Today's Reading
Hans pulls a book from the box. It's a well-worn copy of James Michener's novel The Bridge at Andau. There's a bookmark and Hans opens up to the page it holds.
"It's signed, to you," says Hans.
"Yes, by my old friend Jim, who wrote it."
"What's the book about?"
"Remember when I told you about the Hungarian Revolution?" she asks.
"And the prison?" Hans asks, eyes wide.
"Yes, all that. The book is about the revolution. And I'm in it."
"Wow," he says, his voice a whisper.
Martha pulls out a gold medal.
"What's this?" she asks.
Dickey sees the award Fidel Castro gave her for being a "friend of Cuba," reporting on the Cuban Revolution. Her arms have fresh scars from the boat explosion just months ago she got with anti-Castro guerrillas. The halls of her memory echo with Fidel's warning that if she ever returns to Cuba, she had better do so with the marines, because she'll need protecting. He once told her, when she portrayed him favorably, that she had tiger blood in her veins.
"It's an award from an old friend turned enemy," says Dickey.
"From Cuba."
"Weren't you kicked out of there?" asks Hans. "Like Hungary?"
"Yes. I'm not allowed back in either country. I'm trying to behave better in Vietnam, but my odds aren't looking good."
Losing interest in the ephemera from Aunt Dickey's world travels, the kids chase each other around the table. Robert sends them outside to play. Dickey follows, but Robert touches her arm, stopping her. He stares at her, searching her face. She finds she cannot look him in the eye. She turns away, and they walk out together to fetch the rest of the boxes from his car.
Outside the building, they stand at the top of the stairs, looking out over the campus, warm and saturated with autumn colors. Though it's tranquil now, protests over American involvement in Vietnam keep erupting here. A gust of wind rattles through the trees, dislodging a wrinkled brown leaf. It floats to the ground to rest in the yellowing grass.
"You're not coming back, are you?" Robert asks.
"I don't think so."
"Dickey," he chokes on her name.
"It's not like that," she says. "I mean, I don't think I'm going to die."
"Beg your pardon, Sis, but you're getting too old for this."
"Did you not just see me beat your children in a footrace, while carrying a box?"
"I don't mean only physically. Seven conflicts, Dickey. Seven wars. One is too much for most people. You keep going back in the belly of the beast. And we all know you act first, think second. You look up to soldiers like we're heroes. We're just men, Dickey. Men who don't always make the right decisions. Sometimes I wonder if you're addicted to conflict."
Dickey's skin grows hot. She feels her tongue ready to lash out at Robert. However, the gentle, bespeckled face of Father Hoa appears in her mind. She thinks of how he tries to win the hearts and minds of his enemies rather than destroy them. She pulls a cigarette out of her pocket and offers one to Robert, which he declines. She takes a few long draws to steady herself.
"When I said I'm not coming back," she says, "I mean Wisconsin will never be my home base. In spite of Aunt Lutie hoping I'll sell my New York apartment and move into the old family house with her."
"We would all love to have you here. At least as a kind of head-quarters before you go on your endless missions."
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