Douse (Book One: At the Edge of a Hurricane) by June Hydra Read Free Book Online Page A

No
hurt.
    I
guess that’s why ultimately I put up with Piranha and Caddy.
They’re not perfect people, but they’re my people. They’re
predictable every morning, afternoon, and night. You know how they’ll be
and what they’ll say. They are the constants in the equation. It’s
me who’s the variable.
    “Don’t
mention the war either.” Caddy turns into the university’s parking
lot. I pick out the black girls from the crowd and hone in on which might be
the Angolan duo. Caddy kills the engine and swings his backpack on his
shoulder. He points at the window shield, hovering his finger over two white
girls.
    “Them?”
    “They’re
Portuguese-Angolan. Fled before the country’s civil war, came back,
family still had leftover wealth in Portugal, took advantage of bad economy in
their ‘old country’, now they’re rich again sending their
kids abroad. Likely story for the Chinese you’ll meet later this
week.” He unlocks our doors and we step out onto the pavement. As we
approach the girls, Caddy hands me their dossiers, and I sift through the
general histories of who they are, goals, and transaction deals.
    “Play
nice,” Caddy says, “I’ve got to meet with this dude from South Africa and then head to my intern class.”
    “Just
don’t send me a billion texts. Please.”
    Caddy
shrugs and marches off, but not before introducing me to the girls. We exchange
pleasantries, though the only thing I can focus on is the fact that this is
what I’m doing as a post-graduate. Acting on behalf of those who are lazy
or dishonest.
    But
then it’s not true. They could have their gray reasons as well.
    Perhaps
they have…clinical depression and can’t do their work properly and
are too shy to go to their professors?
    “There’s
a nice table we can sit at,” I say as we walk. “Can you repeat your
names again? They’re really beautiful the way you say them.”
    “Carmella,”
the girl in beige pumps says. “Maria,” the other in a blue blouse
adds.
    “Carmella
and Maria. Are you sisters?”
    They
nod, heels clicking.
    “How
do you like the States so far?”
    “Excuse
me?” Carmella says.
    “How
do you like the United States so far?”
    “Lovely,”
she says, “very lovely. Friendly people everywhere, the streets very
clean. I’m enjoying stay here so far.”
    “Yeah,”
Maria says, “nothing bad here.”
    How
Piranha would adore these two, if only to torture them over how to correctly
speak American English.. Sometimes I think I should bring her along for business
deals, considering internationals probably won’t slander the U.S. in public.
    We
sit down at a concrete table near the school’s library. I lie all the
necessary papers out in front of us, making sure they understand what’s
requested of them up front. A deposit worth fifty bucks each.
    “These
papers are too difficult,” Carmella says. “I would do but no time
with my physics classes. I want to do physics not English, you know?”
    “Yeah,”
Maria says, “this I don’t get either.”
    They
slouch in their chairs, exchanging glances between themselves occasionally. I
ignore them for the most part, but Carmella in particular stares at my face.
    “Accident,”
I say. “How do you say that in Portuguese?”
    “ Acidente ,”
they say together. I lift my head up from the paperwork and make them say it
again.
    “That’s
a beautiful language, I have to say.”
    “Thank
you,” Carmella says. “Sorry for watching you.”
    “No,
lots of people do. I’m okay with the questions.”
    “You’re
beautiful even with scar,” she says, “I guess I stare more because
I have friend like you in Angola. War girl from satellite town. Big deep one
across her back and neck. But all the men love her.”
    I
sort of resent that the beauty of a woman is still reliant on physicality. As
if that’s what humans have to offer. But then I’m culpable too,
being attracted to men like Bishop by virtue of his muscles first and not by
the size