Free Thirty Girls by Susan Minot Page A

They’d just returned from a trip vaccinating livestock before they were to leave again. In his absence, her thoughts of him were more vivid. He was young. He was quite young. She kept thinking of him being young. She remembered how easy it had been at that age to take up with a person. It happened all the time—new people came, you were with them. When they were gone, more new people would come. When she looked at it from that point of view she saw they were no big deal. She thought she’d try to adopt that viewpoint. Adopting other people’s viewpoints, you could convince yourself you were being empathetic—never mind you were ignoring your self.
    More people arrived and the dancing grew wilder. One man took off his shirt and was rolling around on the lawn, a dog barking at him hysterically. In between songs you heard the high squawk of an animal, the hyrax who lived and shat on the roof.
    Monday morning, readying for departure at last, Jane sat on a bed piled with linen pillows and watched Lana pack. Lana was tall but seemed larger than a normal tall person. She surveyed her room, eyes narrowed, hands on leather shorts. She was accustomed to packing and moving her caravan, but not having to restrain herself in volume. The room was as full as a bazaar, and indeed she had either bought or sold most of the things in it: piles of vintage fabric, leather-trimmed suitcases, necklaces draped on rusted hooks. She picked up an ancient wicker picnic basket with cylindrical holders for wine bottles.
    This we take, she said. She opened the lid to show Jane the relics of the 1920s inside—tin plates with embossed leaves, miniature glass salt bottles fitting in felt holders, a silver-rimmed martini shaker.
    What else? she said to herself. The tucks on either side of her mouthdeepened in concentration. She strode across the room. Unlike some tall people who try to shrink themselves smaller, Lana strode with the confidence of a giant, jangling when she moved. She hoisted a trunk from behind a stand overloaded with brimmed hats and oilskin jackets and fished out a stack of brand new T-shirts. These we bring for the children, she said, and stuffed them in a canvas bag decorated with beadwork, another one of her ventures.
    Jane told Harry that Don was coming with them, too. He shrugged. It struck Jane how lightly people here held on to agendas. She was used to a world of people wielding control in order to have things run smoothly which, she noticed, often caused more tension than peace.
    Maybe he’ll learn something, Harry said. From Lana.
    Jane thought of what Harry had learned from Lana. To fill out the thought, she said, She’s an expansive—Jane was going to say
soul
but thought it sounded pretentious—spirit.
    You mean she sleeps with everyone? Harry did not say it unkindly.
    No, I—
    Well, she does. He paused then added, Me among them, you know.
    Yes, Lana did say … Jane waited for him to elaborate. It seemed that many people here had, if they’d been here long enough, slept with many other people.
    Lana’s got a lot to give, he said.
    It was a surprise to Jane when someone was not cynical in the least.
    Lana was now examining a pair of breakable crimson Moroccan glasses with gold designs. She shook her head and returned them to their hammered brass tray. She found a stack of tin Mexican cups pressed in the shape of bells. Yes, she said, these we can use. It was hard to say which gave her more pleasure—having the things herself, or the thought of offering them to someone else.
    When they left Nairobi at last, they got caught in the afternoon traffic. Though if they’d left in the morning it would have been the morning traffic, or in the evening, the evening. There was always traffic aroundNairobi, except for late at night when all the cars disappeared and there was no one at all.
    Harry drove with Jane beside him. Her body now felt linked to his, and with it came the certainty that his person inside was good and