Cradle of Splendor by Patricia Anthony

Author:Patricia Anthony [Anthony, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Event Horizon EBooks
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

WHEN HIROSHI walked out of the pharmacy holding his pink—wrapped parcel, he saw militia in the street: confused—looking children with angelic faces, automatic rifles in their hands. A knot of them stood at the corner, arguing about what was meant by “a defensive position.” They didn’t bother to look up as Hiroshi passed.

What had happened? Was the American military already invading? The Americans would bomb, and Brazilians would be helpless. There were no sirens. No basements. No shelter.

He clutched the package to his chest and walked quickly on. Around the next corner was another squad. The officer with them shot Hiroshi a suspicious look, then ordered him to stop.

Hiroshi obeyed. The gun holstered at the back of his belt felt extraordinarily heavy. The tip of the short barrel dug at his kidney. He kept his eyes lowered so the officer would not see fear on his face, and search him.

“What’s in the package?”

That single—note drone in Hiroshi’s ears returned. “Please. Only medicine. Has some—”

“Open it.”

Tremendous pressure against his temples. It felt as if his head would explode. Hiroshi tugged the string free. His eyes stung.

“Nervous?”

The officer knew Hiroshi was hiding something. He would make him take off his jacket. Would see the gun and—diplomat or no—would stand him up against the nearest wall and have him shot. “Sorry. Please. I am only tired.”

The man sorted through the bottles. “Um. Yet there is something here for nerves, I see. And for the stomach.” A pause that Hiroshi did not have the words to fill in.

The officer prompted, “Aspirin. Vitamins. A lot of medicine.”

“Yes. I have been ill. Has something happened?”

“Papers.”

Without raising his eyes, Hiroshi handed them over. He heard the officer leaf through his passport. Then leaf through it again. “I am a diplomat.”

“Yes. I can see.”

He couldn’t breathe. “If something has happened, I should return to the embassy.”

A noncommittal grunt.

“I said I should return to the embassy, perhaps.” He looked up. The man was comparing passport photo with Brazilian ID. “Do you find my papers in order?”

“Nothing, Mr. Sato, is in order. You were on your way—?”

“Home. But ...”

Down the street, the squad had stopped a car. The driver, a Brazilian, was swearing.

“Then go there at once. And stay inside until instructed you can leave. President Bonfim has declared a state of emergency.” The officer handed the medicine and the papers back. He waved Hiroshi on.

The package was in tatters. Hiroshi let the wind take it. He grappled with the armful of bottles. Half a block later he lost the vitamins, and didn’t stop to pick them up.

Hiroshi made the turn into the breezeway of his apartment building. He would go inside and listen to the news. He would have a beer, and then another. He would call Taguchi so her voice could drown out that drone.

Someone lunged from the bushes and grabbed his elbow. Medicine bottles fell, exploded. Pills scattered like roaches in the light. Hiroshi’s gaze moved up—sandaled feet, smudged work shirt—to be stopped by hot blue eyes.

“My father does not know I came here,” Piehl’s son said.

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