Gus.
Theo moves toward Gus, sun overhead a bright button on a blue shirt. He’s over the terrace stone, air hot, the day a year old, and he still hasn’t eaten. Can the police arrest Theo. Can they make him talk about things. Theo’s stomach churns and sours. The dark humps in the grass near Gus are dogs. Guswaves. Theo hurries at him, watching the near wing of the house. There’s a Brazilian flag now hanging from one of the upper windows on the other wing. His head hurts.
Getting closer, the dogs see Theo and wag but don’t get up, tails just whapping the ground like a signal. Don’t beavers do that.
There are police here.
What say.
There are police here. They want to talk to Colin and to you.
Gus straightens in the old chair he dragged here from one of the rooms. It has claw feet, with the claws holding balls. And the back is very straight. Beside the flowery white iron one with rust like blood, the wooden chair seems sad, away from home. It looks lonely.
Immigration possibly. Hmm. Where are they.
At the front door. They said they’d wait till you came back. Frieda said you were gone.
Where did she say I went.
She said you and Colin were at a meeting in the city.
Gus sighs. Bloody hell. Go on now, son, go do something fun.
Gus grips a white stein with a silver top on it that flips up and with snow and deer on the outside. He slowly rises to his full height, taller than Theo and shorter than Colin. The blue devil on his shirt looks Theo in the eye. The devil’s eyes are white dots.
When will my dad be here.
Can’t say yet, son, details still being worked out. It’s complicated, like moving the prime minister, getting your dad from place to place.
Colin said the police were after him.
Gus frowns. That man talks too much. Your dad’s fine. Don’t worry about what Colin says.
The dogs still beat the ground, but much more slowly, like they have to suddenly remember and thump. Theo feels weird, weak, light-headed again, his head slowly aching, rings around things if he looks long enough. Okay.
Theo lies down in the shade near the dogs, under the umbrella curling and uncurling above.
Watch out for fleas: Gus is talking to him.
Okay.
Just a joke. Gus is further away, his voice quieter.
Everything keeps happening the same as before. Theo’s back on the ground, the dogs are here, the sun’s up, and Theo runs in circles, he’s a dog too, checking on the cattle. He feels like the day has started over a million times. And his head still feels funny, and nothing has happened. Nothing any grownup has said so far today has been true, and nothing has happened. Theo wonders about why. Theo figures it’s because everyone is doing it: you can’t say something real if everyone else is not. So they just keep pretending about everything. He guesses his dad does it too, but he can’t remember.
Theo’s stomach hurts. Theo pushes himself up; Gus is still visible, a slow walker. The dogs thump but lie on their sides, hoping they don’t have to move. It’s okay, Theo says aloud, and moves over to pet each of them. They wag harder, like they mean it, and push themselves up, panting, smiling. Dog smiles. Theo does a dog smile and pants too: he understands them. Then he turns toward the house, because he has to eat something. He can’t escape, he keeps getting pulled back inside, the magic that won’t let him leave. He steps over the motorcycle track: the border. Which side is madness. They say craziness in America. Mad is angry.
They’re gone.
Gus stands far away at the edge of the house’s right wing, yelling at Theo, now something about safe for democracy. Theo doesn’t know what the democracy means.
They said they would wait but they didn’t. They wanted to talk but they didn’t. School had opposite days, but it just meant putting clothes on backward. You couldn’t talk opposite or do opposite things or you’d get in trouble. And it just made it easier for Theo’s buttons to get pulled off, so
Theo moves toward Gus, sun overhead a bright button on a blue shirt. He’s over the terrace stone, air hot, the day a year old, and he still hasn’t eaten. Can the police arrest Theo. Can they make him talk about things. Theo’s stomach churns and sours. The dark humps in the grass near Gus are dogs. Guswaves. Theo hurries at him, watching the near wing of the house. There’s a Brazilian flag now hanging from one of the upper windows on the other wing. His head hurts.
Getting closer, the dogs see Theo and wag but don’t get up, tails just whapping the ground like a signal. Don’t beavers do that.
There are police here.
What say.
There are police here. They want to talk to Colin and to you.
Gus straightens in the old chair he dragged here from one of the rooms. It has claw feet, with the claws holding balls. And the back is very straight. Beside the flowery white iron one with rust like blood, the wooden chair seems sad, away from home. It looks lonely.
Immigration possibly. Hmm. Where are they.
At the front door. They said they’d wait till you came back. Frieda said you were gone.
Where did she say I went.
She said you and Colin were at a meeting in the city.
Gus sighs. Bloody hell. Go on now, son, go do something fun.
Gus grips a white stein with a silver top on it that flips up and with snow and deer on the outside. He slowly rises to his full height, taller than Theo and shorter than Colin. The blue devil on his shirt looks Theo in the eye. The devil’s eyes are white dots.
When will my dad be here.
Can’t say yet, son, details still being worked out. It’s complicated, like moving the prime minister, getting your dad from place to place.
Colin said the police were after him.
Gus frowns. That man talks too much. Your dad’s fine. Don’t worry about what Colin says.
The dogs still beat the ground, but much more slowly, like they have to suddenly remember and thump. Theo feels weird, weak, light-headed again, his head slowly aching, rings around things if he looks long enough. Okay.
Theo lies down in the shade near the dogs, under the umbrella curling and uncurling above.
Watch out for fleas: Gus is talking to him.
Okay.
Just a joke. Gus is further away, his voice quieter.
Everything keeps happening the same as before. Theo’s back on the ground, the dogs are here, the sun’s up, and Theo runs in circles, he’s a dog too, checking on the cattle. He feels like the day has started over a million times. And his head still feels funny, and nothing has happened. Nothing any grownup has said so far today has been true, and nothing has happened. Theo wonders about why. Theo figures it’s because everyone is doing it: you can’t say something real if everyone else is not. So they just keep pretending about everything. He guesses his dad does it too, but he can’t remember.
Theo’s stomach hurts. Theo pushes himself up; Gus is still visible, a slow walker. The dogs thump but lie on their sides, hoping they don’t have to move. It’s okay, Theo says aloud, and moves over to pet each of them. They wag harder, like they mean it, and push themselves up, panting, smiling. Dog smiles. Theo does a dog smile and pants too: he understands them. Then he turns toward the house, because he has to eat something. He can’t escape, he keeps getting pulled back inside, the magic that won’t let him leave. He steps over the motorcycle track: the border. Which side is madness. They say craziness in America. Mad is angry.
They’re gone.
Gus stands far away at the edge of the house’s right wing, yelling at Theo, now something about safe for democracy. Theo doesn’t know what the democracy means.
They said they would wait but they didn’t. They wanted to talk but they didn’t. School had opposite days, but it just meant putting clothes on backward. You couldn’t talk opposite or do opposite things or you’d get in trouble. And it just made it easier for Theo’s buttons to get pulled off, so
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