Wounded Knee. He'd taught American Studies at Middlebury and concocted courses that his peers on the faculty considered interdisciplinary nightmares: a muddle of popular culture, American myths (and misperceptions), and irresponsible history. One time, he devoted a whole semester to the iconography of Route 66. Another year he had students read nothing but romance novels that featured white women with men of color: Savages. Slaves. A Chinese immigrant who was helping to build the transcontinental railroad. The students had loved it, and he believed they had learned.
The two of them were having so much fun on their trip, however, and covering so much ground so quickly, that they decided to head south as well, and wound up making a loop that stretched from Vermont to Montana to New Mexico. They came home via Route 66, driving east along a road that was known best as a route west to California, an irony which struck Emily as eminently logical given who her husband was. Altogether, they made love in seven Best Westerns and four Quality Inns, and had sex in nine states. Emily thought this was mighty impressive for a couple whose combined age was 129.
By the time they returned to Vermont, they had spent six and a half weeks on the road--forty-five days and forty-four nights--and amassed seventy-seven small bars of wax-paper-wrapped motel soap.
There's a light on at Terry and Laura's, Paul said, pushing aside the nearly empty cereal bowl.
In the boy's room again?
Uh-huh.
I still say it may just be that he sleeps with a light on.
This time I saw it go on. One minute the room was dark, then it was light.
What time was this?
I came down here about three-fifteen. He got up a few minutes after that.
You know for sure it's the boy's room?
I do. First night, I saw him pull up the shade and look out the window. There he was.
He see you?
Doubt it.
She listened to the baseboards in the kitchen tinkling as the hot water coursed through the thin pipes behind the metal. Below her the furnace rumbled.
Maybe the lad wakes up, sees it's dark, and turns the light on. Then he goes back to sleep, she said.
Maybe.
Maybe? There's no maybe to it, in my opinion. Unlike us, that boy has a body that still needs some sleep.
Paul wiped his eyeglasses on his bathrobe and instantly regretted his decision. The flannel only made the smudges worse.
I saw Laura yesterday, she said. Did I tell you?
Don't think so.
She really doesn't seem a whole lot different than before the child arrived.
It's an adjustment.
She still seems so frail. You almost want to speak in whispers around her.
And she might always be frail. Imagine how you'd be if something like that happened to Nick or Catherine or Andy--or if something like that happened to all three of them. God almighty, imagine how I'd be.
This week's the anniversary of the flood.
I know. You see the boy, too? he asked.
Briefly.
He seem happy?
Not particularly.
He say anything?
Not really.
I saw him walking up the hill to the cemetery, Paul said. He likes his hat. Don't know if he's opened his book. But he likes his hat.
I'd expect so. He wearing it backward? That seems to be the way the kids do it these days. Have you noticed? They buy a cap with a sun bill and then wear it backward so the visor is worthless.
I don't know. Yesterday he was wearing it correctly. Of course there was no sun...
Meaning?
There was nothing to rebel against by wearing it backward.
She nodded. All those years in the classroom had really paid off. Few people she knew understood the mind of a child or a teenager as well as her husband.
"What makes them think fraternization is even an issue? There is a better chance we will find ourselves befriended by the Comanches and Mexicans than we will by the white settlers we're here to protect."
SERGEANT GEORGE ROWE,
TENTH REGIMENT, UNITED STATES CAVALRY,
UNDATED LETTER TO HIS BROTHER
IN PHILADELPHIA
*
Alfred
In the night he heard Laura crying. He'd woken up, as
The two of them were having so much fun on their trip, however, and covering so much ground so quickly, that they decided to head south as well, and wound up making a loop that stretched from Vermont to Montana to New Mexico. They came home via Route 66, driving east along a road that was known best as a route west to California, an irony which struck Emily as eminently logical given who her husband was. Altogether, they made love in seven Best Westerns and four Quality Inns, and had sex in nine states. Emily thought this was mighty impressive for a couple whose combined age was 129.
By the time they returned to Vermont, they had spent six and a half weeks on the road--forty-five days and forty-four nights--and amassed seventy-seven small bars of wax-paper-wrapped motel soap.
There's a light on at Terry and Laura's, Paul said, pushing aside the nearly empty cereal bowl.
In the boy's room again?
Uh-huh.
I still say it may just be that he sleeps with a light on.
This time I saw it go on. One minute the room was dark, then it was light.
What time was this?
I came down here about three-fifteen. He got up a few minutes after that.
You know for sure it's the boy's room?
I do. First night, I saw him pull up the shade and look out the window. There he was.
He see you?
Doubt it.
She listened to the baseboards in the kitchen tinkling as the hot water coursed through the thin pipes behind the metal. Below her the furnace rumbled.
Maybe the lad wakes up, sees it's dark, and turns the light on. Then he goes back to sleep, she said.
Maybe.
Maybe? There's no maybe to it, in my opinion. Unlike us, that boy has a body that still needs some sleep.
Paul wiped his eyeglasses on his bathrobe and instantly regretted his decision. The flannel only made the smudges worse.
I saw Laura yesterday, she said. Did I tell you?
Don't think so.
She really doesn't seem a whole lot different than before the child arrived.
It's an adjustment.
She still seems so frail. You almost want to speak in whispers around her.
And she might always be frail. Imagine how you'd be if something like that happened to Nick or Catherine or Andy--or if something like that happened to all three of them. God almighty, imagine how I'd be.
This week's the anniversary of the flood.
I know. You see the boy, too? he asked.
Briefly.
He seem happy?
Not particularly.
He say anything?
Not really.
I saw him walking up the hill to the cemetery, Paul said. He likes his hat. Don't know if he's opened his book. But he likes his hat.
I'd expect so. He wearing it backward? That seems to be the way the kids do it these days. Have you noticed? They buy a cap with a sun bill and then wear it backward so the visor is worthless.
I don't know. Yesterday he was wearing it correctly. Of course there was no sun...
Meaning?
There was nothing to rebel against by wearing it backward.
She nodded. All those years in the classroom had really paid off. Few people she knew understood the mind of a child or a teenager as well as her husband.
"What makes them think fraternization is even an issue? There is a better chance we will find ourselves befriended by the Comanches and Mexicans than we will by the white settlers we're here to protect."
SERGEANT GEORGE ROWE,
TENTH REGIMENT, UNITED STATES CAVALRY,
UNDATED LETTER TO HIS BROTHER
IN PHILADELPHIA
*
Alfred
In the night he heard Laura crying. He'd woken up, as
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