Page 16 - My FlipBook

Some summer day, Mr. Mike’s daughter went to the island with her
son, Mike junior, and her husband to spend the summer. It has been
many years since they last went to the village, because the sight of
the house without her parents made her sad. As the years went by,
the pain became less and she took the decision to bond again with
her birthplace.
It took many hours for Mr. Mike’s daughter and her husband to clean
the house and get rid of all the old things, two moth-eaten pieces of
furniture full of dust, pieces of the ceiling plaster and sheets torn
by rodents. By night fall, they went downstairs to clean the workshop.
They threw away big black bin bags with varnish and leather, soles
and old shoes. The little boy, Mike junior, was playing around trying to
imitate his parents, pretending to throw away garbage. With the
little strength he could carry a string or a small nail.
“Why are we throwing away all these?” he asked with child innocence
and Mr. Mike’s daughter could only bite her lips bitterly. She did not
know what to answer.

They kept cleaning for hours and
the little boy, who was very tired
now, wrapped himself around his
father’s leg, pulled his jumper
and asked questions about every
tool: how it is called and where it
is used. Mr. Mike’s daughter was
explaining to her son with love
and patience, while his tongue
was getting twisted by trying to
say the strange words.

“Small flyers”, said the little boy.
“Small pliers”, she corrected.
“Shoe three”, he said later.
“Shoe tree”, she corrected again.