After the Ashes Read Online Free Page B

appearance really was a bit terrifying. Brigitta wasn’t the only person I had seen scream and run away from a stag beetle. Not only girls, but boys, too. Even men.
    But somehow I loved them most of all. They were everywhere—clinging to leaves and plants, climbing walls and trees. Easy to catch and collect.
    Tante Greet didn’t understand my obsession with the beetles, but my father did. He encouraged me. Whenever I had questions concerning my beetles, or any other scientific matter, he would say, “Think, Katrien.” Tante Greet may have wanted me to run a home, but Vader wanted me to learn, to use logic, to solve problems.
    I strolled past stucco houses and weaved around kampongs while I pondered the silent birds and rumbling tremors of the twentieth of May. They were caused by an eruption, not an earthquake—at least, according to Mrs. Brinckerhoff’s husband. I had only met him two or three times, but he seemed like an intelligent man. No reason to doubt his story.
    Eating the last of the
oliebol
, I decided my next stop, after I found Slamet, would be to visit Vader. He could answer all the questions rattling around my head. Especially the most urgent one: How was it possible that a beach could explode?

Chapter 5
    I was still mulling over the details of Mr. Brinckerhoff’s story when I turned the corner by old Mrs. Schoonhoven’s tiny cottage and came face-to-face with the open-air market. It was all that stood between me and the beach. The sharp scents of spices, fish, tangy fruits, pepper and tea wafted my way. Vendors yelled. Customers bartered. Babies cried. Underneath all the commotion, the ocean’s waves pulsed their steady rhythm, adding a low roar to the market’s sounds.
    The first booth I passed belonged to our neighbor, Mr. Vandermark, who stood hawking his vegetables. He waved at me. Ever since he painted the doors of his home red, Tante Greet refused to talk to him.
    â€œBrothels have red doors, Katrien,” she had said.
    â€œHow do you know that?” I had asked.
    â€œI don’t, really, but red doors are immoral. Don’t ever think of painting something red.”
    Not only had Tante Greet not spoken to Mr. Vandermark since, she refused to buy any of his vegetables.
    Farther inside the market, the crush of people grew stronger. Bodies pressed against me, leaving traces of sweat on my skin. Even though the market had no walls, the sheer volume of people underthe pavilion kept any breeze from blowing. I fanned my hand in front of my face, trying to find some sort of relief from the sweltering heat, and shoved my way through the masses.
    I should have gone the long way past the Hotel Anjer to get to the beach. But now that I was practically trapped here, it occurred to me that one of the Stuyvesants’ oranges would be delicious. Their grove on the edge of town was well known for producing the most delectable citrus fruit on the west coast of Java. Unfortunately, a throng of people swarmed around their stall like winged termites. It would take too much time to wait.
    â€œKatrien,” a kind voice behind me said. “How are you this fine afternoon?” I turned to see Sister Hilde, my favorite teacher, beaming at me.
    â€œI’m well, Sister. And you?”
    â€œI am as good as the Lord allows,” she said. “Which is always wonderful.” Her green eyes twinkled behind her spectacles. She leaned over and whispered, “You have a smudge on your specs.”
    â€œ
Dank u
, Sister,” I said, and moved on past her.
    I reached into my pocket for a handkerchief and found nothing but a loose thread. I thought of asking Sister to borrow hers, but when I turned I saw she had been swallowed by the crowd. With a sigh, I wiped my spectacles on my blouse and promptly crashed into a young woman in front of me. I was forced to steady myself against her back, and as I pulled away I left a white mark on her dark blouse. Sugary