Reading in English, test

1. Read the story: The Flight of the Snowbird

2. Write four questions based on the story (Think about questions like the ones we used for discussion in our Reading Club meetings.)

3. Establish a relationship between the girl in the story The Flight of the Snowbird and one of the characters from the stories we read. (The Refugee Hotel, Haircut, And the toilet would not flush, The ones who walk away from Omala, Miss Brill, Prue, A beautiful child.)

The Flight of the Snowbird

The snow was falling quickly now. It was beginning to form little piles in the corners of the wooden cross of the windowpane. The winter sky was pink-white and the bare trees in the front yard cast their weird shadows in the pale winter light.

Suddenly something flapped its way into the yard. It landed awkwardly in the snow and fell forward on its beak. The bird struggled to its feet and glanced around intently. It was small and white, about the size of a sparrow. The bird waddled clumsily, occasionally pecking at the ground.

The boy at the window watched the bird with his nose against the glass. He pressed his forehead against the pane and then watched as its vapor print disappeared. He did this three times and wondered if he would be able to get away from them tonight. The lawn chairs in the front yard were heavy with snow, and he longed to be outside to tip them over.

His mother called him and the bird flew off. The boy watched it fly gracefullyacross the moonlit sky and idly wondered to himself what kind of bird it was. He watched it until it was out of sight behind the barn and then resumed his drawings on the window.

His mother called again sharply, and he began to walk slowly through the hall into the kitchen. He stepped into the warmly heated sun porch and waited. Without looking up from the table his mother said, “Go wash your hands in the kitchen.” The boy frowned but went into the kitchen and swished his hands through the cold water. Waving them dry, he walked back to the sun porch.

While his mother said grace, he drew designs on the worn oilcloth with his fingernail. He picked up his spoon and dipped it into the steaming chicken noodle soup.

“Don’t lean on the table, son.” His mother said softly. The boy frowned, but took his elbows off the table. Crumbling a cracker into his soup, he forced his eyes over to where his sister was sitting. Her eyes were already fastened on his face. Could she read his mind? Sometimes it seemed to him that she saw right through him.

A wet noodle was pasted against her chin and he looked away in disgust as his mother helped the noodle back into her mouth and tried to get her to start eating again.

He finished eating his soup, and drank his milk in one gulp.

“Can I go now?” His mother looked up puzzled, “Where?” The boy frowned at her impatiently as if she should know.

“I thought I’d go out to the pond and try my new skates.”

His mother glanced over to where his sister sat and said softly,

“Wait a few more minutes, and you can take her with you.”

The boy pushed the chair violently and said loudly, “I’m going by myself. I won’t take her.”

“Please, Benjy, you never give her a chance. You know how she loves to skate.  Just because she can’t tell you, you think you can just ignore her.  Please let her go with you this time.”

The boy was watching the curious floating noodles in his soup bowl. He mumbled something. His mother looked up. “What did you say?”

“I said, I don’t ignore her. She always stares at me. I’m not taking her.”

A strand of gray hair fell across his mother’s pale cheek, and she said tiredly, “Her skates are in the hall closet.”

The boy stared at both of them with hate and then burst out, “I won’t take her!”

He ran to the closet and grabbed his coat, mittens, and cap. Slamming the door behind him, he ran to the shed and opened the creaky door. He looked over to where his skates hung. There bluish blades were glittering in the pale blue light. He pulled them off the peg and felt their sharp blades against his palm. Touching the soft black leather and silver eyelets, he slung them across his shoulder and ran into the yard. The lawn chairs were still waiting, and he went over to them and tipped each one over. He smiled and ran across the field.

The skates thumped carelessly against his back, and he looked around the pasture. The pale winter light gave everything and unnatural glow and made the tree and bushes stand out darkly against the snow.

The snow was still falling but more lightly now, and he let it tickle his nose until his eyes began to water; then he scratched at his nose furiously. The snow beneath his feet was soft, and his shoes squeaked crisply.

At the end of the pasture, the pond gleamed brightly, like an open eye. He sat down on a snow-covered hayrack and put it on his skates. Tying the shoelaces of his other shoes, he slung them across his shoulder and walked at the edge of the pond. He stood there and shivered deliciously.

Something tugged at his coat, and his stomach jumped. He looked down to see his sister. Her coat was buttoned up crookedly, and her muffler was tied loosely. He saw that her nose was running.

He reached into his pocket and got out a wadded-up Kleenex and wiped her nose viciously. Taking her hand, he pulled her roughly over to the rack. As he sat her down he considered sending her back, but he knew he would get into trouble if he did. He laced her skates too tight and looked to see if there was any change in her face, but there was none… nothing at all. Even when the laces bit into her skin, she sat looking at him, her eyes boring quietly through him.

“Why couldn’t she have had a good baby instead of you?” He looked at her as if she were something loathsome, and hated himself for hating her. She was nothing to him but a barrier between him and his mother. At times he found he couldn’t even remember her name. But then, perhaps, he made himself forget. He finished lacing her skates and then walked away from her.

There was a slight breeze now, and it cut through his corduroy pants. He slid out onto to the pond and began to skate. His ankles ached pleasantly, and he could feel his sharp blades hiss and scrape on the ice below the snow. The cold was numbing; it bit into his face and ears, making them tingle.

Skating backward, he could see her approaching from behind. He watched her skate toward him with a gracefulness he knew he would never have. She was a good skater, he admitted. But did she really know what she was doing? Was skating just something that came naturally to her?

She wasn’t well coordinated with her fingers, but she could skate better than anyone he knew. Maybe it was her smallness and frailness that made her so detestable to him. So pale and white.

He watched her slide across the pond like a piece of chipped ice. Then he turned around and skated forward. He stopped to sniff his nose and felt a gentle tug at his coat. He shook her loose and went the other way.

He used to have his friends over, but she would stand behind the kitchen door and stare at them until they stopped coming. She made them feel uneasy.

She could tell if he was happy, and if he was, she would pad along behind him and hang onto his shirttail. But always there were the eyes following him around-empty eyes boring through his back when he wasn’t looking.

He looked around her and couldn’t see her. He skated to the middle of the pond and looked around. Then he saw her over on the part of the pond that was off limits to them. There was no sign, but he knew it was thin ice.

For a moment he stood motionless. It would be so easy. So easy to tell his mother he hadn’t even known she was there…so easy to see the look of age and weariness disappear from her lined face…no more kind and patient words from his sister’s bedroom, no more look of defeat on his mother’s face when his sister wouldn’t learn to tie her own shoes. There would be no more tears from his mother.

He watched as his sister slid farther and farther away. Suddenly he saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was the small, awkward bird that flew so beautifully. It was flying slowly across the pond, but when the boy looked at it directly, it disappeared; but he knew it was there. He had seen it.

His legs began to pump forward, and his skates dug frantically at the ice. He couldn’t see her now, and his legs were burning with impatience. He couldn’t seem to move fast enough, and tears were beginning to stream from his eyes. She was visible to him now. He watched as she skated onto the thin part. Then he heard the loud crack, and he felt the ice tremble and shake as the ice broke and she fell into the frozen lake. He reached in and clung tight as the icy water numbed his fingers. Pulling as hard as he could, he saw her head appear. The coat slipped from his fingers, and he lost her. Desperately he thrust his arms into the water and searched franticly for her. He felt her coat in his hands again, and this time he heaved her out onto the ice.

For what seemed a long time, he watched her blue face as he prayed to Jesus for her eyes to open. His stomach jerked convulsively when her eyes opened. She began to shiver, and he quickly took off her frozen clothes, put her on his warm coat, and wrapped it around her small body. He was vaguely aware of his freezing arms and hands as he took off his skating socks and put them on her feet. The biting cold cut into his feet, and he tried but couldn’t unlace his other shoe. He slipped them on as best as he could. Picking her up, he started to walk to the edge of the pond. Her body was very still in his arms, and he noticed that her lips were bleeding. He took the tissue from his pocket and wiped the blood away. Looking down at her face, he searched for something in her eyes, but still there was nothing…no pain, no accusation, nothing…except tears. Never before had he seen her cry. Even when his mother would cry her heart out in front of his sister, she would sit and stare unknowingly. Now that the tears began to form and roll down her cheeks, the boy finally remembered her name. It was Sheryl. She struggled closer to the warmth of his body, and unconsciously he hugged her closer to him. Looking at her, he softly said her name. At last he saw something more than emptiness. He saw that she began to recognize him. He began to walk faster.

By Jean Lively