fell off anyway. When we reached an old arched doorway, Dad said, “Close your eyes.”

“This is like No Peeking!” Matt said.

“When you open your eyes,” Dad said, “you will

walk through this door and feel like you're stepping into another world. Ready? Open your eyes!”

Well, we walked into a courtyard and it was green and pretty and tranquil (as Mom put it) and had old houses with fancy gabled roofs. But it did not look “frozen in time.” It was hundreds of years old, not millions. And it's not as if there were cavemen running around in loincloths or anything.

“See that church?” Dad asked. “The Pilgrims prayed in peace right there—
before
sailing across the ocean.”

Matt was wiggling his tooth all around, but I could tell that now he was listening for real. “Did they make it across?”

Even I knew the answer to that one!

“It took two months and it was very rough. One person died and another was born,” Dad said. “But in 1620, a hundred and two Pilgrims landed in what is now Massachusetts.”