Chapter 3

Krys was over in the vegetables and Cora was hitting up the butcher.

Cynthia and Zoe ... and Tyke were looking at the sausages. The sausages were piled high and were fresh. The line of babushkas ... all the Russian grandmothers ... were there and they all remembered the Great Patriotic War ... when meat was impossible to buy. Now ... the profusion recalled the abundance between the wars.

Tyke wanted Hunter Sausage and she had her nose pressed to the glass.

“Let me guess,” Zo said.

“Three,” Cynthia said. “You get three.”

“You’re going to try the portal,” Zoe suggested.

Cynthia made the ‘keep going’ hand gesture.

“With the sapphire,” Zoe said.

Again with the gesture.

“Which stone?”

Cynthia grinned. “Pretty good. Except for one thing.”

“What?”

“I can’t ... I’m pregnant.” She grinned again.

Realization dawned. “Absolutely not,” Zoe said. “I might not be eligible.”

“What? You’re pregnant?”

“Might ... there’s a good chance,” Zoe grinned.

“That’s right,” Cynthia said. “Your hull was as loud as our hull.”

“Uh huh.” Zoe couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Then she remembered ... JW was missing.

Just then, Krys ... and vegetables and Cora ... heavily laden butcher’s boy in tow ... said, “Where’s Tyke?”

And the sea of grandmothers parted like the Red ... and there was Tyke. The sausage grinder was trying to understand her Russian and Tyche was trying to understand his English.

“Tyche?” Krys questioned.

“Hunter Sausage, please,” said Tyke.

“I will translate for you, pay attention,” Krys turned to the grinder, “Охотничья колбаса, пожалуйста.”

The grinder looked at Tyche, “Как много?”

Krys said, “How much?”

Tyke asked Zoe, “How much may I buy?”

Zoe just waved her hand. She didn’t care ... well ... she wasn’t paying any attention.

Tyke said, “Two kilos, please.

Krys said, “Два килограмма, пожалуйста.”

The sausage seller looked shocked, “Два килограмма.” Tyche isn’t very big. Two kilos is a lot.

“Sliced,” she held her fingers 2 millimeters apart.

That the sausage man understood, “нарезанный,” and held up a cleaver.

“нарезанный,” she turned to Krys, “Is нарезанный, sliced?”

“Yes...”

“нарезанный,” said Tyke and nodded.

“Your pronunciation was spot on.”

The sausage maker didn’t use the cleaver, he used an electric slicer. He sliced off a piece and handed it to the little girl.

Tyche sniffed it. Satisfied she popped it in her mouth and beamed.

Cut, weighed and wrapped, the sausage man held out his palm.

Tyke kicked her mom in the shin and held out her hand.