and settled into a low armchair by the doors. Nearby the twins were playing. They had dug out a broom from somewhere and were now riding it around the living room, pretending it was a horse. They zigzagged between pieces of furniture and luggage, making galloping sounds. Radana, waking from her car-ride stupor, slid down the teak recliner where Mama had put her and started to chase after them, demanding her turn. When they wouldn’t give it to her, she stomped her foot, crying out, “Mine, Mama, mine!” Just then Big Uncle walked in, a suitcase in each hand, and, seeing the distressed look on Mama’s face, boomed, “Attention!” The twins stopped, dropped the broom, and stood at attention, midget soldiers fearful of their towering commander.
Papa chuckled. Big Uncle burst out laughing, then just as abruptly stopped, adopting seriousness again when he caught one of the twins fidgeting. He growled, and the twins straightened, their little chests puffed out even more. They seemed rooted to their spot now. Auntie India—nicknamed so for her dark-skinned beauty and melodious, lilting voice—placed a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling. On the antique settee Grandmother Queen and Tata exchanged amused glances. Big Uncle, certain of the boys’ obedience, went to one of the bedrooms to put away the suitcases, smiling to himself.
Mama went about the house opening doors and windows. A sigh traveled her body and escaped her lips every time she pushed a shutter open. I got up and followed her, helping with the hooks and latches, mimicking her every movement and breath. She looked down and gave me a smile. As long as Mama smiled, everything would be all right. Papa winked, as if reading my thoughts. Then, reaching over the coffee table, he pulled on the long chain attached to the ceiling fan.
We waited, holding our breaths in hopeful anticipation. But the wooden blades wouldn’t turn. As we suspected, there was no electricity. Even in the city, electricity was erratic.
“The power line must be damaged,” Papa said, coming over to where Mama stood. He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll look for some lanterns in the storage shed.” He went down the side stairway, whistling, his steps light.
I went over to where Grandmother Queen was sitting. Tata had left to prepare their room, and Grandmother Queen patted the cushion for me to sit down next to her, but as the tiles were cool against my feet I sat down on the floor instead, my head resting on her knees. “This is home, too,” Grandmother Queen said, caressing my hair. I nodded.
The twins had resumed their game, riding their own invisible horses, chasing after Radana, who now had possession of the broom. The boys, four years old, were named Sotanavong and Satiyavong, but because next to their giant father they looked more like little bubbles hovering no higher than his knees, their long names were ignored, and we called them simply “the twins” or “the boys.” If you asked which of them was older, one would declare, “I am!” and the other would quickly add, “Only by fourteen minutes eleven seconds!” Then the two would elbow and punch each other, competing for supremacy, until someone like me came along and smacked some sense into them and told them how it really was: that two of them combined didn’t equal one of me. Needless to say, for this reason, they preferred to play with Radana, as they were doing now, pursuing her like warriors on their make-believe horses while she shrieked, a princess in peril. For the first time, though, I wasn’t annoyed with the ruckus they were making. The three of them playing—even as they wrangled over a stupid old broom—made everything seem normal, like all the other times we’d come here for a holiday.
I stretched out on the floor, closed my eyes, and let the hard coolness of the tiles lull me to sleep.
• • •
I woke and found Radana next to me on a bed with a mosquito net over us. I looked
Papa chuckled. Big Uncle burst out laughing, then just as abruptly stopped, adopting seriousness again when he caught one of the twins fidgeting. He growled, and the twins straightened, their little chests puffed out even more. They seemed rooted to their spot now. Auntie India—nicknamed so for her dark-skinned beauty and melodious, lilting voice—placed a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling. On the antique settee Grandmother Queen and Tata exchanged amused glances. Big Uncle, certain of the boys’ obedience, went to one of the bedrooms to put away the suitcases, smiling to himself.
Mama went about the house opening doors and windows. A sigh traveled her body and escaped her lips every time she pushed a shutter open. I got up and followed her, helping with the hooks and latches, mimicking her every movement and breath. She looked down and gave me a smile. As long as Mama smiled, everything would be all right. Papa winked, as if reading my thoughts. Then, reaching over the coffee table, he pulled on the long chain attached to the ceiling fan.
We waited, holding our breaths in hopeful anticipation. But the wooden blades wouldn’t turn. As we suspected, there was no electricity. Even in the city, electricity was erratic.
“The power line must be damaged,” Papa said, coming over to where Mama stood. He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll look for some lanterns in the storage shed.” He went down the side stairway, whistling, his steps light.
I went over to where Grandmother Queen was sitting. Tata had left to prepare their room, and Grandmother Queen patted the cushion for me to sit down next to her, but as the tiles were cool against my feet I sat down on the floor instead, my head resting on her knees. “This is home, too,” Grandmother Queen said, caressing my hair. I nodded.
The twins had resumed their game, riding their own invisible horses, chasing after Radana, who now had possession of the broom. The boys, four years old, were named Sotanavong and Satiyavong, but because next to their giant father they looked more like little bubbles hovering no higher than his knees, their long names were ignored, and we called them simply “the twins” or “the boys.” If you asked which of them was older, one would declare, “I am!” and the other would quickly add, “Only by fourteen minutes eleven seconds!” Then the two would elbow and punch each other, competing for supremacy, until someone like me came along and smacked some sense into them and told them how it really was: that two of them combined didn’t equal one of me. Needless to say, for this reason, they preferred to play with Radana, as they were doing now, pursuing her like warriors on their make-believe horses while she shrieked, a princess in peril. For the first time, though, I wasn’t annoyed with the ruckus they were making. The three of them playing—even as they wrangled over a stupid old broom—made everything seem normal, like all the other times we’d come here for a holiday.
I stretched out on the floor, closed my eyes, and let the hard coolness of the tiles lull me to sleep.
• • •
I woke and found Radana next to me on a bed with a mosquito net over us. I looked
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