Please Don't Read

Chapter Three

Chapter Three: The Magic

If you jump to conclusions, you may be brought heaps of despair when you realize you have been wrong all along. For instance, if I were to jump to conclusions and think that a train that was supposed to arrive at 11:15 would never turn up, and I stepped into the tracks, I would have an exceptionally painful journey. Jumping to conclusions is not only dangerous, but also one of the many stupid things that humans do all the time. There are many things you may think you know for certain that you really don't. Nobody is ever as clever as they think they are. For example, in the mid-twentieth century, a medical operation called the lobotomy was thought to be a cure for mental illnesses. Walter Freeman helped to popularize the lobotomy in the 1940s, performing thousands of operations. Freeman started to use an ice pick-like medical instrument to perform many lobotomies a day - sometimes up to twenty-five. Antonio Caetano de Abreu Freire Egas Moniz - otherwise known as Egas Moniz - claimed that the procedure was "simple . . . always safe, which may prove to be an effective surgical treatment in certain cases of mental disorder." In actuality, lobotomized patients were not freed from their mental disorders. The "cure" was more of a zombification that turned people into vegetables than anything else. The doctors who favored the lobotomy might have been influenced by the work of Gottlieb Burckhardt, believing that the separation of the frontal lobe from the front of the brain could cure schizophrenic patients - with no evidence to support the idea aside from Burckhardt's research.

This is not the only case of people drawing conclusions that are incorrect. There are hundreds more besides, especially in the tentative and often controversial subject that is science, and I am ashamed to admit that my sisters, my cousins, and I all jumped to conclusions before breakfast the next day. Actually, I'm fairly certain that every one of us woke up feeling pleased with themselves, with me being the exception.

When the first rays of light filtered through the curtains hanging over the windows, waking me from my slumber, I assumed that Benedicta and the others had given up on their plans of escaping. This didn't exactly make me happy - I wanted to be far from Grandmother just as much as they did - but it relieved me to think they didn't plan on doing anything that could anger a certain old woman. I never considered the possibility that they all made a different decision, not even when I followed them down to breakfast after dressing quickly. Not once did I stop to think that maybe they seemed a little too eager to be planning on doing chores all summer, or too happy to eat burnt porridge and cold toast every morning (which is worse than cold porridge and burnt toast). Like the doctors who performed lobotomies, I realized too late that their behavior wasn't right for my assumption to be correct.

Grandmother was waiting for us at a table laden with all of our favorite breakfast foods. There were three loaves of bread, each in a different shape. They were also different types of bread: One was Irish soda bread, the other was chocolate zucchini bread, and the last was banana brad made with almonds instead of walnuts. In the middle sat three pyramids of fruit, a jug of soy milk, a jug of pumpkin juice, and a jug of apple cider. There were also two baskets of pastries, filled with delicious treats such as cream puffs, turnovers, chocolate éclairs, pain au chocolate, strawberry petits choux, tartlets, donuts, blueberry and strawberry strudels, and every type of danish I'd ever heard of. On a tray made of fine china was a teapot surrounded by crumpets and pumpkin pasties, along with various shortcakes.

Our places were already set with china plates and solid gold eating utensils and cloth napkins. The food smelled heavenly and looked delicious, but we were hesitant to sit down.

"Don't just stand there looking stupid, have a seat. I got my cooks to make this special breakfast, just for you," said Grandmother. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Non, je vous remercie," said Rosanna, in a heavy French accent. "Je n'aime pas beaucoup pour le thé."

"I'm sorry, dear, but I didn't quite catch that last bit. . . . I'm afraid I don't speak Monkey." A bloodthirsty beast awoke inside me, growling in warning. "Would anybody else like some?"