dictators?
It was too big a task. Laura could never do it. They had beaten her before she began.
For a moment, she had no energy with which to go on. Then she remembered the only time you don’t have the energy to go on is when you’re dead. So only Billy did not have the energy to go on. She, Laura, must go on for him.
Jimmy came back with not one, but two desserts, and the second one he put in front of Laura. It was cake, European style, with many thin layers and thin, crusty icing. Billy’s idea of cake was chocolate, with soft icing an inch thick. Laura did not say thank you for the cake. She asked Jimmy for proof that he was American. His driver’s license, or his passport.
“You know, Laura,” said Jimmy, yanking the cake back, “somebody is going to mug you. Now quit this crap.”
“I have to find out who killed Billy.”
“You think somebody’s going to tell you?” yelled Jimmy. Half the cafeteria turned. “ ‘Oh, rats, Laura, you got me, I’m from a terrorist family.’ ”
Laura flushed. She didn’t know how to be a spy and find out things. She was as blunt and imperfect as Billy. Jimmy was right. Who would tell her anything? Nobody.
Laura pretended to have finished lunch, pretended to saunter off, but she was running away, and when she got into the hall, she did run. Nobody was after her; she was running away from being a jerk. She stood hidden in a corner of contradictory doorways that led in and out of the music rooms.
Laura was not musical and did not participate in choir or band, but the music rooms were centrally located, so against their will, she and everybody else knew what the Christmas concert was going to include. They had known since September.
Leila and Avram were practicing a duet. Leila was Syrian and played the violin, while Avram was Israeli and played the cello.
Weren’t Syria and Israel mad at each other? Didn’t they have different religions and different politics and argue about their borders and hate each other? What were Leila and Avram doing playing a Christmas carol together? Laura thought of Syria as primitive and Israel as sophisticated, and both had terrorists.
What nationalities were in Billy’s grade? Had he gotten mixed up in some Israeli-Syrian mess? Some Irish-English mess?
In the months she had lived abroad, Laura had not made the slightest effort to understand what those messes were, or which side stood for what.
I’m ignorant, thought Laura. I was proud of being ignorant. I felt superior because I didn’t know anything. When you’re an American, and you’re the best and the strongest, you don’t have to worry what all those little guys are up to.
Laura had tired quickly of British television news. The BBC told you about every single political party in every single country on every single continent. Just when you thought you were going to go into a coma, you would find out about the royals. A princess was bound to have visited an old folks home, or else Australia, or else was getting a divorce. Then it was back to global news.
Time to be like the English and learn political situations, thought Laura.
So instead of being late for current events, Laura was early.
Naturally Mr. Hollober loved it that a student had come to hear his wisdom. He straddled the high wooden stool on which he liked to perch. “Civilization can vanish pretty fast,” he began. “Look at Yugoslavia. Sarajevo was a lovely town. The Winter Olympics were held there, but a minute later—as time goes—neighbors were killing each other off as fast as they could reload the rifles. Bosnia is a nightmare of terrorism against one’s own.”
Laura did not want to get into the Philosophy of Neighborliness. She wanted to cut to the chase. “Which country has terrorists?” she said abruptly.
Mr. Hollober shrugged. “Terrorists are just criminals. Evil people who kill for selfish reasons. Every country has its criminals.” Mr. Hollober folded himself up: fingers, knees, and
It was too big a task. Laura could never do it. They had beaten her before she began.
For a moment, she had no energy with which to go on. Then she remembered the only time you don’t have the energy to go on is when you’re dead. So only Billy did not have the energy to go on. She, Laura, must go on for him.
Jimmy came back with not one, but two desserts, and the second one he put in front of Laura. It was cake, European style, with many thin layers and thin, crusty icing. Billy’s idea of cake was chocolate, with soft icing an inch thick. Laura did not say thank you for the cake. She asked Jimmy for proof that he was American. His driver’s license, or his passport.
“You know, Laura,” said Jimmy, yanking the cake back, “somebody is going to mug you. Now quit this crap.”
“I have to find out who killed Billy.”
“You think somebody’s going to tell you?” yelled Jimmy. Half the cafeteria turned. “ ‘Oh, rats, Laura, you got me, I’m from a terrorist family.’ ”
Laura flushed. She didn’t know how to be a spy and find out things. She was as blunt and imperfect as Billy. Jimmy was right. Who would tell her anything? Nobody.
Laura pretended to have finished lunch, pretended to saunter off, but she was running away, and when she got into the hall, she did run. Nobody was after her; she was running away from being a jerk. She stood hidden in a corner of contradictory doorways that led in and out of the music rooms.
Laura was not musical and did not participate in choir or band, but the music rooms were centrally located, so against their will, she and everybody else knew what the Christmas concert was going to include. They had known since September.
Leila and Avram were practicing a duet. Leila was Syrian and played the violin, while Avram was Israeli and played the cello.
Weren’t Syria and Israel mad at each other? Didn’t they have different religions and different politics and argue about their borders and hate each other? What were Leila and Avram doing playing a Christmas carol together? Laura thought of Syria as primitive and Israel as sophisticated, and both had terrorists.
What nationalities were in Billy’s grade? Had he gotten mixed up in some Israeli-Syrian mess? Some Irish-English mess?
In the months she had lived abroad, Laura had not made the slightest effort to understand what those messes were, or which side stood for what.
I’m ignorant, thought Laura. I was proud of being ignorant. I felt superior because I didn’t know anything. When you’re an American, and you’re the best and the strongest, you don’t have to worry what all those little guys are up to.
Laura had tired quickly of British television news. The BBC told you about every single political party in every single country on every single continent. Just when you thought you were going to go into a coma, you would find out about the royals. A princess was bound to have visited an old folks home, or else Australia, or else was getting a divorce. Then it was back to global news.
Time to be like the English and learn political situations, thought Laura.
So instead of being late for current events, Laura was early.
Naturally Mr. Hollober loved it that a student had come to hear his wisdom. He straddled the high wooden stool on which he liked to perch. “Civilization can vanish pretty fast,” he began. “Look at Yugoslavia. Sarajevo was a lovely town. The Winter Olympics were held there, but a minute later—as time goes—neighbors were killing each other off as fast as they could reload the rifles. Bosnia is a nightmare of terrorism against one’s own.”
Laura did not want to get into the Philosophy of Neighborliness. She wanted to cut to the chase. “Which country has terrorists?” she said abruptly.
Mr. Hollober shrugged. “Terrorists are just criminals. Evil people who kill for selfish reasons. Every country has its criminals.” Mr. Hollober folded himself up: fingers, knees, and
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