you.
Theyre yours. We have plenty more. The FBI is interviewing your strippers. Id better not hear a story that doesnt coincide with what youve told me.
Theyre doing what? Youre ICE. What are you doing here? I dont smuggle people into the country. Im not a terrorist. Whats with you?
Clawson zipped up his empty portfolio and looked around him. You got you a nice place here. It reminds me of a Mexican restaurant in Santa Fe where I used to eat.
After Clawson was gone, Nick sat numbly in his swivel chair, his ears booming like kettledrums. Then he went into his wifes bathroom and ate one of her nitroglycerin pills, sure that his heart was about to fail.
WHEN HIS WIFE called him to lunch, he scooped up the photos the ICE agent had left, stuffed them into a manila envelope, and buried them in a desk drawer. At the table in the sunroom, he picked at his food and tried not to let his worry and fear and gloom show in his face.
His wifes grandparents had been Russian Jews from the southern Siberian plain, and she and their son and the fifteen-year-old twins still had the beautiful black hair and dark skin and hint of Asian features that had defined the grandmother even in her seventies. Nick kept looking at his daughters, seeing not their faces but the faces of the exhumed women and girls in the photos, smeared lipstick on one girls mouth, grains of dirt still in her hair.
You dont like the tuna? Esther, his wife, said.
The what? he replied stupidly.
The food youre chewing like its wet cardboard, she said.
Its good. I got a toothache is all.
Who was that guy? Jesse, his son, asked. He was a skinny, pale boy, his arms flaccid, his ribs as visible as corset stays. His IQ was 160. In the high school yearbook, the only entries under his picture were Planning Committee, Senior Prom and President of the Chess Club. There had been three other members of the chess club.
Which guy? Nick said.
The one who looks like an upended penis, Jesse said.
Youre not too old for a smack, Esther said.
Hes a gentleman from Immigration. He wanted to know about some of my Hispanic employees at the restaurant, Nick said.
Did you pick up the inner tubes? Ruth, one of the twins, asked.
Nick stared blankly into space. I forgot.
You promised youd go down the rapids with us, Kate, the other twin, said.
The water is still high. Theres a whirlpool on the far end. Ive seen it. Its deep right where theres that big cut under the bank. I think we should wait.
Both girls looked dourly at their food. His could feel his wifes eyes on the side of his face. But his daughters disappointment and his wifes implicit disapproval were not what bothered him. He knew his broken promise would result in only one conclusion: The twins would go down the rapids anyway, with high school boys who were too old for them and would gladly provide the inner tubes and the hands-on guidance. In his mind, he already saw the whirlpool waiting for his girls, white froth spinning atop its dark vortex.
Ill get the tubes, Nick said. Eat your food slowly so you dont get cramps.
He went back to his office and locked the door. What was he going to do? He couldnt even think of a way to safely dispose of the photographs, at least not in the daylight. ICE had his name, Hugo Cistranos was circling him like a shark, and his conscience was pulsing like an infected gland. He couldnt think of one person on earth he could call upon for help.
He sat at his desk, his face in his hands. How long would it be before Hugo Cistranos was at his door, demanding his money, implying Nick was a coward, making remarks about his nicotine habit, his weight, his bad eyesight, his inability to deal with the catastrophe his careless words Wipe the slate clean had
Theyre yours. We have plenty more. The FBI is interviewing your strippers. Id better not hear a story that doesnt coincide with what youve told me.
Theyre doing what? Youre ICE. What are you doing here? I dont smuggle people into the country. Im not a terrorist. Whats with you?
Clawson zipped up his empty portfolio and looked around him. You got you a nice place here. It reminds me of a Mexican restaurant in Santa Fe where I used to eat.
After Clawson was gone, Nick sat numbly in his swivel chair, his ears booming like kettledrums. Then he went into his wifes bathroom and ate one of her nitroglycerin pills, sure that his heart was about to fail.
WHEN HIS WIFE called him to lunch, he scooped up the photos the ICE agent had left, stuffed them into a manila envelope, and buried them in a desk drawer. At the table in the sunroom, he picked at his food and tried not to let his worry and fear and gloom show in his face.
His wifes grandparents had been Russian Jews from the southern Siberian plain, and she and their son and the fifteen-year-old twins still had the beautiful black hair and dark skin and hint of Asian features that had defined the grandmother even in her seventies. Nick kept looking at his daughters, seeing not their faces but the faces of the exhumed women and girls in the photos, smeared lipstick on one girls mouth, grains of dirt still in her hair.
You dont like the tuna? Esther, his wife, said.
The what? he replied stupidly.
The food youre chewing like its wet cardboard, she said.
Its good. I got a toothache is all.
Who was that guy? Jesse, his son, asked. He was a skinny, pale boy, his arms flaccid, his ribs as visible as corset stays. His IQ was 160. In the high school yearbook, the only entries under his picture were Planning Committee, Senior Prom and President of the Chess Club. There had been three other members of the chess club.
Which guy? Nick said.
The one who looks like an upended penis, Jesse said.
Youre not too old for a smack, Esther said.
Hes a gentleman from Immigration. He wanted to know about some of my Hispanic employees at the restaurant, Nick said.
Did you pick up the inner tubes? Ruth, one of the twins, asked.
Nick stared blankly into space. I forgot.
You promised youd go down the rapids with us, Kate, the other twin, said.
The water is still high. Theres a whirlpool on the far end. Ive seen it. Its deep right where theres that big cut under the bank. I think we should wait.
Both girls looked dourly at their food. His could feel his wifes eyes on the side of his face. But his daughters disappointment and his wifes implicit disapproval were not what bothered him. He knew his broken promise would result in only one conclusion: The twins would go down the rapids anyway, with high school boys who were too old for them and would gladly provide the inner tubes and the hands-on guidance. In his mind, he already saw the whirlpool waiting for his girls, white froth spinning atop its dark vortex.
Ill get the tubes, Nick said. Eat your food slowly so you dont get cramps.
He went back to his office and locked the door. What was he going to do? He couldnt even think of a way to safely dispose of the photographs, at least not in the daylight. ICE had his name, Hugo Cistranos was circling him like a shark, and his conscience was pulsing like an infected gland. He couldnt think of one person on earth he could call upon for help.
He sat at his desk, his face in his hands. How long would it be before Hugo Cistranos was at his door, demanding his money, implying Nick was a coward, making remarks about his nicotine habit, his weight, his bad eyesight, his inability to deal with the catastrophe his careless words Wipe the slate clean had
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