Page 214 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

“Equatorial or horizontal?” Mamá asked.

There was a flash of surprise in Thalia’s eyes. A kind of double take. Like a
person walking down a crowded street in a foreign city catching within earshot a
snippet of her native tongue. “Horizontal,” she said in that strange wet voice of
hers.
“What did you use for a gnomon?”
Thalia’s eyes rested on Mamá. “I cut a postcard.”

That was the first time I saw how it could be between those two.
“She used to take apart her toys when she was little,” Madaline said. “She
liked mechanical toys, things with inner contraptions. Not that she played with
them, did you, darling? No, she’d break them up, all those expensive toys, open
them up as soon as we gave them to her. I used to get into such a state over it.
But Andreas—I have to give him credit here—Andreas said to let her, that it was
a sign of a curious mind.”
“If you like, we can build one together,” Mamá said. “A sundial, I mean.”

“I already know how.”
“Mind your manners, darling,” Madaline said, extending, then bending, one
leg, as though she were stretching for a dance routine. “Aunt Odie is trying to be
helpful.”
“Maybe something else, then,” Mamá said. “We could build some other
thing.”

“Oh! Oh!” Madaline said, hurriedly blowing smoke, wheezing. “I can’t
believe I haven’t told you yet, Odie. I have news. Take a guess.”
Mamá shrugged.
“I’m going back to acting! In films! I’ve been offered a role, the lead, in a
major production. Can you believe it?”

“Congratulations,” Mamá said flaccidly.
“I have the script with me. I’d let you read it, Odie, but I worry you won’t
like it. Is that bad? I’d be crushed, I don’t mind telling you. I wouldn’t get over
it. We start shooting in the fall.”

The next morning, after breakfast, Mamá pulled me aside. “All right,
what is it? What’s wrong with you?”
I said I didn’t know what she was talking about.