Lucky Lives

I'd already shaken my head, said no before she'd even asked me, but the woman jerked her chin in the air and looked past me. She was squatting in the gutter, loading bananas into a wooden basket. "That your husband," she asked.

I followed her eyes.

Chris was standing on the sidewalk, sunlight glinting off his hair, and looking down at Katherine. Katherine was talking. She said something to Penelope then waited, hopping from one foot to the other, while Penelope giggled. Penelope threw her hands over her eyes.

Chris started laughing.

"Yes," I answered.

The woman nodded. "Big," she said, "good job. He take care of you. You don't worry about the price of fruit." There was a gap in her mouth where two of her teeth had halfway rotted. She handed me a bag of bananas.

I handed her two dollars.

She tucked the money into an old, coin purse. "Lucky," she said.

I nodded.

***

"Oh Mommy," Katherine cried, wrapping her arms around my neck, "do you know what those women kept saying to me at the market?"

"No, baby" I laughed. "Tell me about it."

"They kept telling me I'm beautiful. Beautiful! At first I didn't understand them because I don't speak their language, but then a woman translated for me. She leaned forward and said, 'Do you know what they're saying?' And I didn't know, so I shook my head and she said, 'everyone thinks you're beautiful. That's what they keep saying.' Can you imagine? I mean, why do they think I'm beautiful?"

"Well, love, you are beautiful, but also, everyone always notices you because you're foreign."

"I'm foreign?"

"Well, yeah, haven't you noticed?"

"I don't know. All I know is, after that I had to blush several times. I felt so lucky!"

***

"Are you an American," he asked, standing up as I settled into the seat beside him. He was wearing a well-cut suit, and his voice was soft; his English was flawless.

"Yes," I nodded.

He smiled. "I could tell. I observed your family in the airport. I could tell you were American because of your accent. I am from Pakistan. Have you been to Pakistan?"

"No," I smiled, "I haven't."

"Oh." He looked so sad for a minute, so genuinely surprised and disappointed, that I had a wild fantasy about lying to him, telling him we were only just now on our way to Pakistan, and asking him all about his country.  "Why not," he asked me.

"Um," I stammered, searching for answers, "I don't know. I guess I thought it might be too expensive."

"Oh, but Pakistan is not expensive! You can have a beautiful meal in Pakistan for only two American dollars, and the food is very good. There is a great deal of variety, and the people like Americans. You would be welcome."

"I didn't know. I don't know very much about your country."

He shook his head. "But why not," he asked. "In Pakistan, even in the small villages, everyone knows about America. We know about your political system and your leaders and your elections. Why do you not know about us?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry."

"I once met an American in my country. I believe he was in your Army, and he told me about all the places he's traveled. He's had a lucky life, he told me. And you? Where are you traveling?"

"Oh, we're on our way home now. We live in Japan. We've been touring Southeast Asia."

"And that man is your husband," he asked, nodding toward Chris, who was reading a story to the girls in the row behind us.

"Yes."

"He is a good father. Your daughters are very lucky. Literacy is a problem in my country. I'm going to Japan to study their educational system."

"Oh, wow, that's impressive! My girls love to read. I can't imagine life without stories."

"You are very blessed, I think. People lead lucky lives in your country."

"Yes. Yes, you're right," I nodded.