He glanced at Rosa. She had fixed her gaze out the small window to the side of the table, but at his statement, her eyes widened.

Karak was encouraged. “If she might have me,” he added. In that moment, he was sure she would.

He saw Esperanza nod at Alejandro, and Alejandro said gruffly, “There is no similarity of culture, of language, of religion. You think that because we do not own many things, do not have lots of money, we don’t treasure these?”

“We live in America now, Alejandro. The old things do not matter so much. We must think of our survival. Enjoy life while we can. Make a good living and have a family. There is no more than this.” He wished he did not have to speak. Why had he risked his dignity and position in this way? He berated himself again: Why hadn’t he brought Jivan with him?

“We Mexicans value our culture. Our women.”

“I would value Rosa too, if she were to become mine.”

Esperanza glanced at her husband, and Karak caught the glance. She wanted the match badly. What would Alejandro do now?

“You go ahead and take her out, Señor Singh.” He was making a show of appearing magnanimous. “I will allow it this one time, and we will see.”

They agreed there could be a picnic on the following Sunday. Karak was satisfied.

HE CAME TO FETCH HER in the buckboard, having packed up the food himself after Kishen cooked it, and they went to the only park east of the tracks, situated between the Negro settlement and Japantown. When he realized that too many people would be watching them—a turbaned Hindu consorting with a Mexicana—he turned out of town and went along the dirt path that led to the new plank road. He wished he had a machine, one of those new models that were being snapped up more quickly than Ford could make them. That would impress Rosa; he was sure of that.

Where there was still shrub, before the sand started, he pulled up the mare and together they spread out their blanket under a mesquite tree on the side of a delivery canal. Arrowweed framed the water. A pleasant breeze shifted the fabric of her dress, the hair of the horse’s mane. He was wearing his finest pants and crossed his legs on the blanket. She hitched her skirt to her calves to sit down. Dainty shoes were fitted on her feet. As they spread out the food, his hand brushed the bare skin of her forearm. He felt a thrill of ice in the heat. In the distance, the sleeping Mount Signal straddled Mexico and the United States.

She was not shy with him.