wretch was all but chortling. “Don’t worry, Robert! There’s some devious twiddling that can fix your eyes.”
Grump . “A pair of glasses would fix them, Cara.” Maybe she was hiding them from him.
There was something about the brightness and the dry wind that swept these streets — wherever this was. It made him wonder what he was doing tied down to a wheelchair. They toured around a couple more blocks. Cara fussed endlessly over him. “Are you too warm, Robert? Maybe you don’t need that blanket.”
“The sun is going to burn your head, Robert. Let me tilt your cap down a little bit.” At one point there were no houses. It seemed that they were on the edge of a long slope. Cara claimed they were looking off toward the mountains — but all Robert could see was a hazy line of tan and faded ochre. They were nothing like the mountains that shouldered into the sky above Bishop, California, U.S.A.
Then they were back indoors, in the house they had started from. Things were as dark and gloomy as ever, the room lights swallowed up in darkness. Cara’s bright voice was gone. She was off to study for her classes, she said. No classes for Robert. The thug was feeding him. He still claimed to be Robert’s son. But he was so big. Afterward there was another ignominious potty stop, more like a police interrogation than a trip to the can. And then Robert was left mercifully alone, in the darkness. These people didn’t even have television. There was just the silence, and the dim and faraway electric lights.
I should be sleepy . He had a vague memory of nights fading off into nights fading off into years, of drowsing sleep that came right after dinner. And then later waking, walking through strange rooms and trying to find home. Arguing with Lena. Tonight was… different. He was still awake. Tonight he was thinking of things that had just happened. Maybe that was because he had made it partway home. Cara . So he hadn’t found his folks’ house on Crombie Street and the bedroom that looked out on the old pine tree and the little cabin he had built in its branches. But Cara was part of all that, and she was here. He sat for a long time, his thoughts slowly crunching forward. Across the room, a single lamp was kind of a whirlpool in the darkness. Barely visible, the thug was sitting by the wall. He was talking to someone, but Robert couldn’t see who.
Robert ignored the guy, and thought hard. After a while he remembered something very scary. Cara Gu had died in 2006. They hadn’t said a word to each other for years before that.
And when she died, Cara had been fifty-one years old.
West Fallbrook had been a handy place in the early years of the century. Busy too. Right next to Camp Pendleton, it had been the base’s largest civilian community. A new generation of marines had grown up here… and prosecuted a new generation of war. Robert Gu, Jr., had seen the tail end of that frenzy, arriving at a time when Chinese-American officers were welcomed back to positions of trust. Those had been high and bittersweet days.
Now the town was bigger, but the marines weren’t nearly such a large part of it. Military life had become a lot more complicated. Between little bits of war, Lieutenant Colonel Gu found that West Fallbrook was a nice place to raise a daughter.
“I still think it’s a mistake for Miri to call him ‘Robert.’” Alice Gu looked up from her work. “We’ve been over this before, dear. It’s how we’ve brought her up. We’re ‘Bob’ and ‘Alice,’ not ‘Ma’ and ‘Pa’ or whatever silliness is currently approved. And Robert is ‘Robert,’ not ‘Grandpapa.’ ” Colonel Alice Gong Gu was short and round-faced and — when she wasn’t deadly stressed — motherly. She had graduated numero uno from Annapolis, back when being short and round-faced and motherly were definite career minuses. She’d be a general officer by now except that higher authority had discovered more
Grump . “A pair of glasses would fix them, Cara.” Maybe she was hiding them from him.
There was something about the brightness and the dry wind that swept these streets — wherever this was. It made him wonder what he was doing tied down to a wheelchair. They toured around a couple more blocks. Cara fussed endlessly over him. “Are you too warm, Robert? Maybe you don’t need that blanket.”
“The sun is going to burn your head, Robert. Let me tilt your cap down a little bit.” At one point there were no houses. It seemed that they were on the edge of a long slope. Cara claimed they were looking off toward the mountains — but all Robert could see was a hazy line of tan and faded ochre. They were nothing like the mountains that shouldered into the sky above Bishop, California, U.S.A.
Then they were back indoors, in the house they had started from. Things were as dark and gloomy as ever, the room lights swallowed up in darkness. Cara’s bright voice was gone. She was off to study for her classes, she said. No classes for Robert. The thug was feeding him. He still claimed to be Robert’s son. But he was so big. Afterward there was another ignominious potty stop, more like a police interrogation than a trip to the can. And then Robert was left mercifully alone, in the darkness. These people didn’t even have television. There was just the silence, and the dim and faraway electric lights.
I should be sleepy . He had a vague memory of nights fading off into nights fading off into years, of drowsing sleep that came right after dinner. And then later waking, walking through strange rooms and trying to find home. Arguing with Lena. Tonight was… different. He was still awake. Tonight he was thinking of things that had just happened. Maybe that was because he had made it partway home. Cara . So he hadn’t found his folks’ house on Crombie Street and the bedroom that looked out on the old pine tree and the little cabin he had built in its branches. But Cara was part of all that, and she was here. He sat for a long time, his thoughts slowly crunching forward. Across the room, a single lamp was kind of a whirlpool in the darkness. Barely visible, the thug was sitting by the wall. He was talking to someone, but Robert couldn’t see who.
Robert ignored the guy, and thought hard. After a while he remembered something very scary. Cara Gu had died in 2006. They hadn’t said a word to each other for years before that.
And when she died, Cara had been fifty-one years old.
West Fallbrook had been a handy place in the early years of the century. Busy too. Right next to Camp Pendleton, it had been the base’s largest civilian community. A new generation of marines had grown up here… and prosecuted a new generation of war. Robert Gu, Jr., had seen the tail end of that frenzy, arriving at a time when Chinese-American officers were welcomed back to positions of trust. Those had been high and bittersweet days.
Now the town was bigger, but the marines weren’t nearly such a large part of it. Military life had become a lot more complicated. Between little bits of war, Lieutenant Colonel Gu found that West Fallbrook was a nice place to raise a daughter.
“I still think it’s a mistake for Miri to call him ‘Robert.’” Alice Gu looked up from her work. “We’ve been over this before, dear. It’s how we’ve brought her up. We’re ‘Bob’ and ‘Alice,’ not ‘Ma’ and ‘Pa’ or whatever silliness is currently approved. And Robert is ‘Robert,’ not ‘Grandpapa.’ ” Colonel Alice Gong Gu was short and round-faced and — when she wasn’t deadly stressed — motherly. She had graduated numero uno from Annapolis, back when being short and round-faced and motherly were definite career minuses. She’d be a general officer by now except that higher authority had discovered more
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