A Button for the Speech

Leif stands in the back room of the kite shop. It is nine in the morning. The festival starts at noon. A hundred kites hang in bright rows on the wall. Every one seems to look at him.

Today he must give the welcome speech. Greta, the owner, gives it every year. This year she says, "You do it, Leif." He cannot say no. He still does not know why.

He holds up his one good jacket to the window. It is dark blue and clean. Last night, it looked fine. Now he looks at the front, and he feels cold. The middle button is gone. The other two are small and white.

"No, no, no," he says.

He checks the floor. He checks the pockets. He looks under the table and behind the chair. He looks in the hall and by the front door. The window by the table is open. He finds a paperclip, a coin and half a sandwich. He finds no button.

Greta comes in from the shop. She has a roll of string under her arm. "Why all the noise?" she asks.

"My button," says Leif. He holds up the jacket. "It fell off. I cannot give a speech with an open jacket."

Greta looks at it with her head to one side. "Why not? Nobody looks at a jacket."

"They look at the speaker," says Leif. "They look at everything."

"Hmm." Greta puts the string down. "Fine. Let's find you a button."

They go to the big drawer under the counter. It holds thread, needles, tape and bits of cloth for kite repair. Greta pulls out a tin box. It has a picture of a boat on the lid. She opens it. It is full of buttons.

Leif sits and sorts them one by one. There are pink buttons, round buttons and square buttons. One is shaped like a star. One has a tiny cat on it. None is white. None is the right size.

"Too big," says Leif. "Too bright. Too small." After ten minutes, he puts his head in his hands.

Greta takes the jacket and counts the buttons. "You have two more. Could we move one?"

"Then the jacket is open at the bottom," says Leif. "That is just as bad."

"Or you could hold the jacket shut with one hand," she says. Then she shakes her head. "No, that is silly."

It is a quarter to ten. Leif walks to the window and looks out at the sea wall. The long grey wall runs along the beach. Small waves touch the stones. Early visitors already walk along the top with kites under their arms.

An idea comes to him. "Greta," he says. "Do you have a strong needle? And thread that will not break?"

"I have kite thread," says Greta. "It does not break, even if you pull a boat with it."

"Perfect," says Leif. He takes a needle and the green thread. He runs to the door.

"Where are you going?" Greta calls.

"To the beach!" he shouts back.

He runs down the steps to the sand. The beach is cool and nearly empty. He walks along the foot of the wall. He looks at the ground. He passes dry weeds, a bottle and a piece of rope. He finds one orange shell, then another. They are all wrong.

Near the end of the wall, he sees a small round shell. It is flat and grey-blue. It is the size of a button. In the middle, the sea makes two tiny holes. It looks almost like a real button.

"Yes," says Leif. He picks it up and wipes it on his sleeve.

He hurries back up the steps. Greta waits at the shop door with her arms crossed. "A shell?" she says.

"A shell," says Leif. He grins.

He sits on the stool by the counter. He takes the green thread. He pushes the thread through the needle on the third try. His hands are not quite steady. He goes through one hole in the shell, then through the cloth. Then he goes through the second hole and back to the cloth. He does it again and again. The thread pulls tight each time.

Greta watches. "You sew well," she says.

"My mother taught me," says Leif. "I never planned to use it here."

When he finishes, he bites the thread. Then he puts on the jacket. He pushes the shell through the hole. It fits perfectly. The grey-blue shell shines against the dark cloth.

"Not bad," says Greta. She steps back to look at him. "It looks like you meant to do it."

Leif looks in the small mirror by the door. A young man looks back at him. He has a shell on his jacket. He looks strangely calm.

"I can do this," he says. He half believes it.

At noon, the square by the sea wall is full of people. Hundreds of kites float up into the sky, blue, yellow and white. Leif walks to the little stage with his speech in his hand. Greta stands near the front. She has a proud look on her face.

He climbs the three steps. He turns to the crowd and opens his mouth. Just then, he sees something on the sea wall behind them.

A gull sits on the stones. Something small and white shines in its beak. It looks just like his lost button.

Leif forgets his first word.