The Little Exile by Jeanette Arakawa

Author:Jeanette Arakawa
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stone Bridge Press

* * *

After sunset, a soldier lit the hurricane lamps at each end of the coach and ordered us to lower the shade. Whatever light left outside trickled in through the narrow windows along the bottom of a flat dome built on the roof of the car. When that light faded, it was time to go to sleep, because it was too dark to do anything else. I used my coat as a pillow. I would put it against the window or against May and Tom’s bags, but I really couldn’t lie down. I also slept in my clothes, so technically I hadn’t gone to bed. Therefore, the following morning, I saw no need to wash up or even brush my teeth. And I didn’t.

On the other hand, May would be the first one out of her seat as soon as the darkness was broken by the growing light of dawn. With disheveled hair, smeared eyebrows, and rumpled clothes, she would remove a few things from her suitcase and put them in a bag. Then she would disappear into the telephone-booth-sized lavatory that was stuck in the corner of the car. A long line of passengers would begin to fill the aisle. Finally, she would emerge fresh and beautiful. Like a butterfly out of a cocoon. Or Superman out of a phone booth. But May never made a comment about my poor hygiene. Nor did anyone else.

It was May’s idea to teach me to play rummy. It happened when we were stalled in a train station. An armed soldier entered our car and stood guard at the door. That happened whenever the train slowed down or stopped. Tom, who dozed or read through most of the trip, didn’t doze or read when soldiers were in the car. His eyes grew large. Better to see the soldier and follow his every move, I thought. A spot on his jaw below his ear would begin to bulge in and out as though there was some creature trapped inside trying to pound its way out. As Tom watched the soldier, I watched Tom.

“Honey, let’s play cards!” May said with a laugh.

“What?”

“We can play rummy.”

Then she turned to me. “Do you know how to play rummy, Marie?”

“I know how to play fish. . . .”

“Rummy is a lot more fun. Come on. We can teach you. Can’t we, Tom.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

She stood up and rummaged through her purse that was hanging on the hook above the window and pulled out a deck of cards. Then she reached over and grabbed several large Saturday Evening Posts from the pile of reading material stacked on top of their baggage. She set them on our laps to use as individual tables. She dealt the cards and explained how the game was played. Although rummy was a little harder, May was right. It was a lot more fun than fish. . . .

But the hardest part of the game was keeping the cards from sliding off the slick cover of the magazines.

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