My Own Revolution Read Online Free Page A

“so I took them in.” Danika’s bunny opens its tiny pink mouth and yawns.
    I reach out a fingertip to caress the little head. But I find it’s not the rabbit I care about. Suddenly I want to stand right next to Danika, just as we stood at the river. That word
sweetheart
bounces into my mind, but I bounce it right back out. Danika and I are like sister and brother. Simply that.
    “And now, back into the basket,” says Mrs. Machovik, lifting the lid to the bunnies’ bed. “Dinner’s ready.”

We sit down to potato dumplings and tiny lettuce leaves just picked from the garden. For dessert Mrs. Machovik serves fat red plums the neighbor canned.
    “We trade our produce,” says Dr. Machovik, winking.
    After dinner, when the house is lit by soft yellow lights, Tati and Dr. Machovik sip coffees spiked with splashes of brandy. Outside, the crickets are starting up.
    Mami helps Mrs. Machovik with the dishes in the kitchen big enough for only two, while Bela cradles her doll and watches the bunnies sleep.
    I reach for two packs of cards on the sideboard and hand one to Danika. We start up a game of double solitaire, laying down our cards with precise little clicks.
    Tati turns the conversation to the reports of race riots in America. Negro people are said to be fighting with white people. In their battle for equal rights, they’re led by a fiery preacher named Dr. Martin Luther King.
    Humming under her breath, Danika lays down three cards in a row, then draws three more.
    “Such a thing could not happen in that great country,” claims Dr. Machovik, lighting a cigar. “It is all propaganda by our own government to discredit the great U.S. of A. Like the way they say people have to sleep under bridges. How in such a wealthy country could that be?”
    “Americans couldn’t possibly be treating those dark people badly,” says Tati. “America is the land of the free.”
    “They did have slavery,” I say. I know this fact from my history books, though I know nothing for myself about Negroes, never even having seen one. I lay a black ten on a red jack.
    Dr. Machovik waves my words away. “Slavery was a long time ago. Every country has its less admirable moments.” His voice floats into the golden glow of the living room.
    “I saw a newsreel about the race riots,” I can’t help but say. “I saw Negroes being blasted with water hoses, being attacked by German shepherds. How can the Soviets fake that?”
    “Huh.” Dr. Machovik chuckles. “The Soviets are very clever.”
    Maybe he’s right. Surely Tati’s aunt would have said something if there were race riots going on in Pennsylvania.
    “For the purposes of propaganda, anything can be fabricated,” Dr. Machovik states. “Even newsreels.” He pounds his fist lightly on the arm of the chair.
    Tati and Dr. Machovik light their pipes, fruity smoke curling out. Tati leans close and begins to tell about what happened with Eduard Bagin. About how from out of the blue, orders came to demote this man to tractor driver.
    I flip through all my cards. Nothing to play. Suddenly I’m stuck. I wait for Danika. But she’s got nothing, too.
    “Never have I had trouble like this before,” Tati is saying.
    Dr. Machovik strokes his goatee.
    With a loud slap, I throw down my cards, hoping to distract Tati. He shouldn’t be telling this secret story. Not even with this man who has been our friend for years and years.
    “I’ve always been left to do my job as I see fit,” Tati goes on.
    “Let’s go outside,” I say to Danika.
    We slip away to sit on the porch steps. Tall pines poke like leafy spires into the night, and the first stars have appeared. Tulo circles three times, then lies at our feet.
    “Remember how we used to play hide-and-go-seek in those bushes over there?” Danika says.
    “And how we played badminton without a net.”
    “And you cheated, always sending me the birdie so low.” Bare armed, Danika suddenly shivers.
    Her shivers pulse into the night,