Sauerkraut

by Kelly Jones

  The other two judges stopped staring, and shook their heads. One kept glancing around, though, like he was trying to figure out if he was on camera, or how the special effects worked.

  Then Oma started talking, so I told them what she said while she held up her cards.

  “Sauerkraut is made from cabbages,” I told them. “It’s a traditional German food that means ‘sour cabbage,’ and that is exactly what it is. Sauerkraut gets its sour flavor when it’s fermented, not from vinegar, so it takes time to make. Mrs. Schenk made this sauerkraut from her special recipe, using her pickling crock.”

  But I sliced the cabbage in the food processor, not with the kraut cutter, the ghost wrote in big letters. That is a very good invention.

  Across the gym, I caught a glimpse of the other judges asking questions about the crystal radio two entries before my computer. But I didn’t stop talking.

  “In this country, as in Germany, sauerkraut helped people survive over the winter, and not get sick from not having any vegetables. Like scurvy. You could get scurvy even if you weren’t a pirate, if you didn’t have any vegetables.”

  “Young man—er, Mrs. Schenk’s representative—please provide more details about her recipe,” one of the judges said.

  The STEM judges moved on to the Lego robot right before my computer. I saw my dad run in, stop, look around, and say something to my mom.

  I took a deep breath, and I focused on what I was doing.

  “For this sauerkraut, we used five heads of cabbage, sprinkled with salt,” Oma told the judges, so I told them too.

  “How much salt?” asked the judge taking notes.

  “Enough,” Oma said.

  “Come on, Oma, you remember—we weighed it and wrote it down!” I whispered.

  The ghost sighed. “Very well, but the weight is not as important as whether there is enough brine after you pound the cabbage. We used five and one quarter ounces of salt, young lady. And for my special ingredient, three tablespoons of juniper berries.”

  I told the judge what Oma said.

  She nodded, and the rest of the judges examined the jar and made notes.

  “Is there anything else we should know about your recipe, to conclude your presentation?” a different judge asked.

  I looked up to see if Oma wanted to add anything else.

  She wasn’t there.

  For a minute, I just stared at the space where she’d been. Had she leveled up before I even finished the presentation? She wouldn’t disappear without saying goodbye when I was right there helping her out, would she?

  Then I realized the pickling crock lid was missing.

  And then I heard Eli’s voice over the crowd. “You have to push the monitor button too, Mrs. S.”

  I looked up, and caught a glimpse of the ghost floating over my keyboard in front of a group of judges. She handed the pickling crock lid to Eli, and pushed the monitor button.

  “Mrs. Schenk?” the judge asked again.

  I pulled myself together. “Uh, no, that’s all she wants to say about her sauerkraut, thanks,” I told the judge.

  “Then you are free to go enjoy the fair, young man,” the judge said, and went back to examining Oma’s sauerkraut and making notes with the others.

  So I tore across the gym to my computer. A document was open on my screen, and Oma was typing.

  YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE: I AM PROVIDING AN ACCOMMODATION FOR HANS DIETER SCHENK, WHO WILL BE HERE AS SOON AS HE FINISHES HELPING HIS GRANDMOTHER. THIS IS THE COMPUTER HE BUILT. HE IS A FINE YOUNG MAN, AND SHOULD NOT BE PENALIZED FOR HELPING PEOPLE.

  “I’m here now,” I told the judges, breathing hard. “Thanks, Oma.” I took the lid from Eli. Maybe everyone would just decide they hadn’t seen the keyboard moving all by itself.

  “Did you program that script too?” one of the judges asked, staring at the screen.

  “Uh…I had some help,” I told her, and she made a note.

  The other judges seemed to relax after that. I guess they were more comfortable with technology than they were with ghosts.

  “Was the CPU preinstalled on the motherboard when you bought it?” another judge asked.

  “Nah, I bought them separately and installed it myself,” I told the judge. “I installed the CPU fan too, and the memory, and everything. And the case, the motherboard, the monitor, the keyboard, and the mouse were all used, so this demonstrates how you shouldn’t just throw useful stuff away.”

  Rose and Mei and Grace were nodding.

  “Is there anything else we should know about your computer?” one of the judges asked.

  “As a former engineer, I consulted on this project, and I feel you should know that this young man earned the money himself and did the entire build on his own,” Mr. Z. told the judges.

  “And as a former information technology specialist for the US Army, I’d like to say he researched his options carefully, modified his plan as necessary, and did an outstanding job of it,” Grace added.

  I felt the smile on my face grow bigger and bigger.

  “This is a far more complex project than any we teach in the library’s makerspace,” Harry added. “I hope you’re taking that into consideration.”

  “Yes, we will keep all of that in mind as we make our decision,” one of the judges said.

  Mrs. Alvarez gave him a look. “As the winner of fourteen blue ribbons for baking, I do not want to hear about anyone losing any points because he was helping his grandmother. Is this fair about the community, or not?”

  HEAR, HEAR, Oma typed.

  The judge who’d asked me about programming gave the screen a hard look, and made a note. Then they all moved on to the next entry.

  My mom gave me a big hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

  Dad was grinning. “Seems like you’ve impressed a lot of people, whether you win or not, buddy.”

  When Mom let me go, I had to look at my shoes for a minute. Not from being sad, though. From being happy, and proud, and feeling kind of like I might cry from all those feelings wanting to get out any way they could. Which was not what I wanted to do while everybody was looking at me. “Thanks,” I said.

  “One of the judges said they should disqualify you for not being present, but I told them all about how it was a reasonable accommodation,” Eli told me. “And then I kept arguing until you got here. I bet Mom will give me a Top Family Negotiator bonus when she hears about it!”

  “Thanks, Eli,” I said. It kind of felt like all the butterflies in my stomach were exploding at once. Or maybe that’s what it feels like when caterpillars come out of cocoons. I looked up at my great-great-grandma, who was just floating there, letting me have my moment without saying a word. “Thanks, Oma.”

  Before we moved on, I asked the kid with the Lego robot to take a picture for us. She had to back way up across the room so she could fit us all in: Mom and Dad, Mr. Z. and Mrs. Alvarez and Ms. Stevermer, Grace and Harry, Rose and Mei, and at the middle of it all, me and Eli, and my computer.

  If you look carefully, you can see a badge on a shoelace floating above my dad’s shoulder, and above my head too.

  Yeah, I know exactly what my first photo on the wall is going to be. Just as soon as I draw the rest of Oma in.

  * * *

  I don’t really remember the rest of the fair. I know we watched the goat obstacle course competition and made some notes for what to build next, and went on the Tilt-A-Whirl (except not Oma, who didn’t like whirling), and the Ferris wheel (except not Mr. Z., who knows too much about possible points of failure to get on one of those things), and Eli won a cake in the cakewalk, and we all ate it with some forks Mrs. Alvarez had in her purse, along with Harry’s extra coconut shortbread. We had our picture taken with Mom’s giant kohlrabi, and in Dad’s Impala, and in the back of Frank’s daughter’s cool old Dodge
truck.

  Eli’s mom got back from her trip in time for his recital, and it went great. He got to do both his solos twice, because one of the other skyscrapers ran into the dancer next to her, who fell over and hit the one next to her, and they all went down like dominos. Eli was the only one still standing, because he was paying attention to his surroundings for once and got out of the way in time. So Ms. Izdebski shouted, “Take it away, Eli!” and went to help everyone else get up, and he did. He said all that practice avoiding sneak attacks from Rodgers and Hammerstein and Asad really helped. And Asad got to yell “GO, ELI! YOU’RE KILLING IT, MAN!” as loud as he possibly could and no one told him to be quiet for once.

  Eli loved the squirting flower I made him. Now Asad wants one too.

  Oma volunteered me to bring her crock over to Ms. Stevermer’s house sometime so she could take a look at another crock Ms. Stevermer had, and try to help her figure out if anybody was home. Harry offered to teach me how to make his coconut shortbread, and Oma asked if I’d teach her, then, too. And when Grace asked me what I was thinking about for my entry next year, I told her my plan—after I swore her to secrecy.

  She thought it was a great idea. She even asked if she could be my project consultant.

  I can’t wait to get started.

  And then it was time for the awards ceremony.

  Dad’s Impala won a second-place ribbon, but the rest of us didn’t win anything this year. I got beat by the Lego robot (which, I have to say, really was pretty cool), and Mom’s kohlrabi got beat by someone’s tomato. Oma’s sauerkraut didn’t even get an honorable mention.

  I wasn’t as upset as I thought I’d be, though. I guess it was hard to be all that disappointed when everyone I cared about kept telling me how impressed they were. One of the judges wrote, “Great work! I’ll be looking for your entry next year.”

  But I was worried about Oma. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I thought we did a good job.”

  “It was perfect,” Oma told me. She didn’t turn red and yell, or even seem that upset. She examined June Lee’s blue ribbon. “What is kimchi?”

  I shrugged. “It’s a kind of Korean pickle. I think it might be spicy,” I told her.

  “We will find out what it is, and then we will make it,” Oma said. She floated over so she could read the judges’ notes.

  “Maybe she’s not ready to level up yet after all,” Eli said. “Maybe she wants to make some more sauerkraut first. We can try again next year, though.”

  I watched as Asad ran over and gave the ghost a big hug. “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe winning the prize isn’t her Grand Purpose after all. Maybe she just wants to spend some time with her family.” Either way, she didn’t seem to be going anywhere right away.

  That was fine with me.

  * * *

  We stayed all the way till closing time, past when Liya got off the Tilt-A-Whirl and threw up a whole funnel cake and her mom took her home, past when Eli’s mom fell asleep in the middle of the high school kids’ marching-band contest because of jet lag, and Mom told her to go home and get some rest, we’d drop Eli off later.

  We helped Mei wrap her latest junk creation up in old blankets and shove it into her trailer, and told her we couldn’t wait to see what she made for next year’s art competition. Rose said she didn’t really see how you can top a ten-foot-tall welded junk dragon with hubcaps for eyes and old fire pokers for claws, even if Mei hadn’t had time to make it breathe fire like we’d suggested. But if anyone can, it’s Mei.

  But finally, the fair people wanted to go home, and that meant we had to leave too. So Eli and my parents and Mr. Z. helped me carry everything over to where our cars were parked while Asad ran around playing tag with Oma and teasing the goats and not being very helpful at all. Dad opened the Impala’s enormous trunk, and after a few tries, we fit everything inside.

  I picked up the box I’d taken out, and walked around to the hood, where the ghost was tickling Asad.

  “Oma, I’m sorry you didn’t win today,” I told her. “But I want you to know that we think you’re the best, no matter what the judges decided.”

  I set the box down on the hood and took off the lid. “We made this for you.” I pulled out the brand-new Schenk Family Pickle Prize. It was only plastic, but it was shaped like a fancy trophy cup with handles, and it said MRS. MARIETTA SCHENK, 1ST PLACE on the bottom. Harry taught me how to design and 3-D-print it in the makerspace, and Mr. Z. and Dad helped me figure out which gold paint to use on the plastic.

  I handed it to Oma. “I hereby award you first place in the Schenk Family Pickle Contest!”

  “Oh, Hans Dieter!” she said, swooping down to hug me.

  “Just don’t get so happy you go anywhere yet,” I said. “There’s more.”

  “These beautiful flowers are for you, Oma!” Asad yelled, smacking her in the stomach with the corsage he picked out. It was the brightest one in the store, orange and purple and red and yellow, all at once, and it was a little wilty, even with that tube of water that comes with it. But Oma said she loved it anyway. (It did dress up her pajamas.)

  I helped her pin it onto her badge holder so she could wear it without it falling through her body and getting dirty.

  “We really need to set up a new experiment to figure out how she’s holding that up,” Eli told me.

  I nodded. “Yeah, we’ll put it on the list.”

  Then it was Mom’s turn. “I don’t know if this is exactly what you were thinking of when you told me about the parade,” she said, kind of hesitantly. “But this was my grandmother’s best church hat. It’s very special to me. I would be honored if you would wear it in our Schenk Family Parade.” She took out a hat covered in flowers and ribbons and stuff.

  By now, Oma was crying her blue-white streaks again, but she was smiling too. She didn’t say anything, just swooped down, took the hat out of Mom’s hands, and gave Mom a big hug.

  “She gave you a hug, Mom,” I said. “I think she likes it.”

  Mom touched her shoulder where Oma had hugged her. “I think I felt that,” she said wonderingly.

  We watched as the ghost put Mom’s grandmom’s hat on. She had to kind of hold it up with one hand, but at least she didn’t let it fall through her head.

  “It looks good on you,” I told her, and the ghost smiled.

  “Now, I’m not the mayor,” Dad said, holding out his arm. “But, Oma, would you do me the honor of riding in my award-winning car in the Schenk Family Parade?”

  “It would be my honor,” the ghost said, smiling, and put her ghostly hand on his arm.

  I smiled. “She says let’s do this.”

  “Hang on a minute here,” Mom said. “We have another person we need to honor first.” She brought her hands out from behind her back, and I saw that she was holding a messenger bag. It was tan and had a cool old-school style to it. On the flap, it said MAKER TOOLKIT in dark-brown letters.

  I swallowed. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Wow!” Eli said. “HD, that is awesome!”

  Dad came around to stand next to Mom. “HD, we want you to know how proud we are of everything you’ve done. Maybe those judges have no idea what it takes to build a computer. But we saw how hard you worked to earn that money, and how you planned your project out and made it happen. We want you to know that, in our eyes, you won first place before we even got here.” He shook his head and smiled. “Now that you’re taking on projects we’ve never tried, we want to give you the tools you might need. So Mr. Ziedrich and Grace and Harry gave us a few ideas, and…Well, we hope you like them.”

  Mom walked forward. She slung the bag around my head and my arm, like she was Princess Leia giving me a medal. Then she kissed my forehead. “You had a tough call to make today,” she said. “How did I get such a smart, handsome, helpful young man for a son, anyway?”
r />   I shrugged. I couldn’t stop grinning. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Mmmm-hmmmm, as if!”

  “I want one too!” Asad yelled, tugging at my bag.

  Mom shook her head. “That is a special gift that HD earned with his hard work.”

  I looked inside. There was an electric screwdriver and bits, some cool safety goggles, a whole bunch of different kinds of glue, some pliers, a measuring tape, some gloves, a book on making electronics projects, and a new maker’s notebook with a cool mechanical pencil. And there was Mr. Z.’s computer tool kit too. “Maybe when you’re my age, if you work hard, you’ll get something this cool,” I told him.

  Oma floated over to give me a hug. “Thank you for everything, Hans Dieter,” she told me. Then she looked at Asad’s face. “Now then, since I am the Pickle Queen, I will need a knight to wave in my parade,” she told him.

  “OKAY!” Asad yelled, suddenly happy again.

  After Mr. Z. took a picture of us all, he and Rodgers and Hammerstein got into Eleanora’s van, and Dad buckled Oma’s crock up in the front seat while Eli and I sat in the back. Mom and Asad and Eleanora and Mr. Z. drove behind us, to make it a real parade.

  “HEY, PEOPLE, IT’S TIME TO WAVE!” Asad shouted out the window as Dad started the Impala.

  Everyone in the parking lot waved as we went past, because even though they couldn’t see Oma waving, they could see us (and they could definitely hear Asad).

  And as we drove away, off to the park where we could put our blankets on the grass and watch the fireworks light up the sky, I heard a middle school guy tell his friend, “That kid? That’s HD Schenk. He makes computers for ghosts. I saw one typing on it earlier and everything.”

  “Whoa,” said his friend, eyes wide.