mustn’t’ve ordered much hooch.”
“Shit, Leonard. I only got one fucking bottle left at home.”
“I got less’n that.”
“Shit. You really sure there’s none left?”
“You ever have the flu?”
“Yeah, when I was ten. Kept me in bed more ‘n a month.”
“Damn. It killed all four of my grandparents in the same winter.”
“Kills everybody’s grandparents, if they’re lucky. Better’n wasting away slow with something else.”
“Don’t think flu is lucky.”
“How do you think that girl a yours in Timber Falls is doing?”
“Wasn’t sick last time I saw her. But some of her friends were.”
“Sure she’ll be fine.”
“You’re a lucky man, with your girl already here in town. This quarantine lasts much longer, I’m gonna go outta my goddamn head.”
“Can’t last much longer.”
“What the hell kind of man does this make me look like to her, hiding away because I’m scared of getting sick?”
“Don’t worry about that. She ain’t thinking down on you—she’s probably worried enough trying to stay healthy herself.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“Sorry … She’ll be fine.”
“Yeah … I get tired of waiting sometimes, you know?”
“I heard someone say it came in a black cloud over the Atlantic,” Laura said as she and Philip ate some of the cake she’d made. It was the evening after Philip’s visit to Graham and Amelia.
“A black cloud?”
“Like a mustard gas cloud, only dark. Something the Germans released from a battleship, and the wind brought it to Boston. That’s why it started there.”
“Do you really think the Germans made it?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Why not?”
“Then wouldn’t they all be sick, too?”
Laura shrugged. “Maybe they don’t get the flu.”
“Then I guess Elsie’s family has nothing to worry about.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just mean they’re German.”
“But they’re American now, Philip.” She paused. “You sure do bring her up a lot.”
That shut him up for a moment.
“Maybe it wasn’t from Germany,” she said. “I don’t know. It’s an idea, is all.”
Two weeks ago, just before the quarantine, they had journeyed to Timber Falls to see a moving picture at the new theater. Philip had been only a handful of times, and already he was anxious to get back to the theater and see whatever was playing. He loved the feel of the place, the plush carpets up the aisles and the sleepy usher not much older than he, wearing the funny hat and tearing their tickets as they walked in. The picture they had seen, The Phantom Operative, had been about the war, in a way. There were no soldiers in it, but plenty of spies: the plot centered on two American businessmen who had developed a secret serum that could counteract any disease within two hours of the patient’s ingesting it. But it turned out German operatives had developed the exact opposite—an odorless, colorless poison that could kill anyone who even came too close to it. The Germans had some crazy scheme to put the poison on the feet of houseflies and send the flies to the American heartland, where they would multiply and spread their lethal freight.
When the reels were changed, there was a message on the screen asking everyone to stay in their seats; a representative of the government was going to deliver an important message. Up on the stage jumped an older man, late forties or so, and before he even started, Philip realized he must be one of the so-called Four-Minute Men. The speaker looked snappy in his dark suit, and without introducing himself, he launched into his speech, starting out dark and sinister as he painted a picture of the Hun army and its senseless wrath. People say the war’s already swinging in our favor, he said, but that’s no reason for us to be letting our guard down. The German army is still a mighty force, and without all the efforts of the fine and hardworking American people, the Hun would have claimed Paris by now, would have pillaged all of France and would be aiming his Big Berthas at Big Ben.
Philip didn’t much mind these speeches, but he knew how Rebecca loathed them, so he viewed the man with a skeptical eye. Toward the end of the speech, the man reminded them of the importance of registration for all men between the ages of eighteen and forty-five, saying how it was a great honor to fight for their country and defend their women and children from the fierce Hun. Philip looked down at his missing foot, ashamed—even if the war continued until he turned eighteen, he would never be admitted. The Four-Minute Man closed by telling the crowd about the Fourth Liberty Loan and exhorted them to buy more Liberty Bonds, then walked off at a hurried pace, his footsteps chased by hearty applause.
Then the picture continued, and the virulent houseflies were let loose on the German operatives after a climactic fight scene, and all was right with the world.
“Where do you think the flu came from?” Laura asked Philip now. She almost never asked him questions like that, never wanted to defer to his opinion. Proud of her own intelligence and too acutely aware of the fact that he was older, she didn’t want him to start thinking that his age made him any brighter than she. It had stunned him a few months ago when she’d asked him to help her with some of the math problems, and soon they had developed a regular tutoring schedule. But for math only: it was understood that Laura was still smarter in other matters. Philip simply had the edge here thanks to his financial tutelage under Charles.
“I don’t know. Hadn’t really thought about it like that. It just is.”
“Have you ever had the flu?”
He thought. “Don’t think so. I was pretty healthy until the accident. My mom always said I had the constitution of a rhino.”
“A rhino?”
“I think she liked the way that sounded.”
“I think she was making fun of your nose.”
He touched his nose. “What?”
“I was kidding. Rhino.”
He smiled at her warily, hoping it really was a joke and that he hadn’t been walking around all this time, unbeknownst to himself, with a pointy nose. He couldn’t help looking at her nose more closely than usual, and at the rest of her face. This person is my sister now, he thought, yet we weren’t born of the same people. I don’t have her father’s nose, and she doesn’t have my mother’s eyes. Are related people more likely to catch the flu from each other? Would it come for both of us, or just one? How tightly connected are we? And I wish my hair was as blond as hers.
They sat there in silence, then Laura leaned forward a bit. She lowered her voice. “I wanted to ask you … if you would let me look at one of your books.”
“One of what books?” Philip too lowered his voice, though he wasn’t sure why.
“Your fighter-pilot books.”
A quizzical look. “I don’t have any fighter-pilot books.”
She rolled her eyes. “They’re in your closet. Under the box with your baseball glove.”
“…