God be with you, my friend. Heaven knows the devil already is.

Love, Petra

Bean held two babies and Petra one on the flight from Kiev to Yerevan—whichever one was hungriest got mama. Petra’s parents lived there now; by the time Achilles died and they could return to Armenia, the tenants in their old home in Maralik had changed it too much for them to want to return.

Besides, Stefan, Petra’s younger brother, was quite the world traveler now, and Maralik was too small for him. Yerevan, while not what anyone would call one of the great world cities, was still a national capital, and it had a university worth studying at, when he graduated from high school.

But to Petra, Yerevan was as unfamiliar a city as Volgograd would have been, or any of the cities named San Salvador. Even the Armenian that was still spoken by many on the street sounded strange to her. It made her sad. I have no native land, she thought.

Bean, however, was drinking it all in. Petra got into the cab first, and he handed her Bella and the newest—but largest—of the babies, Ramón, whom he had picked up in the Philippines. Once Bean was inside the taxi, he held Ender up to the window. And since their firstborn son was beginning to show signs that he understood speech, it wasn’t just a matter of playfulness.

“This is your mama’s homeland,” said Bean. “All these people look just like her.” Bean turned back to the two that Petra was holding. “You children all look different, because half your genetic material comes from me. And I’m a mongrel. So in your whole life, there’ll be no place you can go where you’ll look like the locals.”

“That’s right, depress and isolate the children from the start,” said Petra.

“It’s worked so well for me.”

“You weren’t depressed as a child,” said Petra. “You were desperate and terrified.”

“So we try to make things better for our children.”

“Look, Bella, look, Ramón,” said Petra. “This is Yerevan, a city with lots of people that we don’t know at all. The whole world is full of strangers.”

The taxi driver spoke up, in Armenian: “Nobody in Yerevan is a stranger to Petra Arkanian.”

“Petra Delphiki,” she corrected him mildly.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said in Common. “I just meaning that if you want a drink in a tavern, nobody let you pay!”

“Does that go for her husband?” asked Bean.

“Man big like you?” said the driver. “They don’t tell you the price, they ask you what you wanting to give!” He roared with laughter at his own joke. Not realizing, of course, that Bean’s size was killing him. “Big man like you, little tiny babies like these.” He laughed again.

Think how amused he’d be if he knew that the largest baby, Ramón, was the youngest.

“I knew we should have walked from the airport,” said Bean in Portuguese.

Petra grimaced. “That’s rude, to speak in a language he doesn’t know.”