The Sunflower: A Novel by Richard Paul Evans Page A

said.
    “Good. Because we’ve got a lot to do.”
    Jessica picked up another roller, then climbed back up the scaffolding. Pablo settled next to Christine to work. After a few minutes Christine said, “Tell us about yourself, Pablo.”
    “What do you want to know?”
    “Tell us about your life.”
    His brow furrowed. “My life is very tragical.”
    “Tragical?”
    He nodded. “Very.”
    “Don’t you mean ‘tragic’?” Jessica said.
    He shook his head. “No, tragical.”
    “Why is it tragical?” Christine asked.
    “You’re going to make me talk about it?”
    Christine smiled. “You don’t have to talk about it. We’ll talk about something happy. Tomorrow’s your birthday?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’ll be eight?”
    “Yes. We’re having a party. A big one. We made a piñata.”
    “Sounds fun. Can I come?”
    “You’ll have to ask Dr. Cook. He’s the boss.”
    “We’ll get you a birthday present anyway,” Christine said.
    “Thanks.”
    “How long have you lived here?” Jessica asked.
    “Long, long time.”
    This sounded funny coming from an almost-eight-year-old boy. “Where are you from?” Christine asked.
    At this he hesitated. “I don’t know.” He looked down and went back to his painting.

    They had nearly completed the third wall when they heard the clang of a bell.
    “Time for lunch,” Pablo said, and he immediately set his roller on the ground and ran out of the room.
    Christine smiled. “Guess he was hungry.” She went to the door and looked out. Their group had returned to the courtyard. They were standing in small lines to pick up their box lunches or already seated to eat.
    They poured the paint from the trays back into the can, sealed it then went out. On one side of the courtyard a water fight raged between the high school students, who were filling buckets from a hand pump and dousing each other. The Peruvian workers watched in amusement.
    Jessica got two box lunches while Christine went for their drinks. They sat down together on the stone wall next to the fountain where Pablo and several of the Peruvians had gathered.
    “Thanks for your help, Pablo,” Christine said.
    “It’s nothing.”
    The sun was high in the sky and Jessica leaned back to take it in. “Isn’t this weather incredible?”
    “Everyone will think we’ve been hitting the tanning beds,” Christine said. She looked down at the box lunch. “So what’s for almuerzo?”
    “Huh?”
    “Lunch,” Christine said.
    Jessica rooted through her box. “A hard yellow roll with a fatty piece of ham and a slab of yellow cheese. A banana. Sweet-potato chips. A piece of chocolate. We’re definitely losing weight. What are we drinking?”
    “Strawberry yogurt,” Christine said, handing her a small carton.
    Jim stopped by. “How’s the painting going, ladies?”
    “You should come see for yourself,” Jessica said. She un-peeled a banana, then pulled at its strings. “How about you guys?”
    “We’re making progress. It’s definitely a three-day job.”
    “Come eat with us,” Christine said.
    “Thanks, but the driver just told me he’s having trouble with the bus, so I better take care of that.”
    “Yeah, we’d like to go home tonight,” Jessica said.
    “I’ll get you home.” He turned to Pablo, who was sitting quietly eating his sandwich. “Hey, Pablo. Staying out of trouble?”
    “No.”
    “He’s been helping us,” Christine said.
    “Pablo always helps. He’s a good worker.”
    “Thanks,” Pablo said.
    “I better run. Chao,” Jim said as he walked off.
    One of the Peruvian men sitting near them had a bright yellow and red macaw sitting on his shoulder. It would occasionally squawk, and the man would hand it a piece of bread. The bird would take the morsel in its talon, lift it to its beak, then throw its head back and eat.
    “That is such a pretty bird,” Christine said. “Look at its feathers.” She reached out to touch it. “Hello, pretty girl. Hello, pretty