The Story of Helly part 1/7

The Story of Helly

The Story of Helly part 1/7

It wasn’t a thousand years ago, nor a hundred years  either. It was  just two years ago or maybe last year.  In our neighborhood,  in our lane,  there  lived a girl whose name was Helly, and she was eight years old. As a matter of fact,  in our neighborhood,  in our lane, many boys and girls were living. There was a girl named Zari. Zai did embroidery  and a little housework. She also washed dishes,  brought  tea, and washed the cups and saucers  occasionally,  but she could not clean  greasy plates very well.

Another girl was called Lilly. She sang songs. She had memorized several  long  songs. Whenever anyone  asked her, she would sing one of these songs. But she never  sang when she was by herself, nor did she sing when her brother was studying or doing his homework.

Another girl was called Mehri. She  liked  to play withflowers  and arrange them in vases. Often she would get herself wet by spilling water from  the vases, but she never got other people wet.

And  there was  the boy Taghi. He used  to build tiny houses out of boards and nails and paint  them with watercolors, He never bothered anyone. And he never played with his houses until he had  finished his homework.

And  there were many, many others.  There was Mahvash and Mahshid,  Khosrow  and Jamshi, Maryam  and Mitra, Houshang  and Reza, Manijeh  and.  . . . They all  lived in our neighborhood and were always busy doing something.

Now  let me tell you about Helly. Everyone  in the neighborhood  called her Naughty Helly. It seemed  as though there was nothing  in the world  she could do except bother  people-bother  her mother and  father, bother her sister and brother, bother,  bother. No sooner would she get home  from school than her mother would be yelling:  “Helly, don’t touch the dishes. Helly, don’t put on my shoes. Helly, don’t tease Hormoz. Helly, don’t make faces. Helly, don’t come  in the room wearing Goli’s shoes. Helly, don’t play with  the kerosene  lamp. Helly, don’t act so spoiled.  . . .”

But Helly never listened  to her mother or anyone else. She was always doing  things at the wrong time. When  it was time  for sleeping  she would start singing. When it was time for  lunch  she would go out into the lane. She always made noise in the classroom,  and  in winter  she was always throwing snowballs at people.

Sometimes  she ran out into the  lane and bothered the grocer or the carpenter-- or the street  sweeper. The sweeper was such a kind, good-hearted man  that Helly  bothered him a lot. The man who sold  lottery  tickets  in the lane was always angry with Helly. Even the kind dog Hoffy, who lived in our lane, had to stay awake all the long hot summer afternoons  on  the lookout  for Helly, who was sure to hurt him  if she  found him asleep.

So, as I was going to say,  there was nobody in our neighborhood,  in our lane, who liked Helly. Not the  ticket  seller, not  the street sweeper, nor  the butcher, nor  the carpenter, nor  the other children-nobody  liked her, and  they all complained about her to her mother.

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