Lighthouse Island Read Online Free Page B

Thin Sam rooted around in his basket and came up with more foils and handed them to her. And you will see other girls who have parents and good lives, and when you find yourself getting angry, getting envious, say to yourself, Stop, stop. It’s a waste of mind. Okay?
    Yep, said Nadia. Will do.
    From the alcove of the doorway to the Riverdale Apartments they could see down the street where it fell away into the great, broad valley covered in the parquetry of hundreds of thousands of buildings, the city without end. It fell into a haze in the remote distance, a fog caused by the heat inside millions of trashy little apartments. Many blocks were painted with portraits of agency heads several stories high with windows for eyes so it appeared that people lived inside all-seeing brains. Nadia heard the engine of a hang glider carrying a day-flight watchman in thick goggles, spying out trouble, especially young lovers who whispered on rooftops, wanting to be alone.
    Sand and dust rose up out of the canyon streets in cold coils. It grew dark and the streets were emptied. Here and there someone walked home late with a pierced tin candle-lantern but most people were inside cooking dinner and watching the advertisements for vacation spots. Not that any of them would ever have enough work credits.
    You’ll never get there, he said. To Lighthouse Island.
    Hey, why not? She shoved her auburn hair back from her face and reached for another foil. Her breath smoked from her nose.
    You’ll meet some guy. He’ll say he loves you and that’ll be the end of it.
    I’ll make you a bet, she said. She was suddenly furious. I’ll bet you anything you want to bet.
    Nah. If you ever ran away you wouldn’t even know where to go. You wouldn’t know to go north and find the old Ritz-Carlton building. You’re going to take up with the first guy that pays any attention to you. That’s because you’re an orphan. It’s the way of the world with orphans.
    Nadia bit her lower lip against the feeling of weeping that crept up her neck and jaw. She was once again dressed in an oversized coat and dress, shoes like wastebaskets, clothing issued for someone her age by mechanical and repeated deliveries every year regardless of her actual size.
    Run away? she cried. What do you mean, run away? The way of the world with orphans, oh ha ha.
    Just remember what I said. Remember every word.
    She crinkled up the foil strips and wiped her nose on her sleeve and felt as if her heart were breaking and from the breakage tears were going to spill out in an extravagant, dehydrating stream because Thin Sam Kenobi sounded like the voice of God. He was wise and old and knew everything. He used tools and made things and he had an actual homemade radio that sometimes worked. It broadcast a voice reading from antique books and poetry and also classical music. There it was now; So then, they know it and we know it; the time has come for the kingdom of dreams to go on the offensive.
    Listen, he said. It’s Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky. Memories of the Future . It’s into the Russians now.
    I don’t understand any of it. She wiped quickly at her gray-green eyes.
    It’s too old for you.
    Where does it come from?
    From an old satellite, suspended up there, twenty thousand miles overhead.
    Jeez, fascinating. She blinked back tears. Thin Sam Kenobi had made a definitive pronouncement on Nadia’s life and against this declaration she had no appeal.
    He reached behind the bench into the paper sack of foils and brought out a quart bottle of water. It was partly frozen and wrapped in a woven koozie, strips of bright rags.
    Here.
    Thank you.
    Not a problem. Don’t ask where I got it.
    Very well.
    Very well. He imitated her stiff, choked voice. That’s so you can cry. You need more water than you’re getting. A young girl shouldn’t end up wrinkled like an old woman. You should be able to cry any time you want.
    His