He’deatlunchatnoonaroundthebigdiningtablewith
therestofthehouse.Intheafternoon,ifhedidn’thavea
cardgameorsomeotherplan,he’dusuallyread.Hehad
subscriptions to National Geographic and Newsweek.
And he still had his books. He’d finished a Robert
Ludlumthrillerrecently.Hewasstarting inon abook
about the defeat of the Spanish Armada.
Sometimes,hepulleduptohisDellcomputerandsurfed
YouTube videos. Iasked himwhich ones he liked to
watch. He gave me an example.
“Ihadn’tbeentoChinainmanyyears”—notsincethe
war—“soIsaid,letmegobacktothecityofChengdu,
whichhappenstobeoneoftheoldestcitiesintheworld,
goingbackthousandsofyears.Iwasstationednearthere.
SoIgotontothecomputer,andIpunchedin‘Chengdu.’
PrettysoonIwastrippingalloverthecity.Didyouknow
theyhavesynagoguesthere!Isaid‘Wow!’Theytellyou
there’s one over here, there’s one over there. I was
bouncingallovertheplace,”hesaid.“Thedaygoesbyso
fast. It goes by incredibly fast.”
Intheevening,afterdinner,helikedtoliedownonhis
bed,putonhisheadphones,andlistentomusicfromhis
computer. “I like that quiet time at night. You’d be
surprised. Everything is quiet. I put the easy listening
on.”He’dpullupPandoraandlistentosmoothjazzor
Benny Goodman or Spanish music—whatever he felt
like. “Then I lie back and think,” he said.
Onetime,visiting Lou,Iaskedhim,“Whatmakeslife
worth living to you?”
He paused before answering.