Later, one of the Bontoc, Januario Galut, would side with the Americans and act as guide, showing them a secret path to the Tirad Pass, where a band of insurrectos would find themselves suddenly surrounded by the enemy. When Schneidewind showed up in the region six years later, these battles would have still been fresh in the minds of the Bontoc, and some of them would have been veterans. And at that time, my great-grandfather Benjamin Klein would make the decision to stay in this country, that after shooting these people, he was now going to marry one. And make me a person who had stakes on both sides of the battle.

My phone began to ring. Chet was calling. A quick glance down at the street revealed Chet’s car pulling up to my aunt’s gate.

I answered the call, and before I could say anything, Chet started to speak.

“Can I pick you up?” he said.

I found the invitation acceptably vague, as I wasn’t sure what exactly I was agreeing to and could at least pretend to myself that my only commitment was to riding in a car. I could have said no, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Maddening as Chet was, he’d gotten to me.

“All right,” I said. “Wait in the driveway. I need to get changed.”

Chet was in a good mood but trying to hide it as he knew it would provoke me. He knew me so well. Too much smiling and I would have felt the need to knock him down, tell him he’d accomplished nothing with me, that I was not allowing myself to enter into anything with him, and once I’d said that, I would stick to it, as my dignity (he would call it my stubbornness) would demand it.

We were stalled, already, on E. Rodriguez, barely a mile from my aunt’s house. In the back seat, Top Gun was snapping his gum. I would not tell Chet about the phone call with my husband. It was none of his business. Instead, I chatted about the trip to Jim’s holiday house, about Laird’s being there, and how the press had shown up.

“They didn’t look like society photographers,” I said.

“What do they look like?”

“Oh, you know. Usually they’re wearing knockoff Prada. And they’re sycophants, always saying how amazing everything is and how amazing you look. They’re into lifestyle.”

“But Jim didn’t let them stay for long. Maybe if he hadn’t kicked them out, they would have asked you about your shoes or something.” Chet was momentarily distracted. “Gumboc’s in Israel. Maybe they were real journalists looking for something to do.”

“That’s what Jim said.”

Chet nodded, the problem now solved.

I asked, “Why would Gumboc go to Israel?”