Diamonds in the Shadow (12 page)

Mopsy leaned forward. “Andre, have you ever met anybody who actually saw God?”

“In our hearts, we have all seen God. God kept me going when there was nothing else.”

“You would have kept going anyway, because of your children,” said Mopsy with American certainty.

Andre looked puzzled.

Because he doesn't have children, Jared thought.

Mattu tilted his large menu. “An entire page lists only things to drink.”

One thing these guys did well—change the subject. “Right,” said Jared. “Ten ways to have coffee, three kinds of Coke—”

“I can read,” said Mattu irritably.

Mopsy giggled. “Isn't Jared annoying? How are you doing sharing a room? Does it make the refugee camp look good?”

Mattu smiled at Mopsy. “Nothing would make a refugee camp look good. And I love this list of things to drink. Once when I was on the run, I was so thirsty, I knelt down and drank the urine of a cow puddled in its hoofprint.”

Andre nodded. “When I was that thirsty, I used to put rocks in my mouth. Somehow it felt damp to the tongue.”

“You were that bad off,” demanded Jared, “and still you think God is good? You've been praying to him all this time, he should do a little something for you.”

“He brought me here,” Andre pointed out.

“Which reminds me,” said Mom brightly. “The newspaper called. They want your thoughts about America.”

So that was why Mom had been vacuuming and plumping pillows.

“No,” said Celestine.

Mom's cheeks were very pink. “The media tends not to cover Africa. I have collected statistics. Congo had about a million displaced persons during their civil war. Two million each had to flee Sierra Leone, Somalia and Liberia. And there's Sudan. Angola. Rwanda. Americans would be more touched by your story than by statistics. Africa needs the publicity. If we personalize the civil war—”

“Mom,” said Mopsy sharply. “Andre does not want to be photographed. Celestine does not want to be a story. That's that.”

This actually shut their mother up. Jared was impressed.

The waitress brought their meals.

“I'm the hamburger,” called Mopsy. “It's not too well done or too rare, is it? It has to be perfect or I can't eat it.” Mopsy cut into her hamburger to check its perfection level.

The Africans watched in silent astonishment. Probably in Africa, if you had anything to eat, it was perfect.

Dad was just sitting there. He wasn't part of the conversation. He didn't even seem like part of the family. It was Andre who said softly. “Let us thank our Lord Jesus Christ for the many blessings which surround us.”

Since they were nicely hidden, Jared didn't mind holding hands. He reached out automatically to form the circle and then yanked his fingers away just before they touched the hideous stub above Andre's wrist. He set his hand on Andre's shoulder instead.

A shoulder was what you used when you shrugged. Andre still possessed shoulders. He could shrug. But he didn't. He thanked the Lord for the many blessings that surrounded him.

Of thirty-nine days, five were already gone.

Victor did not know where New York City was or how to get
there. He did know, from having looked out the window on that plane, that he would have to cross a vast amount of land.

The refugee officer said that while of
course
Victor could live anywhere, he had to have a
job
there, and
housing
, and once he had his Social Security number, he would need to work
hard, very
hard, and save money, and get to New York on his
own.

The cash Victor was given hardly bought one meal. Victor solved this problem. There were plenty of elderly and crippled to prey on.

Death was fascinating, but Mopsy had no firsthand knowledge of it.

Death showed up on television a lot. If you watched police or lawyer shows or soap operas, people were always dying—murder, car accident, suicide or the result of stupidity or some crazy stunt. And of course, if you watched the news, the most important thing after sports and weather was always the number of people killed in battle or dying in some plague (probably in another country) or committing crimes in some grim city (probably just down the road). Mopsy also loved a paperback series in which yet another beautiful girl got a dread disease but faced death bravely, surrounded by friends.

Now death was right in Mopsy's house.

Two unburied people sitting on a shelf.

It was not wise to go into Jared's personal space, because (talk about death) Jared would kill her.

Mopsy waited. The afternoon came, when Jared was out in the driveway with Andre, and Alake and Mattu were snacking in the kitchen with Mom. Or at least, Mattu was snacking. Alake was probably just sitting in front of her snack.

Mopsy ran upstairs and slipped into her brother's room.

Mopsy could hardly get lunch money to school without losing it. How remarkable that Mattu had carried his grandparents' ashes around the world with barely a dent or a crease in the boxes. Of course, Mattu was very cute and a refugee and all, so the flight attendants had probably bent the rules for him, especially when he spoke with his adorable English accent, and let him hold the boxes in his lap the whole way.

Mopsy slid one finger under a flap. It lifted easily. She peeked. There were flakes like charcoal ash but also grit like cat litter, and many bits the size of peas and marbles. Imagine cooking your grandparents. Mopsy gave the box a shake to make the ash settle more, so she could see farther down.

Something glowed.

Mopsy almost dropped the box.

She gave herself a moment's rest and then shook the box again and peeked. Now two bits of bone glowed.

Haunted ashes.

Mopsy closed the box and turned to flee. It's got my fingerprints on it now, she thought. It would be just like Jared to check and to find out if I touched—

In the doorway stood Alake.

Alake did not appear to have seen anything or thought about anything. She was just there.

Mopsy had the ghastly thought that Alake herself was nothing but ashes, her heart beating but her soul charred and dead.

Mattu seemed fine riding home next to Jared on the bus, but each day, when he left its shelter, he seemed desperate to get back inside someplace. Again today Mattu raced up Prospect Hill while Jared trudged slowly behind him. What was there for Mattu to be afraid of outside that didn't exist inside? By now Mattu had to know that there weren't enemy soldiers or wild animals around, preparing to ambush him. The only thing that should actually frighten the Africans was getting deported—and why would that be more likely outdoors?

Mattu darted in the side door as Andre hurried out to greet Jared.

That was your son speeding by, thought Jared. You might say hi now and then.

“There's a bike hanging on the wall in the garage,” said Andre excitedly.

“You want to ride it? I'll get it down for you.” Jared headed into the garage, where the bike hung on big yellow hooks, but Andre beat him to it, lifting the bike easily, using his stumps. The bike had foot brakes and no gears, so it could be ridden without hands, a skill Jared had never mastered.

Andre rode back and forth on the long, flat driveway. You couldn't tell he was handless; it just looked as if he'd folded his arms over his chest. He used the longer stub to turn the handle.

“I'll walk the bike downhill for you and you can ride around town, where it's flat,” suggested Jared.

Andre stared down the hill. He swallowed. “Thank you. I will go by myself.”

He's older than my father, thought Jared. And scared of going alone. And brave enough to try. And who am I, who have never known fear, to say there's nothing to be afraid of? “Take my cell phone, Andre. If you need me, you can call.” He was handing it to Andre when he realized there was a reason for the English expression “handing.” It took hands. “I guess you'd have to go into a store or something,” said Jared lamely, “and ask them to call for you.”

“I will be fine.” Andre pushed off, managed the first curve and was out of sight.

Alake knew well what was inside the boxes. A shadow of death. Alake knew all there was to know about death. Because on that day when Victor had thrust his machine gun at her, Alake had not taken it.

It fell to the ground. The impact made it shoot by itself. The weapon did a horrifying little dance as it emptied. The child soldiers giggled when one of the soldiers was hit and blood spurted.

Victor picked up the gun. He wrapped Alake's fingers around it so she was holding it the right way. His thick yellow fingernails cut into her flesh. “You want your sister to live?”

Of course she wanted her sister to live.

Victor closed his hand over hers and aimed the machine gun at the teachers. “Pull on this.”

Just preparing dinner was an event.

Celestine had never used an indoor stove. Had never heard of a microwave.

Mom had to teach Celestine that the black glass cooktop would get hot just from twisting a little knob, that the pan had to be centered on this thing called a burner, that a Teflon pan could be touched only by a rubber spoon.