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“Careful it doesn’t give you the runs,” Jenou says pointlessly since there is no chance of the child understanding

A wo in Italian, obviously scolding her children, waving at theet back in the house The house, in truth, is little more than a pile of mismatched stones, shabbier and less likely to be per Rio has ever seen There are no s, just a low, crooked door and a roof of cracked tiles patched with tied bundles of straw

The children ignore their rin from her Her face is brown and deeply lined, her eyes dark with a thousand years of Sicilian suspicion

“Keep es his troops “This war ain’t over just yet”

They , and the children follow for a few dozen yards until drawn back to their mother

They are in a sunbaked land of small farm fields, stone fences, donkey-drawn carts, scrawny cattle, and mostly dirt tracks rather than roads Trees are few and far between, but prickly pear stands are everywhere, with large, flat ovals like beaver tails festooned with two kinds of needles

Tilo cuts one with his knife and gingerly picks it up, careful to avoid the obvious pricks But the large needles are not the problem

“Ah! Damn! Ow!”

Hansu Pang says, “You got to watch the little hairlike prickles They go right into skin and it’s hell getting rid of them”

“Got a lot of them prickly pears in Japan, do you?” Geer asks

“No, but they grow around the internrandparents are” He says it without rancor, but it irritates Rio anyway, because she expects an argument to break out and she’s instinctively unhappy about any unnecessary noise Sure enough

“How the hell are your grandparents locked up and you’re in the army?” Geer demands

“I’ve been living in Hawaii, where people understand that we aren’t Japanese but Aer peeks out for just a flash before being s interned, not Hawaii”

“Japs are Japs,” Geer says with a shrug

“Thanks for savingyou”