Girl in Landscape by Jonathan Lethem Read Free Book Online Page A

coffee drinkers were three rocking chairs.
    As the six of them came clumping in from the porch, Pella caught sight of a pair of household deer skittering out of sight behind the counter.
    “Look,” said Bruce, pointing to a shelf loaded with packages, foil- and plastic-wrapped goods imprinted with advertising logos. “My mother bakes this bread, see?” Now Pella saw the dusty loaves, more plainly wrapped in transparent plastic. “She trades it to Wa, and he sells it out of the shop.”
    “But we get it free at home,” added Martha.
    Pella had a sudden pang of hunger. For bread, for mother.
    E. G. Wa came out of the back. He was tall, and his smile had a permanent, mummified look. He angled his spindly body over the counter and surveyed the group of children. After a moment he took the toothpick out of his mouth and said, “These the new kids, Brucey?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Got stuff for me already?”
    “Yeah.” Bruce lumped his armload of potatoes onto the counter, then helped the others do the same, except for Raymond, and Morris, who managed alone.
    E. G. Wa pointed his toothpick at the potato Raymond held. “That a fish?”
    “Yeah, we’re keeping it,” said Bruce.
    “Give a quarter for that one.”
    “Nope.”
    “Ha-ha. You bargaining, young Mr. Kincaid?”
    “No, we want it.”
    Martha whispered, too loud, to Pella, “He makes soup of it. It’s yucky.”
    “Okay,” said E. G. Wa, “fifteen, thirty, forty-five—you got seventy cents here.”
    “Morris’s are separate,” said Bruce, with sardonic emphasis.
    “Fifty-five and fifteen, then,” said E. G. Wa. “Dollar seventy-five for you with what you had before, Brucey.”
    “Give me a package of those cookies,” said Bruce, pointing.
    “Yes, sir! Earth imports. Good deal trading Archbuilder crap for nice Earth stuff, eh? Only problem is the Archbuilder emigration tax—that’s fifteen cents per new kid in town, comes to, uh—”
    “Cut it out,” said Bruce. He rapped his knuckles against the counter directly over the cookies. “He’s just making that stuff up,” he said to Pella and Raymond. “There’s no such thing as Archbuilder tax.”
    “Hah.” E. G. Wa gestured honorifically with toothpick in hand, then pulled out the package of cookies. “Very good, Mr. Kincaid. And what’s the names of you new kids?”
    “Pella Marsh,” said Pella, just as Raymond said, “Raymond.” E. G. Wa nodded, though it seemed unlikely he had made them out. And then Pella added, “And David.”
    They went out and sat on the porch, Raymond with the fish potato resting in his lap. Bruce crinkled open the cookies and handed them out, two to each, except to Morris.
    “Hey,” said Morris.
    “It was your idea to keep yours separate,” said Bruce.
    “Fifteen cents isn’t enough to buy anything.”
    “It was your idea.”
    “You can build up credit,” said Martha consolingly. “Like Bruce did.”
    “Yeah, but make sure Wa writes your fifteen cents down,” said Bruce. “He’ll forget it.”
    “He didn’t forget yours.”
    “Well I’m in there all the time.” Bruce said this through a mouthful of cookies. Morris glared resentfully.
    Pella gave Morris one of her cookies. He didn’t thank her, just wolfed it down, then scooped up somerocks to throw from the porch into the gully. After a minute he said, “Potatoes growing out everywhere, I don’t even get why he gives you any credit at all.”
    “It’s work digging them up, something you wouldn’t know about,” said Bruce. “Worth a nickel to him. That’s the reason.”
    Pella thought she knew a better reason, having to do with the full pot of coffee and the empty rocking chairs.
    “Fish, fish, fish,” said Martha softly.
    “Okay,” said Bruce, exasperated. “Let’s go. We’ll do it at your house,” he said to Pella and Raymond. “You can keep them.”
    “Keep them?”
    “You’ll see.”
    Clement wasn’t there when they went in. Bruce rummaged confidently through the