“Look. Do you see the eagle, Marina?” “We got seats right behind home plate, five rows back. You could see the guys spit.” “Do you see it?” “How’d you score those?” “Oh, Jen’s got some clients. They’ve been real pains. I guess they wanted to make it up to her.” Marina is sitting in a comfortable chair on the patio with her daughter-in-law. She knows time has passed and those around her have continued on in this world without her, conversing and drinking. It is beautiful here. The sun is hanging just above the horizon, streaking the sky with long shreds of purple and orange, fringing the woods in velvety shadow. Behind her, music drifts out the open windows, and at regular intervals a tinny sequence of arcade bleeps and hoots announces that one of the kids has scored on the computer upstairs. Everyone is looking up, and Naureen points out to Marina a dark silhouette gliding on air currents, its wings spread like ragged fingers. “Aren’t birds wonderful?” Marina says.
What do You think about The Madonnas Of Leningrad?
