If I try very hard and think once upon a time,
I think maybe I can find that young woman in her face.
I imagine a time when the barn didn’t sag
and the cattle were many and strong
and hope grew fast
as flowers in good earth.
I imagine Lou saying good-bye soon to this place
that has been her home for so long,
to live in a world with no snow and no cows.
Lou pulls down another picture.
This is my sister, the one in L.A., she says.
She has a little yard.
I suppose I could plant some
vegetables there. You can grow things year round.
She stares at the picture.
Imagine that.
I spot a tiny seed of something fine sprouting
in Lou’s eyes.
My heart is glad to see it.
I remember my aunt’s words:
Kek finds sun when the sky is dark.
That was easy to do when I was a child
in my life before.
It’s not so easy when the clouds are low and black.
I wonder if finding the sun is one way to be a man.
I drink my milk.
The clock ticks.
Ganwar and Lou are watching me.
I know it would be better to wait for Mama here,
I say at last.
Lou and Ganwar nod.
They don’t say anything.
I guess I could come back to work
until you have to leave, I add.
That would be great, Lou says.
I know Gol would like that.
She could use more attention,
Ganwar says.
That cow does love a good ear scratch,
Lou agrees.
She’s good for petting, I say.
And leaning on, Ganwar adds.
She’s a very unusual cow, Lou says.
Another idea comes into my head
like a new friend knocking at the door.
Sometimes I very much like my brain, I say.
What do you mean? Ganwar asks.
I smile. I think maybe I just found
some sun for Gol.
PART FOUR
When spider webs unite, they can tie up a lion.
—AFRICAN PROVERB
HERDING
When Saturday comes,
Lou is waiting for
Ganwar and Hannah and me
in the barn.
She sips at her coffee mug.
I just wish my trailer hitch
hadn’t rusted out, she says.
We’ll be fine, I tell her.
Hannah is wearing her school backpack.
I brought a map in case we get lost, she says.
And some candy bars and water.
It’s a long way, Lou says in a worried voice.
There’s a lot of traffic.
She shakes her head.
I probably shouldn’t be letting you do this.
You probably don’t have a choice,
Ganwar says with a laugh.
Maybe I should call ahead
and explain things? Lou asks.
Sometimes it’s better
just to walk up to the door
and ask, I say.
Lou grins. All right, then.
Let’s get this show on the road.
She gives Gol a kiss.
See ya, girl.
It’s been a good ride.
I take Gol’s halter
and off we go.
The sun is a steady hand on our shoulders.
We walk along the side of the busy road
for many steps.
Gol and me,
then Hannah behind us,
then Ganwar.
When cars race by,
they suck the air away.
A huge truck grumbles past.
Gol doesn’t like the whoosh and roar.
She stops hard
and refuses to go on.
I pull.
She pulls back.
She hates
being so close to the traffic, I say.
I pat Gol and talk to her
and after a while she
agrees to move on.
Good girl, I say, relieved.
But up ahead I see trouble is waiting.
TRAFFIC JAM
We reach a crossing of two huge roads.
Many lights hang from wires.
Cars come and go
like frantic ants.
Don’t worry, Ganwar says.
I’ll tell you when it’s safe.
He turns to Hannah.
You sure this is the right way?
Pretty sure, she answers.
Ganwar watches the lights,
then steps into the road.
A blue car zooms toward him,
horn blaring.
He leaps back.
We wait a while longer,
then Ganwar dives back into the traffic.
Come on. He waves his hand.
And hurry!
We cross three lanes of cars
and come to a thin strip of land
covered with grass and tiny purple flowers.
We’ve still got three more lanes, Ganwar says.
But Gol has decided
the purple flowers are a tasty treat.
She grazes happily
while I yank on her harness.
Hannah pushes Gol’s rump.
Come on, girl! Ganwar cries.
The light turns yellow.
Hurry! Hannah yells.
Gol glances up
to see what all the noise is about.
She chomps down one last bite.
Then she ambles out into the road.
The light turns red.
We are in the middle of a sea of cars.
Honking and shouting hurts our ears.
Gol looks at me
as if to say,
Why is everyone in such a hurry?
I pull, Hannah and Ganwar push.
And nobody moves.
Gol has come to a stop,
and so has all the traffic.
COPS
We are surrounded by cars,
but no one is moving.
It looks like the parking lot at the mall.
Only everyone is grouchy.
If you don’t get that cow off the road,
she’s gonna be lunch meat, kid! a man screams.
Look, Mommy!
A little girl points out her window.
Is this a parade?
Heading slowly toward us
I see bright lights of red, white and blue.
Great, Ganwar mutters.
Cops.
The car with lights gets stuck in traffic, too.
A woman and a man in blue soldier clothes
make their way through the knot of cars.
They have guns on their hips.
What’s going on here, kids?
the policewoman asks.
My cow won’t move, I explain.
It’s hard to take my eyes off
her gun.
Some reason your cow is in the
middle of six lanes of traffic
on a busy Saturday? the policeman asks.
We’re going to the zoo, Hannah says.
Ganwar covers his eyes and groans.
The police people can’t decide
whether to smile or frown.
Their mouths are all mixed up.
You taking her to see the animals
or be one of the animals?
the woman asks.
Hannah clears her throat.
Um, she’s going to be
a new exhibit.
Who’s going to pay to see this
bag of bones? the man asks.
She’s going to be in the petting zoo,
I explain. She likes to have her e
ars scratched.
Go on. Try it.
Not me. The policeman holds up his hands.
I wanna get close to one of these,
I’ll get a Value Meal with fries.
The policewoman holds out her hand and
reaches for Gol’s ear.
Gol leans into her.
She likes me, the woman says.
Horns blare.
Uh, Nora, we got to focus here,
the policeman says.
She might move now,
I say. We’ll push, and maybe
you can pull.
This is definitely not part of my
job description, the man mutters.
We get into position.
One, two, three!
Ganwar cries. Move!
Gol looks behind her.
She’s pouting a little.
She can see she is surrounded.
Slowly she inches forward.
Bit by bit,
we cross the rest of the road.
Cars begin to move again.
Some people who drive by
use words I haven’t learned
in ESL class yet.
It’s very dangerous for you kids
to be doing this, the woman says
when we reach the other side.
Why isn’t she in a trailer or something?
Who owns this cow, anyway?
Lou gave me custard, I say proudly.
The police just stare.
Custody, I correct myself.
I pull out the piece of paper
Lou gave me.
The man examines the paper.
He sighs. Well, it’s just a few more miles up the road.
I suppose we could give you an escort.
I don’t know what this is,
but I can tell that Hannah is excited.
Would you keep your lights on? she asks.
Lights, but no siren, the woman agrees.
We begin our slow, strange herding down the
edge of the highway,
followed by the police car.
The red, white and blue lights
remind me of the America flag.
I feel like the President.
If only Lual could be here,
I say to Ganwar,
and we laugh a good, long laugh.
ZOO
The zoo workers are a little surprised
to see one cow, three kids and a police car
show up at the ticket booth.
They call their bosses
and say come quick.
The zoo bosses are even more surprised
when I tell them Lou and I
are donating Gol
to the petting zoo.
Just try scratching her ear, I say.
She loves it, adds the policewoman.
The main zoo boss is
tall and thin and has
a shiny head like an apple
at the grocery store.
He reaches out for Gol’s right ear.
Gol makes her happy cow face.
Her eyes are faraway and full of peaceful thoughts.
You are a charmer, aren’t you, old girl?
says the man.
The petting zoo needs a cow, Hannah points out.
And she is free, Ganwar adds.
The owner is donating her,
even though she could sell her
and make a fine profit.
Everyone looks at Ganwar.
He shrugs. Figured it was worth a try, he says.
This is a very kind offer,
says another zoo boss man.
but this isn’t how we do things usually, kids.
There are meetings, and requisition forms,
and veterinary exams—
Gol rests her head on the
shoulder of the apple-head zoo boss.
I can see that she is very tired from
her adventure today.
She’s awfully affectionate, Harold,
the man says. And they make a point.
We are in need of a cow.
I was hoping for one a little less …
geriatric, Harold replies.
Gol blinks her long-lashed eyes
and Harold smiles.
Oh, what the heck, he says,
and once again I see that
heck is a very good word.
Why don’t we send her over to the clinic
and have her checked out?
If she’s clean and in decent health …
well, she does kind of grow on you.
Ganwar leans close to me.
You amaze me, cousin.
Hannah kisses Gol
and Ganwar pats her flank
and I stroke her neck
and whisper in her ear
and then off she goes
to her new land
to begin again.
The police drive us home in their car.
They keep the lights on
and even play the siren once.
What did you whisper to Gol?
Hannah asks when we return to Lou’s.
I grin.
I told her if she can moo,
she can sing.
EPILOGUE
FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER
A sandstorm passes; the stars remain.
—AFRICAN PROVERB
HOMECOMING
The airplanes float in
one by one
but each one is the wrong one
and we wait
and wait
and wait some more.
Ganwar and his new girlfriend
and Dave and my aunt
sit on the plastic chairs
and talk.
Hannah stands beside me
as we stare out the wall of glass.
We know enough to be quiet.
In the pocket of Hannah’s jeans
I see part of a white envelope
covered in curly blue letters.
I smile.
Hannah carries it with her everywhere.
I know how that is.
It’s fall,
and the trees are wearing red and orange coats
to fight the icy nights.
I think about the trees, the flowers,
the brown grass in the fields.
They can all be patient,
certain that spring will return.
They don’t have to hope.
They can be sure.
Hope is a thing made only for people,
a scrap to hold onto
in darkness and in light.
But hope is hard work.
When I was a child, I hoped to fly.
That was a silly, easy wish.
Now my wishes are bigger,
the hopes of a man,
and they take much tending,
like seedlings in rough sun.
Now I hope to make my new life work,
to root to this good, hard land
forever.
At last the time comes
and the door opens
and people pour out
but no one
is the right one.
The sun streams through the glass window.
red and gold with the day’s last sighs,
so bright I have to shade my eyes.
One more person comes out,
slow and searching.
I see other colors, too, then,
blue and yellow,
not the colors of the setting sun,
but a flash of something torn from my past.
A voice comes,
a voice like laughing water
on my thirsty heart:
My son!
and Mama embraces me
like we’re saying good-bye
instead of hello
and around her neck is a scarf
made of the softest fabric
of blue and yellow.
&
nbsp; I can’t find words.
There are no words, not in my old language,
not in my new one.
We walk together
like one person,
her arm tight around my shoulders,
and the air is wild with talking and
laughter and questions,
so many questions,
but I don’t speak.
We reach the silver escalator
with its melting stairs.
Mama freezes.
People grumble
and step around her.
I take a breath,
I take a step,
I hold out my hand.
She watches me rise,
she takes my hand
and at last
the right words come.
Mama, I say,
welcome home.
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HOME OF THE BRAVE. Copyright © 2007 by Katherine Applegate. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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First eBook edition: November 2014
Katherine Applegate, Home of the Brave
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