BooksBarbecue
Back Passage West
Chapters (59)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Cast of Characters
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. Letters
  14. Part Two
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. Letters
  26. Part Three
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. Letters
  34. Part Four
  35. 24
  36. 25
  37. 26
  38. 27
  39. 28
  40. Letters
  41. Part Five
  42. 29
  43. 30
  44. 31
  45. 32
  46. 33
  47. 34
  48. 35
  49. 36
  50. 37
  51. 38
  52. 39
  53. 40
  54. 41
  55. Epilogue
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. About the Author
  58. Also by Rishi Reddi
  59. About the Publisher

Sam grabbed his arm. “We’ll meet you. We’ll meet you after”—Sam seemed to struggle to remember the words—“at the Palm of the Hand of God.” His face brightened at finding the name. It was the only decent restaurant close to the railroad tracks, on the east side, where the whites hardly went. Shame enveloped Amarjeet.

“Sure, Sam. I’ll meet you fellas right after the meeting at the Palm. Maybe we can have dinner.” Amarjeet got back into Karak’s car. He wondered if Sam had considered, for even a moment, turning his back on that host and coming with him now.

ONCE, IN THE FIELD HOSPITAL IN FRANCE, Harry had said to Amarjeet, “Can’t believe I survived that shell but this damn flu’s got me laid up in here.” Harry almost never talked about the shell; from that topic, it was a small step to thinking about the buddies they’d lost. Harry’s voice was raspy and low. Amarjeet could tell it hurt him to talk. “I still think about your mare, Jeet. She was a good horse, weren’t she? A damn good horse.”

Amarjeet’s eyes began to well up, unexpectedly. He did not blink the tears away. The mare’s last act had been to save his life by taking the blow of the impact. “Am I crazy, Harry, to cry for that horse when all those fellas were dying around us?” Amarjeet asked. He was whispering, so that the flu-sick around them would not hear.

“Naw . . . you weren’t crazy, Jeet. You weren’t the one who was crazy.”

“You saved those boys and I’m still cryin’ for my horse.”

“Come on, Jeet.”

“What made you?”

“Made me?”

“Save that jackass Jed Smith?”

“Well, there’s nothin’ wrong with Jed. He’s just a fella like us. Why wouldn’t I pull him in?”

“What about Pinkerton, then?” Everyone knew what Pinkerton thought about Japs.

“Oh, that’s easy!” Harry said.

“To show him what a Jap could do?” Amarjeet had grinned.

“Hell no. I saved him ’cause I hate him. I had to save him. Weren’t no other way about it.” They laughed then, because Harry would always have something to hold over Sam Pinkerton, and there was no getting around that for their whole lives. But Amarjeet felt that something more had happened. There was a bond between Sam and Harry, even though one of them was dead. They had crossed a boundary together, a line, to a place beyond love and hate.