think a man is judged after he's gone?
How did he expect her to answer something like that?
"People don't eat riches," she said. "They eat what it can buy."
"What does that mean, Lili? Don't talk to me in parables. Talk to me honestly."
"A man is judged by his deeds," she said. "The boy never goes to bed hungry. For as long as he's been with us, he's always been fed."
Just as if he had heard himself mentioned, the boy came dashing from the other side of the field, crashing in a heap on top of his parents.
"My new lines," he said. "I have forgotten my new lines."
"Is this how you will be the day of this play, son?" Guy asked. "When people give you big responsibilities, you have to try to live up to them."
The boy had relearned his new lines by the time they went to bed.
That night, Guy watched his wife very closely as she undressed for bed.
"I would like to be the one to rub that piece of lemon on your knees tonight," he said.
She handed him the half lemon, then raised her skirt above her knees.
Her body began to tremble as he rubbed his fingers over her skin.
"You know that question I asked you before," he said, "how a man is remembered after he's gone? I know the answer now. I know because I remember my father, who was a very poor struggling man all his life. I remember him as a man that I would never want to be."
Lili got up with the break of dawn the next day. The light came up quickly above the trees. Lili greeted some of the market women as they walked together to the public water fountain.
On her way back, the sun had already melted a few gray clouds. She found the boy standing alone in the yard with a terrified expression on his face, the old withered mushrooms uprooted at his feet. He ran up to meet her, nearly knocking her off balance.
"What happened?" she asked. "Have you forgotten your lines?"
The boy was breathing so heavily that his lips could not form a single word.
"What is it?" Lili asked, almost shaking him with anxiety.
"It's Papa," he said finally, raising a stiff finger in the air.
The boy covered his face as his mother looked up at the sky. A rainbow-colored balloon was floating aimlessly above their heads.
"It's Papa," the boy said. "He is in it."
She wanted to look down at her son and tell him that it wasn't his father, but she immediately recognized the spindly arms, in a bright flowered shirt that she had made, gripping the cables.
From the field behind the sugar mill a group of workers were watching the balloon floating iii the air. Many were clapping and cheering, calling out Guy's name. A few of the women were waving their head rags at the sky, shouting, "Go! Beautiful, go!"
Lili edged her way to the front of the crowd. Every-one was waiting, watching the balloon drift higher up into the clouds.
"He seems to be right over our heads," said the factory foreman, a short slender mulatto with large buckteeth.
Just then, Lili noticed young Assad, his thick black hair sticking to the beads of sweat on his forehead. His face had the crumpled expression of disrupted sleep.
"He's further away than he seems," said young Assad. "I still don't understand. How did he get up there? You need a whole crew to fly these things."
"I don't know," the foreman said. "One of my work-ers just came in saying there was a man flying above the factory."
"But how the hell did he start it?" Young Assad was perplexed.
"He just did it," the foreman said.
"Look, he's trying to get out!" someone hollered.
A chorus of screams broke out among the workers.
The boy was looking up, trying to see if his father was really trying to jump out of the balloon. Guy was climbing over the side of the basket. Lili pressed her son's face into her skirt.
Within seconds, Guy was in the air hurtling down towards the crowd. Lili held her breath as she watched him fall. He crashed not far from where Lili and the boy were standing, his blood immediately soaking the landing spot.
The balloon kept floating free, drifting
How did he expect her to answer something like that?
"People don't eat riches," she said. "They eat what it can buy."
"What does that mean, Lili? Don't talk to me in parables. Talk to me honestly."
"A man is judged by his deeds," she said. "The boy never goes to bed hungry. For as long as he's been with us, he's always been fed."
Just as if he had heard himself mentioned, the boy came dashing from the other side of the field, crashing in a heap on top of his parents.
"My new lines," he said. "I have forgotten my new lines."
"Is this how you will be the day of this play, son?" Guy asked. "When people give you big responsibilities, you have to try to live up to them."
The boy had relearned his new lines by the time they went to bed.
That night, Guy watched his wife very closely as she undressed for bed.
"I would like to be the one to rub that piece of lemon on your knees tonight," he said.
She handed him the half lemon, then raised her skirt above her knees.
Her body began to tremble as he rubbed his fingers over her skin.
"You know that question I asked you before," he said, "how a man is remembered after he's gone? I know the answer now. I know because I remember my father, who was a very poor struggling man all his life. I remember him as a man that I would never want to be."
Lili got up with the break of dawn the next day. The light came up quickly above the trees. Lili greeted some of the market women as they walked together to the public water fountain.
On her way back, the sun had already melted a few gray clouds. She found the boy standing alone in the yard with a terrified expression on his face, the old withered mushrooms uprooted at his feet. He ran up to meet her, nearly knocking her off balance.
"What happened?" she asked. "Have you forgotten your lines?"
The boy was breathing so heavily that his lips could not form a single word.
"What is it?" Lili asked, almost shaking him with anxiety.
"It's Papa," he said finally, raising a stiff finger in the air.
The boy covered his face as his mother looked up at the sky. A rainbow-colored balloon was floating aimlessly above their heads.
"It's Papa," the boy said. "He is in it."
She wanted to look down at her son and tell him that it wasn't his father, but she immediately recognized the spindly arms, in a bright flowered shirt that she had made, gripping the cables.
From the field behind the sugar mill a group of workers were watching the balloon floating iii the air. Many were clapping and cheering, calling out Guy's name. A few of the women were waving their head rags at the sky, shouting, "Go! Beautiful, go!"
Lili edged her way to the front of the crowd. Every-one was waiting, watching the balloon drift higher up into the clouds.
"He seems to be right over our heads," said the factory foreman, a short slender mulatto with large buckteeth.
Just then, Lili noticed young Assad, his thick black hair sticking to the beads of sweat on his forehead. His face had the crumpled expression of disrupted sleep.
"He's further away than he seems," said young Assad. "I still don't understand. How did he get up there? You need a whole crew to fly these things."
"I don't know," the foreman said. "One of my work-ers just came in saying there was a man flying above the factory."
"But how the hell did he start it?" Young Assad was perplexed.
"He just did it," the foreman said.
"Look, he's trying to get out!" someone hollered.
A chorus of screams broke out among the workers.
The boy was looking up, trying to see if his father was really trying to jump out of the balloon. Guy was climbing over the side of the basket. Lili pressed her son's face into her skirt.
Within seconds, Guy was in the air hurtling down towards the crowd. Lili held her breath as she watched him fall. He crashed not far from where Lili and the boy were standing, his blood immediately soaking the landing spot.
The balloon kept floating free, drifting
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