“North where?” Zahra demanded.
I ate four of them. They were delicious, and too ripe to travel well anyway.
“Why don’t you try on some of those clothes,” I said.
“Take what fits you.”
She fit not only into Marcus’s shirt and jeans—
though she had to roll the jeans legs up— but into his shoes. Shoes are expensive. Now she has two pair.
“You let me do it, I’ll trade these little shoes for some food,” she said.
I nodded. “Tomorrow. Whatever you get, we’ll split it.
Then I’m leaving.”
“Going north?”
“Yes.”
“Just north. Do you know anything about the roads and towns and where to buy stuff or steal it? Have you got money?”
“I have maps,” I said. “They’re old, but I think they’re still good. No one’s been building new roads lately.”
“Hell no. Money?”
“A little. Not enough, I suspect.”
“No such thing as enough money. What about him?”
She gestured toward Harry’s unmoving back. He was lying down. I couldn’t tell whether he was asleep or not.
“He has to decide for himself,” I said. “Maybe he wants to hang around to look for his family before he goes.”
He turned over slowly. He looked sick, but fully aware. Zahra put the peaches she had saved for him next to him.
“I don’t want to wait for anything,” he said. “I wish we could start now. I hate this place.”
“You going with her?” Zahra asked, jabbing a thumb at me.
He looked at me. “We might be able to help each other,” he said. “At least we know each other, and. .
.I managed to grab a few hundred dollars as I ran
out of the house.” He was offering trust. He meant we could trust each other. That was no small thing.
“I was thinking of traveling as a man,” I said to him.
He seemed to be repressing a smile. “That will be safer for you. You’re at least tall enough to fool people. You’ll have to cut your hair, though.”
Zahra grunted. “Mixed couples catch hell whether people think they’re gay or straight. Harry’ll piss off all the blacks and you’ll piss off all the whites. Good luck.”
I watched her as she said it, and realized what she wasn’t saying. “You want to come?” I asked.
She sniffed. “Why should I? I won’t cut my hair!”
“No need,” I said. “We can be a black couple and their white friend. If Harry can get a reasonable tan, maybe we can claim him as a cousin.”
She hesitated, then whispered, “Yeah, I want to go.”
And she started to cry. Harry stared at her in surprise.
“Did you think we were going to just dump you?” I asked, “All you had to do was let us know.”
“I don’t have any money,” she said. “Not a dollar.”
I sighed. “Where did you get those peaches.”
“You were right. I stole them.”
“You have a useful skill, then, and information about living out here.” I faced Harry. “What do you think?”
“Her stealing doesn’t bother you?” he asked “I mean to survive,” I said.
“`Thou shalt not steal,’” he quoted. “Years and years— a lifetime of `Thou shalt not steal.’”
I had to smother a flash of anger before I could answer. He wasn’t my father. He had no business quoting scripture at me. He was nobody. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t speak until I knew my voice would sound normal. Then, “I said I mean to survive,” I told him. “Don’t you?”
He nodded. “It wasn’t a criticism. I’m just surprised.”
“I hope it won’t ever mean getting caught or leaving someone else to starve,” I said. And to my own surprise, I smiled. “I’ve thought about it. That’s the way I feel, but I’ve never stolen anything.”
“You’re kidding!” Zahra said.
I shrugged. “It’s true. I grew up trying to set a good example for my brothers and trying to live up to my father’s expectations. That seemed like what I should be doing.”
“Oldest kid,” Harry said. “I know.” He was the oldest in his family.
