Shimshi’s father fondly looked at his 11-year-old son, sprawled at an awkward angle on the window sill, his eyes glued to the page of his book. His Shimshi was an inquisitive boy who read historical books — mostly about battles and military campaigns — almost nonstop. It was good, Mr. Miller thought stoutly, to be interested in a subject that taught you something.
“So what’s going on in the book now?” Mr. Miller knew the best way to engage Shimshi in conversation.
“Commodore Perry is pointing his guns towardJapan! It’s exciting! He’s trying to force them into a treaty and is so clearly the stronger power that there is no question they’ll give in” Shimshi enthused.
Plopping into his chair at the table Shimshi rested his chin in his cupped hand lost in a sea battle taking place in his head. The conversation of his siblings and the questions his parents addressed to him about his day at school sailed over his head unheard and unanswered as he quietly chewed and thought.
But Shimshi did not miss hearing his older brother Reuvy’s bellow “Shimshi!” as they got up from the table. He saw Reuvy approaching and ran to his bedroom locking the door behind him.
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