special brand of Communists, the Pathet Lao, fighting against the royalists. He said officially it was a civil war, but everybody had their fingers in it. The North Vietnamese were backing the Pathet Lao; the Thais and U.S. were helping out the royalists. There weren’t any American troops on the ground, though. Instead, they had CIA agents train the local mountain people, theHmong, to fight the bad guys. It hadn’t been going so well for the Hmong. Nowadays their typical soldier was a twelve-year-old with a machine gun. Wale said the only upside of Laos was that they’d legalized the opium trade, so you could make a lot of money if you didn’t mind being shot at.
“Not that you’d know anything about it,” said Fletcher with a laugh, but Wale looked at him with a blank expression, and Brid seemed less than pleased by the comment too, because a second later she steered the conversation toward how well Wale was getting along with Pauline.
The next evening after work, when Maggie stepped through the front doors of her school, Wale was waiting for her. At first she didn’t register him, because she was still suffering her daily wave of post-class recrimination, remembering the inanities she’d uttered, the moments when one second-grade delinquent or another had spoken back, refused to follow directions, or in some other way reduced her to a wheedler and a nag. The Christmas break was a week away and she still hadn’t wept in front of the students. It was her only success as a teacher.
The prospect of a stiff drink was beckoning when she noticed Wale ahead of her. Though it was ten degrees, he had nothing on his head or hands, and he was stamping his feet to stay warm.
“Thought I’d surprise you,” he called out.
“Well, you did,” she said, trying to sound unflustered. She almost asked how he knew where she worked until she remembered telling him at the bar. It had just been small talk. Now she considered making some excuse and turningback into the school, but no, he was just an odd duck. She was grown-up enough to handle him.
“Got time for a beer?” he asked. When she told him she was late to meet Fletcher downtown, he seemed undaunted and said he’d ride there with her. On the way to the subway station he asked about her day, as if the two of them walking along together were an ordinary thing. At the station he offered to pay her fare and she told him not to be silly, thinking it best to give no sign of encouragement.
On the subway, she made a point of bringing up Fletcher, and there was relief in seeing how the mention of his name made Wale’s eyes lose their gleam. She said that without Fletcher she’d have quit her job already. She said how surprised she’d been to find herself dating him. Teaching had made her such a wreck, she couldn’t imagine being attractive to anybody. But that was the wrong comment to make.
“There’s your problem,” said Wale, the gleam returning. “You don’t see yourself like other people do.” She didn’t know how to respond to that. “For example, the way you listen. Last night you asked me all those questions. Most people don’t bother doing that, especially with a vet. You pay attention, though. It’s a turn-on.”
She wanted to point out that she’d barely asked him anything, and that asking questions didn’t mean she was into him; it only meant she found it easier than talking about herself.
“You know, your dad will probably be okay in Laos,” said Wale out of the blue. It was disconcerting to have the matter raised so unexpectedly, and she had to shunt away a sudden feeling of despair.
“Probably he won’t go,” she said. “He’s never even left the Northeast.”
“If he does, will you join him?”
“Why would I do that?” But as she said it, she knew why she would. Guilt about leaving him had already sent her back to Syracuse summer after summer. How could she let him go to Laos on his own?
“Last night you made it sound like you
“Not that you’d know anything about it,” said Fletcher with a laugh, but Wale looked at him with a blank expression, and Brid seemed less than pleased by the comment too, because a second later she steered the conversation toward how well Wale was getting along with Pauline.
The next evening after work, when Maggie stepped through the front doors of her school, Wale was waiting for her. At first she didn’t register him, because she was still suffering her daily wave of post-class recrimination, remembering the inanities she’d uttered, the moments when one second-grade delinquent or another had spoken back, refused to follow directions, or in some other way reduced her to a wheedler and a nag. The Christmas break was a week away and she still hadn’t wept in front of the students. It was her only success as a teacher.
The prospect of a stiff drink was beckoning when she noticed Wale ahead of her. Though it was ten degrees, he had nothing on his head or hands, and he was stamping his feet to stay warm.
“Thought I’d surprise you,” he called out.
“Well, you did,” she said, trying to sound unflustered. She almost asked how he knew where she worked until she remembered telling him at the bar. It had just been small talk. Now she considered making some excuse and turningback into the school, but no, he was just an odd duck. She was grown-up enough to handle him.
“Got time for a beer?” he asked. When she told him she was late to meet Fletcher downtown, he seemed undaunted and said he’d ride there with her. On the way to the subway station he asked about her day, as if the two of them walking along together were an ordinary thing. At the station he offered to pay her fare and she told him not to be silly, thinking it best to give no sign of encouragement.
On the subway, she made a point of bringing up Fletcher, and there was relief in seeing how the mention of his name made Wale’s eyes lose their gleam. She said that without Fletcher she’d have quit her job already. She said how surprised she’d been to find herself dating him. Teaching had made her such a wreck, she couldn’t imagine being attractive to anybody. But that was the wrong comment to make.
“There’s your problem,” said Wale, the gleam returning. “You don’t see yourself like other people do.” She didn’t know how to respond to that. “For example, the way you listen. Last night you asked me all those questions. Most people don’t bother doing that, especially with a vet. You pay attention, though. It’s a turn-on.”
She wanted to point out that she’d barely asked him anything, and that asking questions didn’t mean she was into him; it only meant she found it easier than talking about herself.
“You know, your dad will probably be okay in Laos,” said Wale out of the blue. It was disconcerting to have the matter raised so unexpectedly, and she had to shunt away a sudden feeling of despair.
“Probably he won’t go,” she said. “He’s never even left the Northeast.”
“If he does, will you join him?”
“Why would I do that?” But as she said it, she knew why she would. Guilt about leaving him had already sent her back to Syracuse summer after summer. How could she let him go to Laos on his own?
“Last night you made it sound like you
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