Caged Eagles by Eric Walters Page A

as we continued to walk.
    â€œDon’t do what?”
    â€œDon’t speak English when you’re around the soldiers.
    Do what I did when those soldiers tried to get me to help unload the truck: pretend you don’t speak English. It can get you out of a lot of work — at least, it will if somebody doesn’t try to translate for you,” he said, shooting me a dirty look.
    â€œSorry,” I said, although I wasn’t really sorry at all.
    â€œJust kidding.”
    We left the buildings behind and made our way along a dirt path that cut through some bushes. We turned to the left when we came to a fence — stone and metal and almost twice as high as me. It was topped by three strings of barbed wire.
    â€œThis fence surrounds the whole park,” Sam said.
    â€œThe whole thing?”
    â€œYep … other than the three entrances. And of course there are gates and guards at each of those.”
    â€œAre we allowed out?” I asked.
    â€œSome people can get out, with permission. My father goes out for a few hours two or three times a week to take care of business. You can’t stay out overnight.”
    â€œSo we could go out?” I asked.
    â€œDo you have any business in the city?” Sam questioned.
    â€œOf course not!”
    â€œThen you’re not going anywhere.” He paused. “At least, through the gates.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked.
    â€œI’ve walked the whole length of the fence. There’s a few places where it isn’t so high, and two places where there’s a gap underneath the fence that’s big enough to allow somebody to get under. Why, do you have someplace you want to go?” Sam asked.
    â€œNot really. I just don’t like the idea of not being able to go, that’s all.”
    â€œThen maybe we should go out sometime. You ever been to the Stanley Park Zoo?”
    â€œNever.”
    â€œIt’s nice. Maybe we should go sometime … maybe tomorrow or —” Sam suddenly stopped talking. “Do you hear that?”
    â€œHear what?”
    â€œThose bells.”
    I listened. I could hear the faint jingling of bells.
    â€œCome on!” Sam yelled, and then sprinted away.
    I ran after him. I was amazed at how fast he moved along the jagged and rough path that ran beside the fence. Up ahead I saw him wave his arms over his head, and he started yelling. He came to a stop and breathlessly I caught up to him.
    â€œOver here!” he yelled, peering through the fence, still waving his arms in the air.
    I followed his gaze. There was a boy, about our age, sitting on a strange-looking three-wheeled bike. Across the front of the bike, over top of a large yellow tub, was a string of bells — the bells we could hear. Slowly the bike moved along the road toward us. When it got close I could see drawings on the side and big lettering that said, ICE CREAM.
    â€œDo you want an ice cream?” Sam asked.
    â€œUm … I don’t have any money with me.”
    â€œMy treat.”
    â€œThanks.”
    The boy had parked his bike over at the edge of the busy street. Behind him, what seemed like only inches away, cars whizzed and trucks rumbled by. Further beyond, I could see houses lining the far side of the street. They were little one-story bungalows with neat lawns and nicely tended gardens — flower gardens. I didn’t see any vegetables growing at all, just flowers. There was a couple toiling away in one of the colorful gardens, tending to their flowers, and a few doors farther down a man was mowing his grass. It all looked so pleasant and peaceful … if only I wasn’t looking at it through the links of a fence — a fence I wasn’t allowed to go past.
    As I watched, Sam pushed a dollar bill through the chain-link fence. The boy returned some change through the fence. The boy removed two paper-wrapped ice cream bars from the big “tub,” which I could now