When the Emperor Was Divine Read Free Page B

STOOD ALONE in the kitchen, washing her hands. The children had gone to bed and the house was quiet. The pipes were still hot from the day and the water from the faucet was warm. She could hear thunder in the distance—thunder and, from somewhere far off in the night, the faint wail of a siren. She looked out the window above the sink. The sky was still clear and she could see a full moon through the branches of the maple tree. The maple was a sapling with delicate leaves that turned bright red in the fall. Her husband had planted it for her four summers ago. She turned off the tap and looked around for the dish towel but it was not there. She had already packed the towels. They were in the suitcase by the door in the hall.
    She dried her hands on the front of her dress and went to the birdcage. She lifted off the green cloth and undid the wire clasp on the door. “Come on out,” she said. The bird stepped cautiously onto her hand and looked at her. “It’s only me,” she said. The bird blinked. His eyes were black and bulbous. They had no center.
    â€œGet over here,” he said, “get over here now.” He sounded just like her husband. If she closed her eyes she could easily imagine that her husband was right there in the room with her.
    The woman did not close her eyes. She knew exactly where her husband was. He was sleeping on a cot—a cot or maybe a bunk bed—somewhere in a tent at Fort Sam Houston where the weather was always fine. She pictured him lying there with one arm flung across his eyes and then she kissed the top of the bird’s head.
    â€œI am right here,” she said. “I am right here, right now.”
    She gave the bird a sunflower seed and he cracked the shell open in his beak. “Get over here,” he said again.
    She opened the window and set the bird out on the ledge.
    â€œYou’re all right,” the bird said.
    She stroked the underside of his chin and he closed his eyes. “Silly bird,” she whispered. She closed the window and locked it. Now the bird was outside on the other side of the glass. He tapped the pane three times with his claw and said something but she did not know what it was. She could not hear him anymore.
    She rapped back.
    â€œGo,” she said. The bird flapped his wings and flew up into the maple tree. She grabbed the broom from behind the stove and went outside and shook the branches of the tree. A spray of water fell from the leaves. “Go,” she shouted. “Get on out of here.”
    The bird spread his wings and flew off into the night.
    She went back inside the kitchen and took out a bottle of plum wine from beneath the sink. Without the bird in the cage, the house felt empty. She sat down on the floor and put the bottle to her lips. She swallowed once and looked at the place on the wall where
The Gleaners
had hung. The white rectangle was glowing in the moonlight. She stood up and traced around its edges with her finger and began to laugh—quietly at first, but soon her shoulders were heaving and she was gasping for breath. She put down the bottle and waited for the laughter to stop but it would not, it kept on coming until finally the tears were running down her cheeks. She picked up the bottle again and drank. The wine was dark and sweet. She had made it herself last fall. She took out her handkerchief and wiped her mouth. Her lips left a dark stain on the cloth. She put the cork back into the bottle and pushed it in as far as it would go.
“La donna è mobile,”
she sang to herself as she went down the stairs to the basement. She hid the bottle behind the old rusted furnace where no one would ever find it.
    IN THE MIDDLE of the night the boy crawled into her bed and asked her, over and over again, “What is that funny noise? What is that funny
noise
?”
    The woman smoothed down his black hair. “Rain,” she whispered.
    The boy understood. He fell asleep at