Читать книгу Saltypie - Tim Tingle - Страница 11

We filled a tin bucket with eggs and carried them to a small

room in the back of the garage, where my Pawpaw had built

a light board. He had replaced a porcelain tabletop with glass

and wired four light bulbs under it. When Mawmaw flipped the

switch, shafts of yellow light rose to the ceiling.

Mawmaw placed the eggs on the table. I rolled them over

and over, looking closely for blood spots on the yellow yolks.

“There’s one, Mawmaw!” I shouted. I handed the egg to my

grandmother. She held it close to her eyes.

“You’re a good boy,” she said, laughing her quiet funny laugh,

like there was so much more to laugh at than you would ever

know. “That’s some kind of saltypie for those chicken eggs,

boy,” she said, tossing the bad eggs in the trash bucket.