فصل 23

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دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»

این فصل را می‌توانید به بهترین شکل و با امکانات عالی در اپلیکیشن «زیبوک» بخوانید

دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»

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متن انگلیسی فصل

23

That night the doorbell rang at eight. We were in the den. I said I’d see who was there. I opened the front door.

“Grandma!” I screamed. I threw my arms around her. “What are you doing home?”

“If Mohammed doesn’t come to the mountain-the mountain comes to Mohammed.”

I laughed, knowing that I was Mohammed and that Grandma was the mountain. There was a man standing next to Grandma. Grandma turned to him. “Morris,” she said. “This is my Margaret.”

Then Grandma closed the front door and told me, “Margaret darling, this is Mr. Morris Binamin.”

“Rhymes with cinnamon,” he said to me.

I smiled.

Grandma looked marvelous-very tan and pale blonde. Mr. Binamin had a lot of silver hair, a moustache to match, and black-rimmed eyeglasses. He was tan too. He held Grandma’s arm.

“Where are they?” Grandma asked.

“Mom and Dad are in the den,” I said.

“With your other grandparents?”

“No… they’re gone.”

“Gone!” Grandma cried. “But I thought they were staying all week.”

“We thought so too,” I said.

“But Morris and I came especially to see them.”

“You did!” I said. “How come?”

Grandma and Mr. Binamin gave each other a secret look. “Well… we thought you might need our support.”

“Oh Grandma! I can manage just fine by myself.”

“I know you can. You’re my Margaret, aren’t you? Tell me-did they try anything?”

“Like what?” I asked.

“You know,” Grandma said. “Church business.”

“Well… kind of,” I admitted.

“I knew it!” Grandma cried. “Didn’t I tell you?” she asked Mr. Binamin.

Mr. Binamin shook his head. “You had them pegged right all the time, Sylvia,” he said.

“Just remember, Margaret… no matter what they said… you’re a Jewish girl.”

“No I’m not!” I argued. “I’m nothing, and you know it! I don’t even believe in God!”

“Margaret!” Grandma said, “Don’t ever talk like that about God.”

“Why not?” I asked. “It’s true!” I wanted to ask God did he hear that! But I wasn’t speaking to him and I guess he knew it!

By that time my mother and father were in the living room and Grandma was making the introductions.

My parents gave Mr. Binamin the once-over and he was pretty busy sizing them up too.

Then my mother made coffee and served warm Danish. She offered me some milk and ginger snaps but I wasn’t hungry. I wanted to get out of there so I yawned very loud without covering my mouth.

“Margaret dear, if you’re so tired, why don’t you go up to bed,” Grandma said.

“I think I will. Goodnight, everybody.”

Sometimes Grandma is almost as bad as everybody else. As long as she loves me and I love her, what difference does religion make?

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