Home of the Brave (10 page)

Because in mine—

I drop my head in my hands—

because in mine I leave Mama

and run.

In mine I'm a coward.

And it's the truth.

Ganwar stares past me for a long time.

He is somewhere far away

and I know where it is.

We all ran, Kek.

It's the only reason we're here.

I should have stayed with her.

Even a brave man can't stop a bullet.

You did what you had to do.

Ganwar joins me on the sofa.

He puts his arm around me.

He doesn't seem surprised

when I begin to sob.

And I'm not so surprised

when he, too, begins to cry.

RUNNING AWAY

I wait till Ganwar falls asleep.

I don't want to be here anymore.

I don't want to be in a place where

my words taste wrong in my mouth.

I don't want to live in a place where

candy for a kind girl makes people angry

and every year the trees must die.

I want to be in a place where the things

I love and know

are there within my reach.

But where is that place?

My aunt says I can find sun

when the sky is dark.

But she's wrong.

I can't see what isn't there.

I check the jar where I keep my pay from Lou.

I have a handful of green papers

and four silver washing machine coins.

With such riches I can run far away

to places I've seen on the TV machine,

although it will mean a lot of walking.

Maybe I can go to Washington

to the President's house,

and ask him to help find Mama.

I know two buses—

the bus to the grocery store and the mall,

and the one to Lou's farm.

I will take the bus that comes

to the bus stop first,

and then at least I will be on my way.

I would like to leave a note

so that my aunt and Ganwar and Hannah

won't worry about me.

But I don't know yet how to write many words.

Ganwar snores softly.

I leave half the green papers on the sofa.

I write my name on a scrap of paper.

I make a heart shape like the one I gave Hannah.

I get my jacket.

And I go.

BUS

The evening air is cool and damp.

I take the first bus that comes—

the route that goes past Lou's.

I put my coins in the hungry metal mouth

beside the driver.

The bus jerks and I grab a pole.

How far does this bus go? I ask.

To the airport, he says.

The airport? I repeat.

With the flying boats?

The driver gives me a strange look.

Sit down, kid.

I think about this important news

as I take a seat.

For the first time

I wonder if I could go back home.

I have my green money papers, after all.

I could fly to my home

and find my mother myself.

That is what a good son would do.

I think of the vastness

of my country.

I think of the camp,

the guns, the blood.

I wonder if flying back home

would be like the time I tried to fly

from the top of the acacia tree.

The bus is nearly empty.

We pass many buildings

and take many turns,

and then we are on a big street I know well.

In the soft light I see familiar places:

the gas stations,

the empty lots,

the cars for sale

with bright lights on a string overhead

like captured stars.

This is an ugly land, I think.

It needs endless horizons and

emptiness.

Here, too many buildings block the sky.

You can't even watch the sun

put on his bright pajamas

and sink into bed.

We're coming close to Lou's.

I feel bad not to have said

my thank-yous and good-byes

and to have shouted at Lou in anger.

In my old home,

where death sneaks into your home

in the hush of night,

good-byes were a precious thing.

How can I miss a place of such pain? I wonder.

It doesn't make sense.

And yet there it is.

What I miss

is the time before the pain.

I miss Mama and Lual and

listening to my father sing

a laughing song.

In the moonlight, I see first the old gray fence,

with new boards on the gate

Ganwar and I had fixed.

I see Lou's house,

the tree with its great brown arms outstretched,

the sagging barn.

I see Gol, too.

She is in the field alone,

staring out at the road.

I touch the window.

And then,

I don't know why,

I yell for the driver to stop.

TREED

By the time I'm over the fence,

Gol has spotted me.

She trudges over,

slow but determined,

like an old woman

longing for her grandchild's embrace.

When we reach each other,

I put my head on her neck.

You should be in the barn, I say.

I peer over her to see if Lou is outside.

The sky is rich with stars,

like fresh black dirt

sprinkled with tiny seeds.

The moon hangs low,

a cupped hand of silver water.

Gol nudges me.

I know this means she wants an ear scratch

so I do as I am told.

Tears warm my cheeks.

A door slams.

I see Lou heading to the barn.

I crouch low beside Gol.

I don't want Lou to see me crying.

She will be coming to get Gol,

and I must hide.

The field is empty. There's nowhere

to go but the big tree.

I dash over and clamber up easily.

It's a good climbing tree.

High up in the tangle of branches,

I watch the cars charge by

like a herd of panicked animals.

Gol looks up at me,

wondering why her ear scratch is over.

She heads slowly in the direction of the tree.

I wipe my nose on my sleeve.

No, I say softly. Go away, Gol.

She settles in under the tree

and stares up at me like a

motherless puppy.

I'm so high,

I should be able to see forever.

In the starlight I imagine that

if I try hard enough,

I can see my family's thatched hut,

my father's sharp-horned cattle,

the tree where I learned

I'm not meant to be a bird.

Go away, I whisper.

I am going to be here for a long time.

GANWAR

I have been in the tree forever

when I hear a bus screech to a stop.

Far across the field

I can just make out a tall figure

climbing down the bus stairs.

Ganwar leaps over the fence

and strides across the field.

He's heading toward the barn,

but then he stops. He looks at Gol.

He looks up into the branches of my tree.

And he laughs.

Please don't tell me

you're trying to fly again, he says.

How did you find me here? I ask in a loud whisper.

I woke up when you shut the door.

I watched from the window when you got on the bus

and I took the next one.

Why? I demand.

Ganwar shrugs. Don't know exactly.

But it was worth it, just to see you

stuck up there.

Using his good hand,

in one graceful move

he climbs up to join me.

I don't want company, I say.

He ignores me. So you're running away?

I'm
trying.

Where to?

Maybe I am going home to find Mama.

Ganwar nods. You think that's what she would want?

It's what a man would do, I say.

Ganwar rubs his chin. Hmmm. What if she's

already on her way here?

I rub my eyes. Suddenly I feel tired.

If I lie back on this branch, I feel I could

fall asleep for a week.

I'm not used to making so many decisions.

I'm not used to so many changes.

In my old world, I was just Kek,

the silly boy. I was Lual's little brother,

Ganwar's troublesome cousin,

my parents' mischievous child.

That was all,

and that was enough.

I sigh. There are too many hard things,

I say softly. I can barely hear my own words.

It isn't fair.

I just want … I want everything I lost.

Ganwar rubs the place where his hand should be.

I look away.

I don't want to think about what

he has lost.

Maybe I'll come with you, Ganwar says.

No, I say firmly. You stay.

But it will never be right for me here, Kek.

I have this—he holds up his stump of an arm—

and I have the
gaar
. It's worse for me.

I'll never fit in.

If you're giving up,

why shouldn't I?

I don't answer him.

But when I look at Ganwar's arm,

I think of how he leapt into the tree

like it was his only home.

And how he does all the work I do

with just one good hand to help him.

I remember something my mama

used to say on dark days:

If you can talk, you can sing.

If you can walk, you can dance.

Ganwar, I whisper,

what if she never comes?

What if it's only … me?

I can't do it all by myself.

Ganwar sends me a sad smile.

My cousin, he says,

you already are.

TALK

I hear the crunch of someone walking.

Lou comes out of the barn.

Gol? she calls.

What are you up to, old girl?

Slowly Lou makes her way over.

She follows Gol's gaze up into the tree.

My, my, she says.

This may be the first time in history

a cow has treed two boys.

We climb down slowly.

When I get to the bottom,

Gol nudges me again.

She wants her ear scratch to continue.

I force myself to meet Lou's eyes.

Moonlight glints on her silver hair

like ice on snow.

I'm sorry, I say.

For being angry with you.

It isn't your fault

about the farm.

Lou smiles. Come on, you two.

I could use a hand.

We head toward the barn.

Gol follows.

Kind yellow light spills from the house.

Lou and Ganwar and I stand there in the silent barn,

stroking Gol

and waiting.

After a while, I help Lou

toss some fresh hay into Gol's stall.

How'd you end up in my tree this evening?

Lou finally asks.

I don't want to say the truth.

But when Lou looks right at you, you cannot

make up stories.

I'm running away, I say.

I see.

Lou thinks about this for a moment.

Want a cookie before you go?

I think, too.

A cookie would not be such a bad thing.

Chocolate? I ask.

Yep.

I follow Lou and Ganwar into the house.

It might be a long time

before I see chocolate again.

CHANGES

I take a handful of cookies

to show my gratitude.

Lou sits across from us at the

kitchen table.

The light spreads gentle shadows.

So you're running away,

Lou says. That's a mighty big job.

I watch while Lou gets us glasses of milk.

On top of the cold box there is a picture in a frame.

I see a pretty woman smiling.

A man has his arm around her.

He is tall and proud.

Behind the woman is a small tree.

Lou follows my gaze.

That's me, she says. A very long time ago.

And my husband, Robert. And that tree

is the one you two climbed just now.

I stare at the picture, then back at Lou.

If I try very hard and think
once upon a time,

I think maybe I can find that young woman in her face.

I imagine a time when the barn didn't sag

and the cattle were many and strong

and hope grew fast

as flowers in good earth.

I imagine Lou saying good-bye soon to this place

that has been her home for so long,

to live in a world with no snow and no cows.

Lou pulls down another picture.

This is my sister, the one in L.A., she says.

She has a little yard.

I suppose I could plant some

vegetables there. You can grow things year round.

She stares at the picture.

Imagine that.

I spot a tiny seed of something fine sprouting

in Lou's eyes.

My heart is glad to see it.

I remember my aunt's words:

Kek finds sun when the sky is dark.

That was easy to do when I was a child

in my life before.

It's not so easy when the clouds are low and black.

I wonder if finding the sun is one way to be a man.

I drink my milk.

The clock ticks.

Ganwar and Lou are watching me.

I know it would be better to wait for Mama here,

I say at last.

Lou and Ganwar nod.

They don't say anything.

I guess I could come back to work

until you have to leave, I add.

That would be great, Lou says.

I know Gol would like that.

She could use more attention,

Ganwar says.