Thirty Girls by Susan Minot

nodding. Monica Lewinsky.
    Yes, said Jane. That’s right.
    The three pairs of eyes, close to each other, did not take their gaze from her, sizing her up. No matter where you went, it was always the children who came up to strangers. They were interested.
    Ndege? the smaller boy said, and pointed up the hill.
    She nodded.
    The children dissolved again in laughter.
    It doesn’t look as if he’s getting any wind though, Jane said.
    Harry had reached the top and was standing, unmoving in his helmet. The parachute was out of view.
    The children sat on the ground, curling around each other. Children had time to chat with strangers.
    You married? the boy said.
    What? No. Not married. She held out her left hand as if in a Doris Day movie.
    Babies?
    No, no babies either.
    You should have babies.
    God, she thought, him too. You think so? she said.
    The smaller boy jumped up, pointing up the hill. Harry was airborne, dangling below the fat caterpillar of the parachute.
    He’s up, Jane said.
    They watched him drift along in a straight line, not too high, as if sailing on a calm sea. He wasn’t riding a thermal, he was just being blown.
    From below in the area of the huts came the sound of pots clattering and a woman calling. The smaller boy cuffed the back of the girl’s head and took off running. She didn’t flinch but stood, looking a little longer at Jane, as if to memorize her face, then took off, following. Jane thought how little she could envision what their lives were like.
    She walked in the direction of Harry’s drifting. He was going fast now. She ran, feeling the curve of the hill as if it were the globe she was transversing. She stopped and walked, looking at her short boots, and thought how different she would feel if she were here alone. Even the air was different if someone was nearby and you were following him. Having spent a lot of time alone, she could easily imagine how it would feel if no one else were there, walking in the high grass, connected to the ground and grass. Images of other people would appear at the back of her mind in a sort of random collage. When you were alone, they visited you. With a person nearby, even if he was drifting through the air, you felt the lines attaching you and did not have the same inward gaze.
    By the time she reached him, Harry had his sail packed up.
    You had an audience, she said. They were impressed.
    I think it’s safe to say that no other humans have probably flown off that hill.
    But they knew about Monica Lewinsky.
    Children know everything, Harry said. He glanced back to the hill. If there were more wind … I’d like to try again on our way back.
    They stepped off the lumpy grass onto a rough road and headed for the truck.
    Behind them a woman screamed. Harry put his hand on Jane’s shoulder, stopping her. They looked back toward the huts and saw a woman in a yellow shirt screaming from a doorway. A man could be seen scurrying off in an odd crouched position. The woman’s arm was raised as if she’d just thrown something, and the hand stayed up, with fingers spread. Harry studied the scene for a moment, then he turned Jane’s shoulders around.
    Come on. He moved her forward. She glanced back. The woman was bending over to pick up the girl, whose pink dress was streaked with red.
    She’s bleeding, Jane said. The woman lifted her and carried her back inside.
    Family business, Harry said. Not for us.
    She trusted Harry, so she went, but thought how children, the ones most needing protection, were perhaps the hardest to save.
    On the drive back, nearing Naivasha, the sky lost its ochre glow at the horizon, and the air quickly darkened. No one drove at night if you could help it. You were more likely to be robbed on the road at night. With no streetlights outside of town and only a few other headlights beaming by, it was like driving at the bottom of a dark sea. Out the window Jane saw no signs of life in the blackness. She knew the animals were out there