When the Emperor Was Divine Read Free Page A

pressed her fingers deep into the girl’s neck until she felt her begin to relax. “If there was something wrong with my face,” the girl asked, “would you tell me?”
    â€œTurn around,” the woman said.
    The girl turned around.
    â€œNow look at me.”
    The girl looked at her.
    â€œYou have the most beautiful face I have ever seen.”
    â€œYou’re just saying that.”
    â€œNo, I mean it.”
    The boy turned on the radio. The weatherman was giving the forecast for the next day. He was predicting rain and cooler temperatures. “Sit down and drink your water,” the boy said to his sister. “Don’t forget to take your umbrella tomorrow,” said the weatherman.
    The girl sat down. She drank her barley water and began to tell the woman all about coniferous trees. Most of them were evergreens but some were just shrubs. Not all of them had cones. Some of them, like the yew, only had seedpods.
    â€œThat’s good to know,” said the woman. Then she stood up and told the girl it was time to practice the piano for Thursday’s lesson.
    â€œDo I have to?”
    The woman thought for a moment. “No,” she said, “only if you want to.”
    â€œTell me I have to.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    The girl went out to the living room and sat down on the piano bench. “The metronome’s gone,” she called out.
    â€œJust count to yourself then,” said the woman.
    â€œ... THREE, FIVE, SEVEN...” The girl put down her knife and paused. They were eating supper at the table. Outside it was dusk. The sky was dark purple and a breeze was blowing in off the bay. Hundreds of jays were twittering madly in the Greers’ magnolia tree next door. A drop of rain fell on the ledge above the kitchen sink and the woman stood up and closed the window.
    â€œEleven, thirteen,” said the girl. She was practicing her prime numbers for Monday’s test.
    â€œSixteen?” said the boy.
    â€œNo,” said the girl. “Sixteen’s got a square root.”
    â€œI forgot,” said the boy. He picked up a drumstick and began to eat.
    â€œYou never knew,” said the girl.
    â€œForty-one,” said the boy. “Eighty-six.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Twelve,” he added.
    The girl looked at him. Then she turned to her mother. “There’s something wrong with this chicken,” she said. “It’s too tough.” She put down her fork. “I can’t swallow another bite.”
    â€œDon’t, then,” said the woman.
    â€œI’ll eat it,” said the boy. He plucked a wing from his sister’s plate and put it into his mouth. He ate the whole thing. Then he spit out the bones and asked his mother where they were going the next day.
    â€œI don’t know,” the woman said.
    The girl stood up and left the table. She sat down at the piano and began to play a piece by Debussy from memory. “Golliwogg’s Cake Walk.” The melody was slow and simple. She had played it at a recital the summer before. Her father had sat in the front row of the audience and when she was finished he had clapped and clapped. She played the piece all the way through without missing a note. When she began to play it a second time the boy got up and went to his room and began to pack.
    The first thing he put inside of his suitcase was his baseball glove. He slipped it into the large pocket with the red satin lining. The pocket bulged. He threw in his clothes and tried to close the lid but the suitcase was very full. He sat on top of it and the lid sank down slowly. Suddenly he stood up again. The lid sprang open. There was something he had forgotten. He went to the closet in the hall and brought back his polka-dotted umbrella. He held it out at arm’s length and shook his head sadly. The umbrella was too long. There was no way it would fit inside the suitcase.
    THE WOMAN