A Ceiling Made of Eggshells by Gail Carson Levine

I prayed, as I did every night, for forgiveness for hating my brother Yuda. When Mamá left, she didn’t snuff out the pole lamp, knowing others would come soon. Since He knew everything, He should know she was angry at everyone, not just Him and me. I climbed into bed, wondering if the Almighty minded her angry prayers. In my bedroom, she said the nightly prayers with me, clipping every word, reminding me of the pop! pop! when grease spills on a fire. I loved to count.Īt intervals, Mamá burst out, “No one listens!” and “What I put up with!” and “Why!” In the dimness, I couldn’t make out the tapestries on the walls or the floor tiles-412 green and 412 brown, which had taken me hours to count, because I kept having to start over. Even Haim wouldn’t get lost, because the balcony made a big square, and no matter which way you went, you’d always come back to where you started.

I followed her flickering oil lamp to the courtyard balcony, which led to all the upstairs rooms, including the bedroom I shared with my older sisters Vellida and Rica.

It was another warning, though, at seven, I was too young to realize. Now two of them were suckling, but three were curled up, sleeping, including Goliath. I continued to watch the kittens as I had done by the hour since they were born. Haim jumped up and raised his hand for her to clasp. She was in one of her silent bad moods, not a yelling one-it was always one or the other. Mamá, with the baby on her hip, came to take him to bed. Haim said, as if it were two words, “Kit-tens!” When I had my own babies someday, I would cover their hands with my kisses, too. Haim reached his hand out to Goliath, but, fearing he’d be too rough, I guided the hand to my mouth and kissed his fingers. I loved being Haim’s little mamá, as my older sisters were my little mamás.Ībruptly, the biggest kitten, the one I had named Goliath, curled himself into a ball in the middle of play with the others. I was in charge of him while Mamá, who had baby Soli with her, worked in the kitchen and bossed around our cook, Aljohar.

My younger brother, two-year-old Haim, sat on the carpet, watching the kittens with me. Spain’s king and queen expelled the Jews. To my sister, Rani, and to my cousins Joe and Lucienne

A Ceiling Made of Eggshells by Gail Carson Levine