I said. “Why don’t you sit down and rest.”
“I’m fine,” she said.
I walked up to her and held out my hand for the dish. She reluctantly handed it over. I began to cover it with our herbal dish soap, and Nana sat down at the table. It took her a moment to relax, but when she leaned back in her chair, I could see she was completely exhausted. In no time, her eyes were closed tight. I watched her closely. Even in repose, her face looked pained.
“Would it be so wrong?” I mumbled. “Just to have someone else . . .”
“What are you saying to me!” Nana said. “Speak up.”
She pushed open her heavy lids to glance at me. I scrubbed at her dish.
“Nothing,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
6.
The True Path of the Voyager
NEXT WEEK ARRIVED AND NANA LOCKED HERSELF in her room to work on a secret project. I barely heard a noise for two days. And when she came out at sundown of the second, it was just to ask my help with something. I entered her room and only then did I see the fruits of her labor: an enormous banner made from a bedsheet. It read CLOSED TO PUBLIC in greasepaint. She needed me to climb a ladder outside and help her to drape it over the entrance of the dome. She was already gathering up the banner while I tried to make sense of everything.
“Are you sure about this, Nana?” I asked. “You want to close?”
She didn’t answer. She just walked outside and began to set up the ladder for me. I followed and clambered up in a daze. Then I spent an hour in the cold, trying to get the banner to hang straight. When I went back inside, it still seemed crooked. But it was done. Ever since I had lived in the dome we’d given tours. It was simply a part of life there. Now there was a bedsheet rippling in the raw fall wind. A curtain had closed.
On the couch, I tried to thaw my hands with breath. Nana sat nearby, expressionless.
“When do you think we might reopen?” I asked.
Again, no answer. She got up and walked into her bedroom, and I expected her to stay there for the rest of the day. I expected yet another day of silence. But instead she emerged minutes later with some money in her hand, a wad of bills.
“Take your bicycle to town,” she said. “Purchase paint and alter our signs.”
She dropped the money. It landed in my lap with a flutter.
“The highway signs?” I said.
I waited for her to address my question. She did not.
“Where do I buy the paint?” I asked.
“You can access that information in the . . .”
I waited again while she searched for the word.
“The phone book,” I said, finally.
She was expecting me to get up right away, but I sat where I was. The money stayed in my lap, scattered across my thighs.
“What?” she said. “What is it?”
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
She did not respond.
“Can I ask why you don’t just let me administer the tours? We could stay open. I could do it! Until you’re properly . . . rejuvenated.”
She shook her head slowly from side to side.
“I’ve seen you guide them a hundred times,” I said. “I’ve even committed everything you say to memory. It would have been impossible not to. So I . . .”
“Sebastian, please,” she said.
“It’s my duty to operate the gift stand, Nana. I grasp that. And I know each part of our work is important. But the situation is different right now, isn’t it? I’m sixteen years old. And since you’ve come back from the hospital . . .”
“It won’t,” she interrupted, toneless. “It won’t occur.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to discuss.”
“I want to, Nana. I want to discuss this.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Because you do not possess the necessary . . . aptitude!” she said.
“What?”
“It pains me to say this. You barely comprehend what I teach. How can you expect to teach . . . others?” Her strangled speech made the words even sharper. They seemed to puncture the air. I felt my stomach clench.
“I see,” is all I
“I’m fine,” she said.
I walked up to her and held out my hand for the dish. She reluctantly handed it over. I began to cover it with our herbal dish soap, and Nana sat down at the table. It took her a moment to relax, but when she leaned back in her chair, I could see she was completely exhausted. In no time, her eyes were closed tight. I watched her closely. Even in repose, her face looked pained.
“Would it be so wrong?” I mumbled. “Just to have someone else . . .”
“What are you saying to me!” Nana said. “Speak up.”
She pushed open her heavy lids to glance at me. I scrubbed at her dish.
“Nothing,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
6.
The True Path of the Voyager
NEXT WEEK ARRIVED AND NANA LOCKED HERSELF in her room to work on a secret project. I barely heard a noise for two days. And when she came out at sundown of the second, it was just to ask my help with something. I entered her room and only then did I see the fruits of her labor: an enormous banner made from a bedsheet. It read CLOSED TO PUBLIC in greasepaint. She needed me to climb a ladder outside and help her to drape it over the entrance of the dome. She was already gathering up the banner while I tried to make sense of everything.
“Are you sure about this, Nana?” I asked. “You want to close?”
She didn’t answer. She just walked outside and began to set up the ladder for me. I followed and clambered up in a daze. Then I spent an hour in the cold, trying to get the banner to hang straight. When I went back inside, it still seemed crooked. But it was done. Ever since I had lived in the dome we’d given tours. It was simply a part of life there. Now there was a bedsheet rippling in the raw fall wind. A curtain had closed.
On the couch, I tried to thaw my hands with breath. Nana sat nearby, expressionless.
“When do you think we might reopen?” I asked.
Again, no answer. She got up and walked into her bedroom, and I expected her to stay there for the rest of the day. I expected yet another day of silence. But instead she emerged minutes later with some money in her hand, a wad of bills.
“Take your bicycle to town,” she said. “Purchase paint and alter our signs.”
She dropped the money. It landed in my lap with a flutter.
“The highway signs?” I said.
I waited for her to address my question. She did not.
“Where do I buy the paint?” I asked.
“You can access that information in the . . .”
I waited again while she searched for the word.
“The phone book,” I said, finally.
She was expecting me to get up right away, but I sat where I was. The money stayed in my lap, scattered across my thighs.
“What?” she said. “What is it?”
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
She did not respond.
“Can I ask why you don’t just let me administer the tours? We could stay open. I could do it! Until you’re properly . . . rejuvenated.”
She shook her head slowly from side to side.
“I’ve seen you guide them a hundred times,” I said. “I’ve even committed everything you say to memory. It would have been impossible not to. So I . . .”
“Sebastian, please,” she said.
“It’s my duty to operate the gift stand, Nana. I grasp that. And I know each part of our work is important. But the situation is different right now, isn’t it? I’m sixteen years old. And since you’ve come back from the hospital . . .”
“It won’t,” she interrupted, toneless. “It won’t occur.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to discuss.”
“I want to, Nana. I want to discuss this.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Because you do not possess the necessary . . . aptitude!” she said.
“What?”
“It pains me to say this. You barely comprehend what I teach. How can you expect to teach . . . others?” Her strangled speech made the words even sharper. They seemed to puncture the air. I felt my stomach clench.
“I see,” is all I
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