Ludo’s Soap-Star Medal — Under the warm drip-drip shower, Ludo held the last sliver of lemon soap in his wing. Read the full story →
Under the warm drip-drip shower, Ludo held the last sliver of lemon soap in his wing. It was too small for washing and too special to toss; his aunt had carved it from the first soap batch he ever stirred. He wanted to turn it into something that could hang above the bathhouse tub. The trouble was that the soap press sat across the steamy tile room, past the cold patch where the door never quite shut.
Ludo stepped out. The tile nipped his feet like little ice fish. He carried the slippery sliver in a shell cup, past towels that smelled of rain, past buckets clinking softly, until he reached the wooden press. He shaved curls with a blunt reed, kneaded them with one drop of warm water, and pushed the lump into the star mold. His wings ached from squeezing. “Hold still, little star,” he whispered.
When he waddled back, the soap-star medal was lumpy on one point and perfect to Ludo. He tied it with cotton string to the shower pipe, where bubbles bumped it and shone like tiny moons. Next time you see the duck grinning in all that foam, see if you can spot the pride that began under the warm drip-drip shower.
