Page 3 of The Little Liar
The children freeze. They turn to Nico. What’s it going to be? He looks at his sandal. He looks at Giorgos.
“He’s right,” Nico says. “He got me.”
His teammates groan. They stomp away.
“Oh, Nico,” one laments, “why do you always have to tell the truth?”
I know why.
I can always spot an admirer.
***
Now, perhaps you ask: Why focus on this one little boy? Of what interest can he be? Are there not billions of lives that Truth could share, baring the intimate accounts of their time on earth?
The answer is yes. But with Nico, I offer you a story of consequence, one that heretofore has never been told. It concerns deception, great deception, but also great truth, and heartbreak and war and family and revenge and love, the kind of love that is tested over and over. Before the story ends, there is even a moment of magic, set against an endless tapestry of human frailty.
When we finish this story, you may say, “That was impossible.” But here is the funny thing about truth: the less real something seems, the more people want to believe it.
So consider this about Nico Krispis:
Until he was eleven years old, he never told a lie.
That will get you noticed, at least by me. If Nico snuck a sweet roll from the kitchen, he would admit it the moment he was questioned. If his mother said, “Are you tired, Nico?” he would confess he was, even if it got him sent to bed early.
In school, if Nico was unable to answer a teacher’s question, he would willingly share that he had not read his homework. The other students laughed at his honesty. But Nico’s grandfather, Lazarre, whom Nico adored, had taught him early on of my precious value. When Nico was only five years old, they were sitting near the harbor, staring over the gulf at the majestic Mount Olympus.
“My friend told me the gods live up there,” Nico said.
“There is only one God, Nico,” Lazarre replied. “And he does not live on a mountain.”
Nico frowned. “Then why did my friend say it?”
“People say many things. Some are true. Some are lies. Sometimes, if you say a lie long enough, people believe it’s the truth.
“Never be the one to tell lies, Nico.”
“I won’t, Nano.”
“God is always watching.”
Three things to know about Nico Krispis.
He had a remarkable facility for languages.
He could draw almost anything.
He was an attractive child.
The third item will prove significant as we go on. Nico was blessed with the best features of his tall, muscular father, a tobacco merchant, and his fair-haired mother, who volunteered at a local theater in hopes of taking the stage. I claim no credit for a person’s physical features, but I can tell you that whatever countenance you were born with, Truth will enhance it.
I have a look.
Nico wore that look on a face that was so pleasing, even strangers stopped to admire him. “Such a beautiful child,” they would say, touching his cheeks or his chin. They would sometimes add, “He does not look Jewish.” This, during the war, would also be significant.
But what strangers were mostly drawn to with Nico, beyond the wavy blond hair, the sparkly blue eyes, or the full lips that spread over prominent white teeth, was his pure heart. There was no guile anywhere.
He was a boy to be believed.
