9-year-old Igor lived in a huge forest in the north of Russia. His father was a woodcutter and his mother a tailor. The boy liked playing with animals in the forest, and knew the names of different birds and their songs. One freezing winter Igor was seriously ill and the doctor from big cities told his parents that only surprise could save him. Lying all day in bed, Igor only wanted his father to catch a bird and played with it. But in winter there were no birds in the forest. “You could make him a bird out of wood,” suggested the anxious mother.

The first finished birds were fat and too heavy to fly. He threw them into the fire, head in hands.

It was snowing heavily, and he really didn’t know where to find a bird. Then an idea occurred to him, “The bird needs two pieces of wood.” Eventually, he made it and showed it to his wife. “Beautiful!” she said, taking a needle and some thread (细线) and sewing the two ends together, like a real bird. She tied a long thread to the bird’s back. And it could be hung above Igor’s bed. Quietly, the woodcutter hung the bird above the boy’s bed.

At daybreak, his son was watching the bird carefully. There was a light in his eyes for the first time in many weeks. “Beautiful!” said Igor. “I’ve never seen it before in the forest. What’s its name?” “That’s a good question. I’ll find out and tell you.” The next morning, when the father entered Igor’s room, he found the boy sitting up in bed, trying to touch the bird. The last time Igor sat up in bed was many weeks before. “What’s it called?” the boy asked. “Oh, dear, I’m still not sure.”

Late on that night, Igor’s father went into his son’s room quietly and made the thread a little shorter. Then the bird was hanging a little higher above Igor’s head. Three days later, he found Igor kneeling on the bed, trying to touch the bird. His hand was very near it. “Have you decided on the name?” “Not yet. My son.” his father replied.

Again, at night the father went into his son’s room.

Several days later, Igor’s father was cutting wood when he heard a scream from the house.

Mash Assadollah was the grocer at our corner store. Standing behind his glass display case, he tore out a page from a book. He twisted the page into a cone-shaped envelope and then filled it with tobacco. He then weighed the tobacco. He folded the envelope of tobacco closed and handed it to me. I was also buying sugar cubes and tea. Mash Assadollah calculated the amounts on an abacus (算盘). I paid him and left.

When I got home, Grandmother took the goods I had purchased, emptied the envelopes of their ingredients, handed me the wrappers, and asked me to throw them away.

It was summer vacation, and I didn’t have much to do. To keep myself busy, I sat down in a corner of the room and started to read the wrappers, which had once been eight consecutive (连续的) pages of a book. How well written and attractive the words were! It was a good story. I sat there until I had read all eight pages. Honestly, I had never read a book before, except for my textbooks. But when I read those eight pages, I realized that I now loved reading! The only problem was that the story stopped right at the best part, right at the end of Page 22, which was the most important and exciting point in the story.

It was about a boy who wanted to run away from home and escape his father who was always spanking (打屁股) him, but the boy was afraid. He finally left home but didn’t know where to go. I was excited to find out where he would go and what would happen to him.

I decided to go back and get the rest of the book from Mash Assadollah.

Mash Assadollah didn’t know what I was talking about.

It was Saturday. My daughter was showing me something in the backyard when I heard my name called out. I turned around and saw a little boy. “William!” I cried in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m helping my daddy lay turf,” he answered proudly.

“I’m sure he appreciates that,” I said. “This is William,” I told my daughter. “One of my students. He’s a joy to have in class.”

It was true. Little William was a delight. And even though he struggled with his reading, he never once complained. There was a brightness he brought with him wherever he went.

I’d never forget the day in class when another student was having trouble understanding the lesson. “Don’t worry,” William had told her, “Sometimes, second grade is really hard.” He was a gentle soul, wise beyond his years.

Still, I couldn’t help but worry. Despite his firm determination, William’s grades were poor. Some days, I wondered if he’d be able to pass.

Back at school, William’s grades showed no sign of improvement until the last few weeks of the year. As a class project, each child planted a sunflower seed in one of those containers small plant beds came in. I did this every year, with varying results. Planting the seeds was exciting for many of the students, the growing part much less so. It took too long to see results from daily watering, and most kids had little patience for it. They lost interest and forgot to care for their sunflowers-to-be.

But not William. Every afternoon, William made sure all the containers were watered and nurtured (培育). By the last week of school, the shoots were about four inches tall. I was amazed. In years past, few seeds successfully sprouted (发芽). And those that did had never gotten so tall. But these were different. These were William’s sunflowers.

The head caretaker maintained the flower beds on the school grounds. Before summer, I asked if he’d mind planting our seedlings (幼苗). We picked out the perfect spot behind the library. It could clearly be seen from the street. We transferred (转移) all 20 seedlings and hoped for the best.

William managed to enter third grade.

But when I saw them, I had to stop the car.

Standing in the craft (工艺) store, I looked at the painting supplies in awe (敬畏). There were so many items that I had no idea where to start. I saw various tools for painting and several things I had no idea what to do with.

I held gift cards and coupons (优惠券) in my hand. My friends and family had asked what I wanted, and I was very clear this year. I had thought over the idea for months, but I would need supplies. Instead of replying modestly with“I’ll be happy with whatever you choose”, I said pointedly, “Gift cards for the craft store.”

“Are you sure this is what you want for your birthday?” my husband asked hesitantly.

“I’m very sure. I really want to give it a go,” I replied. I was smiling with anticipation (期盼). “I’ve never painted before, and I think it’s time to expand myself.”

He looked at me doubtfully and shook his head.

Truth must be told—this was a secret I’d kept for a while. Every day, he packed up for work and left. I would take care of my son and get him off to school, clean the house, go to the grocery shop and prepare dinner before they both walked in the door at the same time.

It had been a decade since I took any time to follow my own pursuits. I used to love to read; now my books collected dust from lack of time. I used to love to hike; now my boots sat neglected in the back of my closet. I used to love to sew, but my machine was in a state of disrepair for longer than I owned it.

I missed doing all those things, but somehow I never found my way back to them. I had become a drudge (苦工). I wanted excitement and creative expression, but mostly I wanted color.

I selected the most interesting supplies. “Are you really sure about this? I have a feeling you’re going to store all these in the back of a closet and never touch it again.” I almost listened to him. For a split moment, I doubted my commitment.

Squaring up my shoulders, I marched myself to the checkout.

My hand rested on the handle of the vacuum (吸尘器), but I’d been staring at my painting tools far longer than I realized.

One day two years ago, my mother came home from work and announced that she had found a pet for the family. My father, little sister, and I eyed her in doubt.

My sister asked what kind of dog it was. My mother said it was a poodle (贵宾犬) named Pepe. I couldn’t believe she wanted a poodle — especially one with such an ordinary name. But she had made up her mind. “Actually, I’m doing a co-worker a favor,” she said. “The woman who owns Pepe says he hates to be alone and needs children to play with him.”

Pepe arrived the next night. His short tail shook happily. I didn’t get very close to him, thinking he should have stayed with his previous owner. My little sister played with him until bedtime, and he would come to me and begged for more attention. I always ignored him. But no matter how I treated him, he’d always like to be with me. He has always been waiting for me at the front door at the end of the day, smiling happily. He seems to know that I will be coming home from school at that time. Every day, he asks me with his eyes to play with him or take him somewhere. At night, he will wait until I fall asleep, leave his bed by the wall heater, walk down the hall and jump onto the end of my bed.

One night, while everyone was sleeping, I was in a half dream state. My throat hurt, my eyes pained, and some animal was crying in my ear. I opened my eyes and saw fog in my room. I wondered who left the window open. Pepe cried and bit my pajama sleeve (睡衣袖). Then I woke up and realized that it wasn’t fog in my room — it was smoke.