"Emile hired hundreds of workers, municipal workers and carnival
workers and foreign workers. He brought in animals and acrobats and
clowns. The entrance was the last thing finished, and it was truly grand.
Everyone said so. When it was complete, he took me there with a cloth
blindfold over my eyes. When he removed the blindfold, I saw it."
The old woman took a step back from Eddie. She looked at him
curiously, as if she were disappointed.
"The entrance?" she said. "Don't you remember? Didn't you ever
wonder about the name? Where you worked? Where your father
worked?"
She touched her chest softly with her white-gloved fingers. Then she
dipped, as if formally introducing herself.
"I," she said, "am Ruby."Today Is Eddie's Birthday
He is 33. He wakes with a jolt, gasping for breath. His thick, black
hair is matted with sweat. He blinks hard against the darkness, trying
desperately to focus on his arm, his knuckles, anything to know that he
is here, in the apartment over the bakery, and not back in the war, in
the village, in the fire. That dream. Will it ever stop?
It is just before 4 A.M. No point in going back to sleep. He waits until
his breathing subsides, then slowly rolls off the bed, trying not to wake
his wife. He puts his right leg down first, out of habit, avoiding the
inevitable stiffness of his left. Eddie begins every morning the same
way. One step and one hobble.
In the bathroom, he checks his bloodshot eyes and splashes water on
his face. It is always the same dream: Eddie wandering through the
flames in the Philippines on his last night of war. The village huts are
engulfed in fire, and there is a constant, high-pitched squealing noise.
Something invisible hits Eddie's legs and he swats at it but misses, and
then swats again and misses again. The flames grow more intense,
roaring like an engine, and then Smitty appears, yelling for Eddie,
yelling, "Come on! Come on!" Eddie tries to speak but when he opens