Sparta by Roxana Robinson Read Free Book Online Page A

Above them the sodium lights had turned the landscape dim and shadowy. Sounds seemed amplified: footsteps on the paved pathways, nearby voices.
    The skyline of cartoon figures was behind them, the first sharp thrill of the reunion was over. Tired mothers called to rebellious children, Come over here, I told you to stay next to me ; returning fathers were quick to back up their wives, Listen to your mother, you do what she tells you ; fathers were asking reluctant children for a kiss, Come on, now, sweetie, look at Daddy. Look at Daddy. Mothers were quick to back up their husbands, Honey, look at Daddy. Give Daddy a kiss.
    The parking lot was full. The cars were in neat rows, their smooth, rounded shapes gleaming under the arc lights. People moved among them, opening doors, setting off the little pinging bells. The lights made radiant tents of the interiors. Children were buckled, protesting, into car seats. Trunks were opened and shut. The men were dispersing, vanishing into the night. Conrad felt a zigzag of reflexive anxiety—but they’d been dismissed. Dispersal was correct. They were home now. Not in his care, not under his command.
    â€œWhere’d we leave the car?” Marshall stopped to scan the row. “Do you remember?”
    â€œAt the end of a row, near a trash basket,” Lydia said. “I dropped something in it. But I don’t remember which row.” They walked haphazardly toward the cars.
    â€œIt’s over to the right somewhere,” Marshall said.
    â€œI don’t even remember what it looks like,” Lydia said. “Is it red?”
    â€œSilver.” Marshall raised his arm, pointing the key toward the cars like a magic wand. He clicked forcefully. Nothing happened. He pointed in the opposite direction. “Go!” he commanded.
    Two rows away, a small black car chirped and blinked its lights.
    â€œThank you!” Marshall said. “I mean, it’s black.”
    His parents thought it was funny, their running dispute with technology. Conrad found it baffling. It was like arguing with language. Why not just use it?
    â€œHow did people find their cars before clickers?” Lydia asked.
    â€œThere were fewer people,” Marshall said, “fewer cars.”
    He unlocked the car, and Conrad threw his bag into the trunk and climbed in back. Lydia opened the front door, then shut it. She opened the back door.
    â€œI’m going to sit with you. I just want to be next to you for a while.”
    She climbed in beside him. The back was cramped, and they sat very close. Lydia turned to look at him. She said nothing, smiling a little. She shook her head, then looked away, her eyes glittering. He could feel her tenderness. Marshall looked at Conrad for a moment in the rearview mirror. He could feel their gratitude that he was back, their gratitude at the end of the fear they’d lived with: the car was thick with it. But there was nothing he could say about being alive. You were alive or you were not. It was too close for you to look at.
    The cars were all leaving, backing out carefully and getting in one another’s way, forming a glacially slow parade.
    â€œThis will take all night,” Marshall announced.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter.” Lydia smiled at Conrad, then looked away, out her own window.
    Marshall called back, “How was the flight home?”
    â€œGood,” said Conrad. “From Germany on, we flew chartered.”
    â€œNice,” Marshall said, nodding.
    Going over, on his first deployment, he’d flown cargo. They’d left San Diego in the middle of the night. He remembered lining up on the runway in the dark, the men humping their ponderous packs in silence. Above them towered the huge C-5, its dark outline barely visible against the night sky. There were no lights.
    Inside, the vast cargo bay was cavernous, smelling of oil and metal and canvas. Rows of Humvees, chained to the floor, gleamed faintly in the