Of course I know they’re safe, I know that they use helicopters in the wars, I imagine it’s exhilarating to be aboard one, don’t you? Think of the rotors, the thrust, to be able to land vertically—

And I hope to collect more things, to be known for this collection throughout the county, so the Enflamed Mountain might one day be named after me, I hope to be remembered for something, for anything really, for my collection of blue and white bowls, or candles, or even for my soft unsoiled hands—

Imagine it, oh, the sound it would make, a safe sound, the crowd would look up at the sound, they would. Even the white men would look.2

The boy pretended to care about these theories of the white men, or the whereabouts of the sister, but could not. He was distracted by the smell of the muddy river (which reached him even here within the bedroom), and by the girl’s body, her breasts, her collarbone, and the smell of rotting food, which escaped from the kitchen. He also thought about his right pocket and the gold hoop earrings, which hurt as they pushed against his thigh.

1   And the yellow kitchen wall had glanced patiently, quietly, at the girl and the sister discussing the purchase of the helicopter. It could sense that a decision was close. Their voices were loud, but all voices seemed loud to the kitchen wall, so it did not know if it was a loudness that was suitable or one of anger. The thin curtains moved as the girl and the sister spoke of the machine. The kitchen wall had always hated these thin curtains—a suspended material that did nothing to conceal the sibling inhabitants or insulate the large windows, or keep the light out. The thin curtains obscured the view of the river. They were a source of endless torment and distraction. Soiled dishes, bits of scallop, rosemary, and potatoes stood waiting in the sink, and the thin curtains moved like the hands of anxious children. The sister continued explaining the benefits of the flying apparatus; she came close to the wall as she explained. Her mouth opened wide, wide like a cacao pod, and it stirred a feeling within the wall. It was a feeling that a wall can only have once, it decided, and it was true, the yellow kitchen wall would never experience such a thing again.