—Sit, I’ll read you some. Bobby sat next to her, awkwardly spreading his legs to touch her knees. Her legs were crossed and the book propped on her belly. —Well, I’m toward the end…you see, it’s about this man who is being taken care of by a young nurse in an abandoned building, in Italy after the war. She is so dedicated to him, as if by caring for him she has a reason to stay alive. Caring for him reminds her that she exists, that watching so many men die, didn’t kill her.

—Do you want to go there?

—To Italy? Hush said. —But it depends why. I don’t want to go and look at it like people look at me.

—What do you mean?

—People don’t see me, you know…they look at me. Their gaze hurts, Bobby. They don’t have to say anything, but it’s as if I expose them and they hate me for it.

—Do you see me like that?

—No, you’re my angel of books, she said and punched his arm. —Why you always so nice to me?

He was tempted to caress her. To feel her skin. He had never thought of such things, like Italy, war, caring for someone before, but from her lips it all sounded interesting.

—And what else happens?—Does the nurse fall in love with him? Does he fall in love with her?

—Well, there’s a man who deactivates bombs. And they fall in love. But he is Indian. And she is English. And while they’re in that strange place in the middle of nowhere, it’s okay for them to make love. It’s like they could love each other in this bubble that exists away from everything they know. But when the U.S. bombs Japan, something explodes in him. He realizes he’s on the wrong side of the war. That the enemy he was helping could have easily killed him.

That day, Bobby didn’t tell her he loved her, but he silently committed to her.

Don Chan was up at four in the morning when Bobby walked into the apartment. The murmur from upstairs kept him company. The old German lady was losing her hearing. Often, she fell asleep watching the television.

—Where’ve you been? Don Chan asked, cloaked in the night, revealing his hand as he reached for his cigar. Don Chan had been waiting for him so they could leave la capital. The Trujillistas from across the way had released Santo with a warning. And now he was disappearing in the night again to find himself in more trouble. Don Chan couldn’t watch one more person get hurt. It didn’t matter who won that war, the rich enemies and allies, both alike, sat around a table and negotiated deals and watched more poor hungry men fight and die for them.

—Santo, gather your things. We gotta leave before the sun is up.

Bobby went to the refrigerator and drank from the carton of orange juice, wiping his mouth with his shirt cuff. He sat down on the stool holding Don Chan’s calf as he waited for him to finish his lecture. Pobre viejo, thought Bobby. He noticed Don Chan’s tremors. The way the end of the cigar shook. Bobby held his arms close to himself. He grabbed his biceps and noticed how small his arms felt since he had stopped lifting weights. A few feet away from Bobby, Hush was sleeping on the sofa. Don Chan leaned back to extend his legs, revealing more of himself. He tugged at the curtain to let the streetlight pour into the kitchen.