Dreams of the Red Phoenix by Virginia Pye Page B

to have no substance to it at all, and he hoped he didn’t squeeze too hard. When they let go, she sat down quickly, and he turned away fast.
    â€œAlso, I’ll bring something to fix the chimney,” he shouted over his shoulder as he started down the alley. “It really shouldn’t smoke up the room like that. That’s not right.”
    â€œYes,” she said, “not right,” though when he glanced back, she was smiling.

Eight
    C harles didn’t rush on his way home, and when he emerged from the alley, he saw that the central courtyard remained as crowded as when he had left. He wasn’t sure what he had hoped for—perhaps that the Chinese would have all gone back to wher ever it was they had come from. It was only the end of the first day since their arrival, and he felt worn out with them already. Charles could hear his father whispering a stern reminder to not be selfish—to think of others, not only himself.
    Someone bumped his shoulder, and he stumbled over a stack of straw suitcases held together with a cracked leather belt. More Chinese pushed past, and Charles ducked under the branches of his favorite cherry tree. He reached to grasp the black, slick limbs that he had climbed when he was small. Chinese of every sort surrounded him. Families mostly, with children stumbling along, as burdened as the elders, lugging their own things. The rise and fall of Chinese intonations washed over him in a hot tide, and the shade of the tree did little to cool him. Charles breathed through his mouth to avoid the stench that had started to rise in the courtyard, where latrines had not yet been set up.
    He felt certain that he had nothing in common with these des perately poor people who were now victims of war, and yet, as he looked around, he felt an affinity with them. They had all faced their own personal tragedies to arrive here. The Chinese before him huddled so close that their bowed heads practically touched. Charles realized that he and his mother, in the wake of their fam ily’s great loss, had lost track of one another. He wanted to be more like these Chinese, he thought, and set off to tell her so.
    Charles pushed away from the cherry tree, stepped over and around more people, and went up his porch steps. He slipped into his home, apologizing to those who pressed to follow him inside. He shut the heavy carved door, rested his back against it, and shut his eyes.
    A moment later, a woman’s voice said, “Had a long day, hon ey?” His mother’s friend, Miss James, leaned against the wall be side him. “You always wanted more to happen around here,” she said. “Now you’ve got it.”
    He tried to smile.
    â€œI’m sorry your dad’s not with us anymore. He’d know how to handle this.”
    Charles looked down at his shoes, covered in yellow sum mertime dust. He’d forgotten to stomp his feet before entering. He’d probably forgotten a lot of other normal things, too, because nothing was normal anymore. He wished people wouldn’t men tion his father so often.
    â€œYour mother’s going to be real busy from now on.” Miss James nodded toward the dining room, where his mother was instructing several Chinese men on where to place some cots. “If you need anything, kid, you ask me, okay? The single ladies’ dorm isn’t nearly so overrun as your place. We have a few empty bedrooms with perfectly decent beds. You come over anytime, and I’ll sneak you in. This house is going to be crazy now that it’s a medical clinic.”
    â€œA medical clinic?”
    â€œShe says they enlisted her, though I can tell that she loves it. You know how she likes to be in charge.”
    Miss James seemed to be trying to get a rise out of him, but he wasn’t sure why. She always acted as if they were in cahoots, though Charles never knew about what. He supposed it was just her way of showing that she thought