Part of the shock was because he looked so much like Oliver, but she knew who this was, this tall man with the thick coppery hair and mustache, his eyes shifty and empty.

“So this is the boy?” He winked at Ruth as if this were all part of some tremendous joke.

“This is Raj,” she said. “Warren?”

“Gerard,” he admitted. “I was Gerard. Got fed up with it. Everyone called me Gerry. Bad association since the war.”

“Were you in the war, then?” Raj said.

“Was I in the war?” Now he gave Ruth a look of amused reproach, as if she knew everything about him and had simply failed to pass it on. “You could say that.”

“Do you know who this is?” She turned to Raj, who shrugged with guilty ignorance. “This is your father.”

“Oh,” Raj said.

“Guilty.” Gerard raised both hands in submission. “Guilty as charged.” He kept his eyes on her as he said this, only glancing at Raj. Raj was clearly helpless and also looked to her, as if she might be able to save him.

“Well, let’s go in,” she said. “Let’s have some tea.”

“Long as it’s hot,” Gerard said. “Bizarre thing”—he slapped Raj on the back and stage-whispered, as they ascended the stairs—“not only do they bring you the tea cold and without milk in this country, they put ice in it. Deuced barbarians.”

Raj laughed, shedding years with each passing minute. Though as tall as his father, he was stooping and gazing up at that man with a helpless, eager, confused expression.

They all sat at the kitchen table. She put on the kettle and gave Gerard a piece of apple pie, which he devoured as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Quivering with nervous energy, he looked gaunt, used up.

“Got something for you,” he said to Raj. “There’s a suitcase in the truck; go fetch it for me, there’s a good lad.”

As soon as Raj left, Gerard said, “I’m sorry about Oliver.”

“That was a long time ago,” she said. “The graveyard’s just a couple of miles down the road, if you—”

“Oh, sure.” He cut her off. “I’ll get the directions. Listen, Ruth, I was wondering if—”

Raj came back in with a battered leather suitcase. Out of breath, he had clearly run as fast as he could. He looked eight years old.

“Raj has won a scholarship to MIT,” she said, as he rejoined them at the table. “Best scholarship they have.”

“Is that right.” Gerard opened the suitcase. “I’ll tell you, his mother’s good looks and my brains.” He laughed and Raj laughed with him.

On the table in front of Raj he put down a large boomerang. “Had one of the natives—aboriginals, they’re called—make it for you. There’s a story painted across it; see there? Came to him in a dream. It’s about you.”