Read Online The Juliet Stories by Carrie Snyder - Free Book Online Page B

for only two weeks, reliant on translators, on Bram and the other volunteers, their visas approved by the Sandinista government. They will be driven to the countryside, to the edges of the war zone, where they will mill about on co-operative farms and at health clinics, much as they do now.
    It is time to eat at last.
    Everyone gathers in the main room around tables pushed together and draped in plastic. Bram blesses the meal with a brevity that reminds everyone that children are present. The cook takes her cue and produces, with a flourish, a feast sourced by ingenious means: one whole fish for each guest, cleaned and roasted with head intact, served on a plastic plate with a single ring of fried onion decorating its browned and crusty upward-staring side.
    But the tallest, skinniest, palest pair of people Juliet and Keith have ever seen recoil in horror: they are vegans. The Ghost Twins. (Even after they are revealed to be husband and wife, Juliet and Keith think of them as a weirdly fused brother and sister.)
    In a flash, Marta, the cook’s daughter, removes the offending offering. “We don’t want to make a fuss,” the Ghost Twins say, “but there is such a thing as cross-contamination. What are the beans fried in? Is there butter on the vegetables?”
    Bram assures them that all is well and unbuttered, but he may or may not be telling the truth. This is not the kind of disturbance that troubles him.
    Gloria says, “The cabbage salad is dressed with lemon and salt. You must try it.”
    The Ghost Twins are a threat only to themselves. They cannot spoil the air of celebration that attends this occasion.
    After the meal, Gloria tunes a guitar and suggestions are called out, voices join in. Emmanuel drums on his plate with his spoon. When finally he dissolves, he is plucked up by Charlotte and danced onto the porch, where the liquid air stands still.
    The heat in the room expands: everyone wears it. Bare bulbs swing drunkenly, tossing wild shadows onto bright turquoise walls.
    Juliet and Keith and Emmanuel are rarities in a closed world. How easily Juliet has adapted to the dangers and privileges: sneaking under the drifting blue haze of cigarette smoke, picking her way through the forest of adult limbs, catching scenes like pictures unfolded, words snagged, bedtime avoided. She steps off the porch beyond the ring of light. Against her shoulder blades the rough concrete wall is cool. The night breathes, alive —  there  — she can hear its breath: a soft moan like a knife carving a cut between her ribs. Juliet scans the darkness, traces a three-headed figure entangled beside chain-link fencing, bodies connected, swaying in unison. In this light, at this hour, in this place, she believes she is seeing a mythical creature, a figure of magic.
    The screen door at the back of the house bangs open, shedding a gash of light: Marta tosses a pan of dirty water at the bushes. The screen door slams shut. Juliet kneels and finds against her toe a perfectly smooth mango; its thick skin gives way under her thumb, holding the shape of her print.
    “Hey, you.” Charlotte stops, barefoot in the shadows. “What have you found?” Emmanuel holds two fists of her dark hair. Juliet turns, but no one stands beside the fence. Charlotte waits patiently for her reply.
    “I found a mango,” says Juliet.
    “Anything else?”
    Juliet holds it out. “I hate school.”
    “Do you?” Charlotte lifts the mango to her nose and inhales the scent of ripeness and sweetness before returning it to Juliet’s open palm. The fruit’s skin opens along a hairline crack, leaking sticky juice.
    “Someone stole my green barrettes today.”
    “That’s not right,” says Charlotte.
    “I know. But I don’t care. Not really.”
    Charlotte’s free hand rises to Juliet’s head, fingers stroking hair and scalp, pulling from Juliet a shiver of pleasure so fine it is a thread of pure gold drawing up her spine.
    “There she is — there you are. Your