when I was a kid. The seeds look like little rubies and the juice stains your fingers.”
“Grandpa Joe fed me some seeds and told me the Persephone story when I was about four. Scared me to death,” I said. “I thought I was going to have to go live in the Underworld.”
“She ate six seeds, right? And so she had to stay six months in the Underworld after Hades kidnapped her. That idea’s even older than the Greeks,” Felix told me. “In a lot of cultures, if you eat somewhere you tie yourself to it. And it to you.”
Was that what he did in Vietnam? Eat there and tie himself to it? Well, of course you’d have to eat. But eating was a metaphor. Mom’s big on metaphor, so I know all about that. Sex, death, and food are all linked up together. I could feel my face burning again as soon as I had that thought. My coloring makes it hard to see me blush (one of life’s little compensations), but Felix could tell from my expression that something was wrong.
“Uh, you have any more weird dreams?” he asked.
I snapped my head around. “Why do you ask?”
“Which one was it?” he said.
I kept my eyes on the pomegranates. “Um. In a bar. Um.”
He laughed suddenly. I don’t think I’d ever heard him laugh before that. He sat down on the sofa and closed his eyes, grinning a huge grin. “I guess it was educational,” he said, with his eyes closed.
“Will you shut up?” I hissed. I sat down next to him so I could whisper. “I did not want to know that stuff.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly want you to know it,” he whispered back. At least he was being quiet.
“What kind of behavior is that for a saint, anyway?”
“Saints are human.”
“All the girl saints were martyred for refusing to marry pagans. They didn’t do stuff like that.”
“I’m not a girl saint.”
“You’re not any kind of saint. I don’t know why I even said that. Get your dreams out of my head!”
“Angie!” Wuffie called from the kitchen. “Would you and, uh, Felix, set the table for me? Use the good china.”
Felix hopped up from the sofa. “Great! Let’s go be useful.”
I’ve spent my whole life hanging around Wuffie’s house, so I know where everything is. I showed Felix the good dishes in the cabinet and I got out the silver. Wuffie already had the good tablecloth on, so we laid out seven places—Wuffie and Grandpa Joe at each end, and the rest of us two to one side, three to the other. If I could manage it I was going to get Grandma Alice and Felix on one side with me, so Mom would have to sit next to Ben.
Grandpa Joe carried the turkey in and everybody else brought the other stuff. Mom dodged my secret plan and sat down on the far end of the side with three places just as I sat down on the other end and beckoned Felix into the middle seat. So Ben sat across from Mom, but at least she had to look at him.
“Joseph, would you say grace, please?” Wuffie said.
Grandpa Joe grinned. “We are lucky dogs,” he said, to which Ben and Mom and I all answered, “Arf!” Wuffie hates that one, but she forgot to tell him not to do it.
Grandma Alice giggled. Grandpa Joe started carving the turkey. It looked like things might be going to go all right, especially when Ben started talking to Grandpa Joe about the Middle East. They don’t see eye-to-eye and can make the subject last all night when they get going. In our house, religion and politics are not forbidden topics—they’re the usual sources of conversation. Ben says our family motto is, “Choose your side and your subject.”
“I don’t care whose side you’re on or what the history is,” Grandma Alice was saying, getting into it too. “There is no such thing as a ‘holy’ war. War is not holy.”
Then Mom jumped in, sort of accidentally landing on Ben’s side.
“Do they come to blows?” Felix whispered to me. “Should I watch for flying china?”
“No, they’re having fun,” I said back. There was no need to whisper. My family is
“Grandpa Joe fed me some seeds and told me the Persephone story when I was about four. Scared me to death,” I said. “I thought I was going to have to go live in the Underworld.”
“She ate six seeds, right? And so she had to stay six months in the Underworld after Hades kidnapped her. That idea’s even older than the Greeks,” Felix told me. “In a lot of cultures, if you eat somewhere you tie yourself to it. And it to you.”
Was that what he did in Vietnam? Eat there and tie himself to it? Well, of course you’d have to eat. But eating was a metaphor. Mom’s big on metaphor, so I know all about that. Sex, death, and food are all linked up together. I could feel my face burning again as soon as I had that thought. My coloring makes it hard to see me blush (one of life’s little compensations), but Felix could tell from my expression that something was wrong.
“Uh, you have any more weird dreams?” he asked.
I snapped my head around. “Why do you ask?”
“Which one was it?” he said.
I kept my eyes on the pomegranates. “Um. In a bar. Um.”
He laughed suddenly. I don’t think I’d ever heard him laugh before that. He sat down on the sofa and closed his eyes, grinning a huge grin. “I guess it was educational,” he said, with his eyes closed.
“Will you shut up?” I hissed. I sat down next to him so I could whisper. “I did not want to know that stuff.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly want you to know it,” he whispered back. At least he was being quiet.
“What kind of behavior is that for a saint, anyway?”
“Saints are human.”
“All the girl saints were martyred for refusing to marry pagans. They didn’t do stuff like that.”
“I’m not a girl saint.”
“You’re not any kind of saint. I don’t know why I even said that. Get your dreams out of my head!”
“Angie!” Wuffie called from the kitchen. “Would you and, uh, Felix, set the table for me? Use the good china.”
Felix hopped up from the sofa. “Great! Let’s go be useful.”
I’ve spent my whole life hanging around Wuffie’s house, so I know where everything is. I showed Felix the good dishes in the cabinet and I got out the silver. Wuffie already had the good tablecloth on, so we laid out seven places—Wuffie and Grandpa Joe at each end, and the rest of us two to one side, three to the other. If I could manage it I was going to get Grandma Alice and Felix on one side with me, so Mom would have to sit next to Ben.
Grandpa Joe carried the turkey in and everybody else brought the other stuff. Mom dodged my secret plan and sat down on the far end of the side with three places just as I sat down on the other end and beckoned Felix into the middle seat. So Ben sat across from Mom, but at least she had to look at him.
“Joseph, would you say grace, please?” Wuffie said.
Grandpa Joe grinned. “We are lucky dogs,” he said, to which Ben and Mom and I all answered, “Arf!” Wuffie hates that one, but she forgot to tell him not to do it.
Grandma Alice giggled. Grandpa Joe started carving the turkey. It looked like things might be going to go all right, especially when Ben started talking to Grandpa Joe about the Middle East. They don’t see eye-to-eye and can make the subject last all night when they get going. In our house, religion and politics are not forbidden topics—they’re the usual sources of conversation. Ben says our family motto is, “Choose your side and your subject.”
“I don’t care whose side you’re on or what the history is,” Grandma Alice was saying, getting into it too. “There is no such thing as a ‘holy’ war. War is not holy.”
Then Mom jumped in, sort of accidentally landing on Ben’s side.
“Do they come to blows?” Felix whispered to me. “Should I watch for flying china?”
“No, they’re having fun,” I said back. There was no need to whisper. My family is
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