100 THIRII MYO KYAW MYINT Providence ast Bay Bike Path and the trees rise before us like a dark wave. Beyond them, there is the gazebo and the pale bodies of the vacationers ’ drowned children. The girl children we have named Veronica or Madeline. The boy children George or Richard. We park our bikes at the water’s edge and continue down the Path on foot. The night is balmy. The city sparkles in the distance and I can make out the power plant, the jewelry factories, and the strip clubs. We enter the line of trees. Our pockets are filled with bread to feed the dead children. Maya’s hair is pulled back from her temples and it falls to her shoulders in tight, dark curls. She is so beautiful it makes me sad. She look like a princess. The trees reach for our ankles as we walk because the forest is enchanted. I look up and see naked girls hanging by their hair from the highest branches. I recognize some of them. They came through the school where I teach. Some of the girls are still alive. The air is green and shiny inside the forest and I nearly trip on a creeping root. If I fall, the trees will hang me up too. I am more careful where I step. After some time, we reach the clearing, the gazebo, and the bridge to the vacationers’ house. The house is white, enormous. The moon is full. I dig my hands into my pockets for the bread and break off some pieces. Maya takes off her soft shoes and dips her toes in the water. In the moonlight, her skin is dark blue. She draws circles in the water with her toes and begins to talk of her cousin who killed himself, her white cousin, the son of her mother’s sister. He heard the voices of angels, Maya says. I toss pieces of bread into the water and watch them sink. I think I see the silver skin of the dead children beneath the water’s surface. When her cousin died, Maya says, they found his hoard of angels and demons. Little figurines that filled every drawer. He must have been collecting them for years. I sit down beside Maya on the bank and look at our reflection in the water. We sit close together. The water is very still. e 101 Maya hasn’t touched her bread at all, so I remark on this and she stops the story she was telling me of her cousin’s suicide. How he drowned himself in a frozen lake. She takes the bread out of her coat pocket and tosses the whole loaf into the water. We hear a loud splash. We wait to see if the children will wake up. The vacationers came late last spring when the city was in bloom, when the air was heavy with the scent of magnolia and wet earth. Spring is the most beautiful season in this city. The ice on the sidewalks melts in layers and for a few days I can see the colorful leaves from last fall encased under my feet. The vacationers’ house along the East Bay Bike Path is built like a castle. It stands on a rock in the water. The gazebo stands on a smaller rock closer to the path and between the house and the gazebo is a wooden bridge. The house is only accessible by boat. I imagine the vacationers built their house where they did because it is important to have privacy on a vacation, and also because they were afraid to die. There are parts of this city where people die every day. At the school where I teach remedial reading there is a poster on the front office door of all the children who have gone missing and are probably dead. Down the hall, there is another poster of all the local men who are convicted sex offenders. The staff is made to memorize the first poster, and the children the second. The East Bay Bike Path begins at India Point Park. Ships from the colonies once sailed to India from...
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