Thirty Girls. Susan Minot

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      Flying, Harry said, kissing her hello.

      That all? Beryl raised an eyebrow toward Jane, but she wasn’t done with the boys yet. And you … are Dan.

      Don.

      She put out her hand, looking at him straight-on. Welcome, Don. Then she turned to Jane. And you must be the American writer, she said, as if another person might find that impressive.

      I am, Jane said. It’s so nice of you to let us all stay.

      Oh God, it’s nothing. Thrilled to have visitors. Lana, take them out and I’ll get the tea organized.

      She pushed through a heavy door and Jane got a glimpse of a large kitchen with a number of dark-skinned people in light blue uniforms standing at sinks or bent over a table dusted with flour.

      They crossed the gigantic hall, Jane’s nerves still vibrating from the jostling ride. The whitewashed veranda overlooked a garden of spiky bushes and hedges dotted with flowers. Mown paths meandered among more tangled jungle beyond. A sliver of light green pool could be seen at the end of an alley of cedar trees and a gigantic palm tree rose far past the other trees like an exploding firework. Marsh stretched beyond with inky grass markings and black twisted trees. The purple lozenge of the lake lay farther.

      On the porch a low table with benches had been set for the children. There were bowls of berries and cookies on plates and pink cups filled with hot chocolate. A higher table of dark wood with brass corners and pale wood inlays was set with a silver tea set and plates of digestive biscuits, lemon slices, brown sugar lumps and a pitcher of cream. Blossoms of jasmine and red hibiscus were scattered among the plates.

      Now this is more like it, Don said.

      Everyone took a chair but Harry, who sat at the edge of the porch, feet hanging down, leaning against a pillar near the children.

      Beryl appeared empty-handed, trailed by a woman in a light blue uniform with a white apron, carrying a tray of more tea and more cups.

      Asante, Fatima, Beryl said, and sat. She poured the tea. Her arms were thin and tan. A young boy appeared behind Fatima, rattling a red lacquer tray. A wonderful smell rose.

      You have croissants, Pierre said with a happy look.

      No, no, Wilson, put it here. And take these to the children. No, these. The boy set down the tray, sneaking glimpses at the guests. So, Don, where are you from?

      Los Angeles.

      Wait. She looked at Lana. Is this the movie producer?

      No, Beryl.

      Oh, he sounded interesting. What was his name? She frowned at the children’s table. Tessie, stop it. Now.

      But Roan’s pushing me off.

      Then go on the other side. Roan, you know better. She faced back to Lana. What was his name?

      Beryl, Lana said.

      What?

      It was Michael.

      Right, he did that movie about the wizards. The children loved it. But you’re not in the movies, she said to Don, smiling.

      No, can’t say I am. I’m in finance.

      Right, Beryl said. So you’re all off to Rwanda?

      Uganda, Jane said.

      Never been there, actually, she said, surprised. Does everyone have tea?

      None of us have been either, Pierre said.

      So what’s in Uganda? She tucked her legs and curled around her cup, sipping it. Something was knocked over at the children’s table. Mama! someone cried.

      Willa, for God’s sakes, ask Tess to pour it. Fatima! Beryl screamed.

      That wasn’t me. Porter did it, said a little girl with tangled hair.

      Fatima appeared and mopped up the spillage. She spoke to the children under her breath, not in English.

      Well, help Porter out, then, Beryl said. Tessie, come on, you’re the one they’re looking up to. Honestly. Beryl decided to stop noticing and turned in the wicker chair, facing away from the children, draping her legs over the armrest. But Uganda has got gorillas, too, I know.

      That’s in the south, Lana said. We’re going to the north. Jane’s doing a story about the abducted children.

      Oh, right, the rebels. Beryl’s attention was already straying. Tess, enough! She spoke over her shoulder. Go on, if you can’t behave. The children went running off, except for a boy who stayed to talk to Harry. They appeared to be examining a butterfly.

      They call themselves rebels, Jane said, but it’s really a roaming band of bandits terrorizing a rural community too poor to defend themselves. They’re not getting much help from the government.

      Well, that sounds fun, Beryl said.

      Lana was looking at the coins on her necklace, hitting them. Fun isn’t exactly the idea, Beryl.

      No, God forbid fun. No, I’m kidding. Obviously. It sounds good. I mean, good for you to do it. Really. To be honest, I wish I could come.

      Where’s Leonard? Pierre said.

      On safari. Where else? The younger girl came and draped her arm around her mother’s neck, observing the guests. Beryl patted the little hand.

      Oh, I thought he’d be here, Lana said. When’s he back?

      Think he tells me?

      Lana stood and pointed into a side garden. Some of his pieces are here. Don, come look.

      Yes, go look, Beryl said, staying in her chair.

      Everyone else rose from the chairs.

      Dark hedges enclosed large figures that looked at first to be made of sticks. Then Jane saw the material was bones. Hundreds of bones were cobbled together in hulking forms, one in the shape of a birdcage with a large skull inside, another a tornado with bones seeming to swirl. There was a large foot.

      He made practically everything we’re sitting on here, too, Lana said.

      Don, arms crossed, observed the sculptures with a particular expressive reverence some people display when viewing art. He was frowning and nodding.

      My favorite is that one. Pierre pointed down the veranda to a rope hammock strung between two elephant tusks.

      Don brightened. That for sale?

      God, no, said Beryl.

      It’s a little controversial, Lana said.

      She means illegal.

      He found them, for God’s sakes, Beryl said. Not even Leonard would kill an elly. Lana, shall we show everyone their rooms?

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