Home of the Brave (11 page)

That cow does love a good ear scratch,

Lou agrees.

She's good for petting, I say.

And leaning on, Ganwar adds.

She's a very unusual cow, Lou says.

Another idea comes into my head

like a new friend knocking at the door.

Sometimes I very much like my brain, I say.

What do you mean? Ganwar asks.

I smile. I think maybe I just found

some sun for Gol.

PART FOUR

When spider webs unite, they can tie up a lion.

—AFRICAN PROVERB

HERDING

When Saturday comes,

Lou is waiting for

Ganwar and Hannah and me

in the barn.

She sips at her coffee mug.

I just wish my trailer hitch

hadn't rusted out, she says.

We'll be fine, I tell her.

Hannah is wearing her school backpack.

I brought a map in case we get lost, she says.

And some candy bars and water.

It's a long way, Lou says in a worried voice.

There's a lot of traffic.

She shakes her head.

I probably shouldn't be letting you do this.

You probably don't have a choice,

Ganwar says with a laugh.

Maybe I should call ahead

and explain things? Lou asks.

Sometimes it's better

just to walk up to the door

and ask, I say.

Lou grins. All right, then.

Let's get this show on the road.

She gives Gol a kiss.

See ya, girl.

It's been a good ride.

I take Gol's halter

and off we go.

The sun is a steady hand on our shoulders.

We walk along the side of the busy road

for many steps.

Gol and me,

then Hannah behind us,

then Ganwar.

When cars race by,

they suck the air away.

A huge truck grumbles past.

Gol doesn't like the whoosh and roar.

She stops hard

and refuses to go on.

I pull.

She pulls back.

She hates

being so close to the traffic, I say.

I pat Gol and talk to her

and after a while she

agrees to move on.

Good girl, I say, relieved.

But up ahead I see trouble is waiting.

TRAFFIC JAM

We reach a crossing of two huge roads.

Many lights hang from wires.

Cars come and go

like frantic ants.

Don't worry, Ganwar says.

I'll tell you when it's safe.

He turns to Hannah.

You sure this is the right way?

Pretty sure, she answers.

Ganwar watches the lights,

then steps into the road.

A blue car zooms toward him,

horn blaring.

He leaps back.

We wait a while longer,

then Ganwar dives back into the traffic.

Come on. He waves his hand.

And hurry!

We cross three lanes of cars

and come to a thin strip of land

covered with grass and tiny purple flowers.

We've still got three more lanes, Ganwar says.

But Gol has decided

the purple flowers are a tasty treat.

She grazes happily

while I yank on her harness.

Hannah pushes Gol's rump.

Come on, girl! Ganwar cries.

The light turns yellow.

Hurry! Hannah yells.

Gol glances up

to see what all the noise is about.

She chomps down one last bite.

Then she ambles out into the road.

The light turns red.

We are in the middle of a sea of cars.

Honking and shouting hurts our ears.

Gol looks at me

as if to say,

Why is everyone in such a hurry?

I pull, Hannah and Ganwar push.

And nobody moves.

Gol has come to a stop,

and so has all the traffic.

COPS

We are surrounded by cars,

but no one is moving.

It looks like the parking lot at the mall.

Only everyone is grouchy.

If you don't get that cow off the road,

she's gonna be lunch meat, kid! a man screams.

Look, Mommy!

A little girl points out her window.

Is this a parade?

Heading slowly toward us

I see bright lights of red, white and blue.

Great, Ganwar mutters.

Cops.

The car with lights gets stuck in traffic, too.

A woman and a man in blue soldier clothes

make their way through the knot of cars.

They have guns on their hips.

What's going on here, kids?

the policewoman asks.

My cow won't move, I explain.

It's hard to take my eyes off

her gun.

Some reason your cow is in the

middle of six lanes of traffic

on a busy Saturday? the policeman asks.

We're going to the zoo, Hannah says.

Ganwar covers his eyes and groans.

The police people can't decide

whether to smile or frown.

Their mouths are all mixed up.

You taking her to see the animals

or
be
one of the animals?

the woman asks.

Hannah clears her throat.

Um, she's going to be

a new exhibit.

Who's going to pay to see this

bag of bones? the man asks.

She's going to be in the petting zoo,

I explain. She likes to have her ears scratched.

Go on. Try it.

Not me. The policeman holds up his hands.

I wanna get close to one of these,

I'll get a Value Meal with fries.

The policewoman holds out her hand and

reaches for Gol's ear.

Gol leans into her.

She likes me, the woman says.

Horns blare.

Uh, Nora, we got to focus here,

the policeman says.

She might move now,

I say. We'll push, and maybe

you can pull.

This is definitely not part of my

job description, the man mutters.

We get into position.

One, two, three!

Ganwar cries. Move!

Gol looks behind her.

She's pouting a little.

She can see she is surrounded.

Slowly she inches forward.

Bit by bit,

we cross the rest of the road.

Cars begin to move again.

Some people who drive by

use words I haven't learned

in ESL class yet.

It's very dangerous for you kids

to be doing this, the woman says

when we reach the other side.

Why isn't she in a trailer or something?

Who owns this cow, anyway?

Lou gave me custard, I say proudly.

The police just stare.

Custody, I correct myself.

I pull out the piece of paper

Lou gave me.

The man examines the paper.

He sighs. Well, it's just a few more miles up the road.

I suppose we could give you an escort.

I don't know what this is,

but I can tell that Hannah is excited.

Would you keep your lights on? she asks.

Lights, but no siren, the woman agrees.

We begin our slow, strange herding down the

edge of the highway,

followed by the police car.

The red, white and blue lights

remind me of the America flag.

I feel like the President.

If only Lual could be here,

I say to Ganwar,

and we laugh a good, long laugh.

ZOO

The zoo workers are a little surprised

to see one cow, three kids and a police car

show up at the ticket booth.

They call their bosses

and say come quick.

The zoo bosses are even more surprised

when I tell them Lou and I

are donating Gol

to the petting zoo.

Just try scratching her ear, I say.

She loves it, adds the policewoman.

The main zoo boss is

tall and thin and has

a shiny head like an apple

at the grocery store.

He reaches out for Gol's right ear.

Gol makes her happy cow face.

Her eyes are faraway and full of peaceful thoughts.

You are a charmer, aren't you, old girl?

says the man.

The petting zoo needs a cow, Hannah points out.

And she is free, Ganwar adds.

The owner is donating her,

even though she could sell her

and make a fine profit.

Everyone looks at Ganwar.

He shrugs. Figured it was worth a try, he says.

This is a very kind offer,

says another zoo boss man.

but this isn't how we do things usually, kids.

There are meetings, and requisition forms,

and veterinary exams—

Gol rests her head on the

shoulder of the apple-head zoo boss.

I can see that she is very tired from

her adventure today.

She's awfully affectionate, Harold,

the man says. And they make a point.

We
are
in need of a cow.

I was hoping for one a little less …

geriatric, Harold replies.

Gol blinks her long-lashed eyes

and Harold smiles.

Oh, what the heck, he says,

and once again I see that

heck
is a very good word.

Why don't we send her over to the clinic

and have her checked out?

If she's clean and in decent health …

well, she does kind of grow on you.

Ganwar leans close to me.

You amaze me, cousin.

Hannah kisses Gol

and Ganwar pats her flank

and I stroke her neck

and whisper in her ear

and then off she goes

to her new land

to begin again.

The police drive us home in their car.

They keep the lights on

and even play the siren once.

What did you whisper to Gol?

Hannah asks when we return to Lou's.

I grin.

I told her if she can moo,

she can sing.

EPILOGUE

FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER

A sandstorm passes; the stars remain.

—AFRICAN PROVERB

HOMECOMING

The airplanes float in

one by one

but each one is the wrong one

and we wait

and wait

and wait some more.

Ganwar and his new girlfriend

and Dave and my aunt

sit on the plastic chairs

and talk.

Hannah stands beside me

as we stare out the wall of glass.

We know enough to be quiet.

In the pocket of Hannah's jeans

I see part of a white envelope

covered in curly blue letters.

I smile.

Hannah carries it with her everywhere.

I know how that is.

It's fall,

and the trees are wearing red and orange coats

to fight the icy nights.

I think about the trees, the flowers,

the brown grass in the fields.

They can all be patient,

certain that spring will return.

They don't have to hope.

They can be sure.

Hope is a thing made only for people,

a scrap to hold onto

in darkness and in light.

But hope is hard work.

When I was a child, I hoped to fly.

That was a silly, easy wish.

Now my wishes are bigger,

the hopes of a man,

and they take much tending,

like seedlings in rough sun.

Now I hope to make my new life work,

to root to this good, hard land

forever.

At last the time comes

and the door opens

and people pour out

but no one

is the right one.

The sun streams through the glass window.

red and gold with the day's last sighs,

so bright I have to shade my eyes.

One more person comes out,

slow and searching.

I see other colors, too, then,

blue and yellow,

not the colors of the setting sun,

but a flash of something torn from my past.

A voice comes,

a voice like laughing water

on my thirsty heart:

My son!

and Mama embraces me

like we're saying good-bye

instead of hello

and around her neck is a scarf

made of the softest fabric

of blue and yellow.

I can't find words.

There are no words, not in my old language,

not in my new one.

We walk together

like one person,

her arm tight around my shoulders,

and the air is wild with talking and

laughter and questions,

so many questions,

but I don't speak.

We reach the silver escalator

with its melting stairs.

Mama freezes.

People grumble

and step around her.

I take a breath,

I take a step,

I hold out my hand.

She watches me rise,

she takes my hand

and at last

the right words come.

Mama, I say,

welcome home.

 

 

Thank you for reading this FEIWEL AND FRIENDS book.

The FRIENDS who made
Home of the Brave
possible are:

JEAN FEIWEL,
Publisher

LIZ SZABLA,
Editor-in-Chief

RICH DEAS,
Creative Director

ELIZABETH FITHIAN,
Marketing Director

ELIZABETH USURIELLO,
Assistant to the Publisher

DAVE BARRETT,
Managing Edito
r

NICOLE LIEBOWITZ MOULAISON,
Production Manager

 

 

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