Cover Page

Halftitle Page

THE

MUSEUM

of

RAIN

Title Page

THE

MUSEUM

of

RAIN

DAVE EGGERS

Take Them to the Museum of Rain

“TAKE THEM to the Museum of Rain,” Patrick said.

The family reunion, organized by Patrick to coincide with his seventy-fifth birthday, was in its second day and the adults were catatonic. The bonfire the night before had gone late, and the grownups were hung over, underslept, and emotionally spent. There was a herd of bored kids under sixteen and no one knew what to do with them.

Oisín’s mind was empty. “The what again?”

“The Museum of Rain, you senile fool,” Patrick said. “You’re the one who built it.”

Oisín was three years younger than Patrick, but his memory had been spotty since his forties. Museum of Rain. The words emerged from a fog.

“It’s just past the mission cemetery,” Patrick said. “On that hill overlooking Garza’s place.”

“I know, I know,” Oisín said. “I know where it is. I just needed a minute.”

He’d set up the Museum of Rain in the shade of a manzanita tree fifty years ago, a month before he enlisted. It started with a few small jars of California rain. Then, for about five years, every time he was home, he’d add specimens from wherever he’d been—Bozeman, London, Montevideo, Las Cruces. The last one, in a narrow green vase, was from Grenada, where he’d been shot in the shoulder just after landing. That was the end of the invasion for him.

“It can’t still be there,” Oisín said.

“I happen to know it is still there,” Patrick said. “It was discovered about ten years ago by our neighbors’ kids. They said it was actually in decent shape.”

“It must be three miles from here,” Oisín said. He had no interest in a hike.

“Three point two,” Patrick said.

Oisín ate the last scrap of bacon. It had been clinging to his shirt. “You want me to take ten kids on a three-mile hike?” he asked.

“I was just pondering,” Patrick went on, “how to occupy some percentage of them for the day, and thought of your thing under the tree. Besides, what else are you contributing to this reunion?” He stood up to signal the conversation had been concluded to his satisfaction. “You want to make some sort of impression on these kids, don’t you? None of them have a clue who you are. They think you’re some hermit or mountain man. I had to set up this whole weekend. You’re freeloading.”