5/23/2023 0 Comments Emma donoghue pull of the stars![]() ![]() ![]() It was mild for the first morning of November. Standing beside my bicycle, I drew up my skirts on their strings. I waved as my brother rumbled slowly away, then went to fetch my coat and cape. I’d bought it for him at a widow’s auction of an officer’s goods, though I’d never told him so in case the thought of riding a dead man’s machine bothered him. He got his motorcycle started on the third try. In the lane, the slice of dark sky was streaked with pink. I tucked the orange and chocolates into my bag for a birthday lunch while Tim packed up his gardening tools to take to the allotment. Or overland through France-was that even possible anymore? I just hoped nobody had been killed, shipping this precious freight. I thought of its arduous journey through the Mediterranean, past Gibraltar and up the North Atlantic to Ireland. I put the fruit to my nose and drew in the citrus tang. The second package was quite round under its skins of tissue paper I found a fat shiny orange. ![]() Tim! Have you been hoarding these since the war broke out? ![]() Instead of trying to explain, I unwrapped the first box. I whooped with laughter and wiped my eyes. Tim reached past me for the pencil and notebook. Then with his other hand he pulled open the drawer of the kitchen table, and retrieved two packages tied with coils of old ribbon. I risked putting my hand over my brother’s. Editor’s Note: Read an interview with Emma Donoghue about her writing process. ![]()
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