He had been almost finished for an hour.
The Same Page
The old man had been on the same page since Tuesday. By Friday afternoon, Mina wanted an explanation.
She stood beside the low cabinet, her school bag still hanging from one shoulder. The ceramic reader sat comfortably in his blue-and-white chair, one leg crossed, a long pipe held beside his beard. His little book lay open across his lap.
“What’s he reading?” she asked.
Her father looked over from the kitchen doorway.
“Something difficult, apparently.”
Mina put down her bag and leaned closer. On the miniature pages, the markings were too small to read. She rested a finger against one smooth edge, then withdrew it. There was no separate page to turn.
“Can you tell me?”
Her father came to look. He bent beside her for a moment, studying the book as seriously as she had.
“I think someone has lost a dumpling.”
A Missing Dumpling
In the story her father began, a cook had made six dumplings for the mayor’s supper. He had put them on a plate, gone to fetch a bowl of sauce, and returned to find only five.
“Was the door open?” Mina asked.
“No.”
“The window?”
“Also closed.”
“Was anyone else there?”
“Not that the cook mentioned.”
Mina fetched her drawing book. At the kitchen table, she drew a plate with five dumplings and a smaller, suspicious plate beside it.
Her father stirred their soup. When she asked what the cook looked like, he described a tall hat, large buttons, and a spot of sauce on his chin.
“Did he say he’d tasted anything?”
“He said he hadn’t touched the supper.”
She drew the spot of sauce.
While her father chopped greens, they considered a very narrow thief and a dumpling that had escaped through the keyhole. Mina crossed out the thief after trying to draw him thin enough.
From the kitchen table, she could still see the ceramic gentleman. He offered no assistance. His pipe and his book remained exactly where they had been.
Who Gets the Ending
By the time her father brought out two bowls, Mina’s page contained a keyhole, a ladder, and a cook with a chin that looked increasingly unfortunate.
“Maybe there’s a tunnel beneath the stove,” her father suggested.
Mina looked at the soup he was ladling.
“Wouldn’t it get very hot?”
“It might.”
“And how would the dumpling get down there?”
Her father put the ladle down.
“I don’t think I’ve solved this.”
Mina glanced toward the cabinet.
“What happens on the next page?”
“We’ll have to decide. His won’t turn.”
She looked down at her drawing. Her father sat opposite her and waited while she followed the cook’s outline with her pencil.
“He ate it,” she said.
“But he said he hadn’t touched it.”
“He said he hadn’t touched the supper. Perhaps he called that one something else.”
“Such as?”
“A test.”
Her father smiled. Mina drew the sixth dumpling inside the cook’s stomach, then gave him a small speech bubble.
Perfectly cooked.
Supper Is Ready
Her father leaned across to read it.
“What did the mayor say?”
Mina considered this, then added another bubble beside the plate.
Next time, make seven.
She showed him the finished page before closing the drawing book. He moved it to the dry end of the table and passed her a spoon.
Steam rose from their bowls. Mina took a small taste, then looked up at him.
“A test,” she said.
He nodded solemnly and began his own supper.
Beyond the kitchen doorway, the ceramic gentleman still had a page to finish. Everyone else had started eating.
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