Kind of Kin by Rilla Askew

Author:Rilla Askew [Askew, Rilla]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-12-31T18:15:00+00:00

Tuesday | February 26, 2008 | Morning

Near the Gloss Mountains | Northwestern Oklahoma

The morning is cold, but Luis is sweating as he pumps the bicycle pedals, standing. His legs are strong now. The first day on the bicycle his legs hurt very much, and the second day. Now they feel strong. But the boy grows more weak. Luis can hear the small thin coughs behind his shoulder; he can feel the seams of his coat pulled backward as the boy clutches the coat with his good hand. It is necessary for the boy to rest soon, Luis thinks, pumping hard. He must eat something, drink water. He needs to be warm. Panting, Luis peers ahead. In the distance the long, flat-topped hills slice the land north to south. He has been pedaling toward that shape many hours. Strange to think how important the bicycle has become, how necessary. Luis could not have dreamed this when he first saw the boy riding toward him on the gravel road . . .

From inside the barn, all that day, Luis had kept watch. He had imagined the boy walking to bring him the map. But the hour grew late and Luis began to believe the boy would not come. Then the boy came, guiding the bicycle along the gravel road with one hand. The boy stopped in front of the barn, laid the bicycle on its side, took off the black backpack. From the pack he withdrew supplies of food, a jar of coins, the map. He showed these things to Luis, placing them one by one on the straw-strewn dirt of the barnyard. He shook open the map with one hand, laid it on the ground also, pointed to the lower right corner. We are here, he said. He pointed to the top left corner. Gai-mon here. Is very . . . He started to open his arms wide to show distance, but at once he grimaced, pulled his left arm to his chest, supported it with his other hand. Luis understood then that the arm was hurt. My sister lives here, in Tulsa, the boy said, and with his elbow he pointed to a yellow square on the upper right side of the map. Is not so . . . The boy frowned.

¿Far? Luis said.

Far, yes. My sister is able to help. I study this. All the night I think this. She is able to know many mexicans, because her . . . man is mexican. He is . . . The boy narrowed his eyes, looking to the side, thinking. He shook his head finally to show he did not know how to say what he wanted to say. Then he started walking away across the barnyard to the house.

¿Where are you going?

¡A moment! the boy called back.

Luis reached for the map to refold it. He had prepared the blue truck of the grandfather already, poured in a little oil, added water to the radiator, left it hidden in the place where he had covered it with branches after the grandfather and the others were taken.

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