Beat the Turtle Drum Read Online Free

by. On the other hand, I feel cheated too. If I’d been more exposed to the seamy side of things, I would undoubtedly write more realistic poems and plays. You take Eugene O’Neill or Tennessee Williams. I bet when they were my age they’d been around some, seen a few sights.
    Once Sam and Joss and I were walking in the woods back of our house, near the parkway bridge. We found a whole bunch of dirty pictures. I suspect they were stashed there by Jim Schneider for future reference. Jim was always making suggestive remarks about girls’ figures and stuff. His father subscribed to Playboy magazine, I understand. Anyway, I can still remember those pictures, even though Sam and I were about ten and Joss was eight. They were of people copulating. I’d never seen pictures like that, but somehow you just know, even at that tender age. We checked them all out carefully, to make sure we didn’t miss anything.
    Joss said, “Heck, I’ve seen plenty of animals doing that . If that’s all there is to it, what’s the big fuss about?”
    We put the pictures back where we’d found them. First, we tore them in half neatly, though. That gave me a lot of satisfaction. Let Jim Schneider paste them back together if he wanted.
    I think if the same thing happened to us today, or at least to Sam and me, we might react differently. We might be more embarrassed. I don’t know. It’s just a thought.
    I’m starting to keep a journal of my daily thoughts. I think it’s good training and also may be useful when I start to really write. Just the other day I read a book review. The reviewer called it “crisp, natural, and persuasive.” I only mention this because the author was seventeen.
    Imagine having a book published at seventeen! Only four years older than I am.
    I better get going.

“ Kate, will you run this package over to Miss Pemberthy?” my mother said. “United Parcel left it here yesterday. She wasn’t home, and he didn’t want to take a chance on someone stealing it.”
    â€œOh, Mom,” I said. I didn’t like going over there, for any reason at all.
    â€œThere’s a good girl. Bread cast upon the waters,” my mother said. Whenever she tried to con me into doing something I didn’t want to, she said that.
    The air smelled of apple blossoms and garden fertilizer. It wasn’t a night to be mad at anyone. I took Miss Pemberthy’s porch steps two at a time. Lucky I had on my sneakers. I planned to knock, drop the box, and run.
    â€œCome in, come in,” Miss Pemberthy said, flinging open the door. She must’ve been spying on me.
    â€œThe United Parcel left this at our house,” I said. “My mother asked me to bring it over.”
    â€œCome in,” she said again. As if I were mesmerized, I followed her into the dark hall.
    â€œWhen one lives alone, one must be careful. It’s so easy to resort to alcohol,” Miss Pemberthy said. She had a pitcher half full and a cocktail glass on a table. “That’s why I’m very strict with myself. One martini and one alone before my evening meal.” She smiled at me. “What can I get you?”
    I didn’t want anything. All I wanted was to leave. Before I knew what had happened, she’d put a glass of ginger ale into my hand.
    â€œThank you,” I said. “I really can’t stay.” If I didn’t sit down, it would be easier to escape. I never could figure out why leaving a place you don’t want to be in in the first place is so hard. “It’s almost dinnertime.”
    Miss Pemberthy sat in her rocker and took a long sip of her martini.
    â€œHow old are you now, Kate?” Miss Pemberthy asked me. I hadn’t known she knew my name.
    â€œThirteen,” I said. “That is, I’ll be thirteen in September.”
    â€œThirteen,” Miss Pemberthy said slowly. She took another sip and refilled her