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And How Much of These Hills Is Gold

And How Much of These Hills Is Gold C Pam Zhang Photo by Garry Hayes a dies in the night, prompting them to seek two silver dollars. fiction Sam's tapping an angry beat come morning, but Lucy, before they leave, feels a need to speak. Silence weighs hard on her, pushes till she gives way. Leaking apologies or Ha ha has. "Sorry," she says now to Ba in his bed. The sheet that tucks him is the only clean stretch in this dim and crusty room, every surface sticky with tobacco spit. Ba didn't heed the mess while living, and in death his mean squint goes right past it. Past Lucy. Straight to Sam. Sam the favorite, round bundle of impatience tapping at the door in too-big boots. Sam clung to Ba's every word and now won't even meet the man's gaze. That's when it hits Lucy: Ba really is gone. She digs a toe into the dirt floor, rooting for better words. Words to make them listen. To spread benediction over years' worth of hurt. Dust hangs ghostly in the air, no wind to stir it. Something prods her spine. "Pow," Sam says. Ten to Lucy's twelve, wood to her water, as Ma liked to http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

And How Much of These Hills Is Gold

The Missouri Review , Volume 40 (1) – Apr 23, 2017

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

C Pam Zhang Photo by Garry Hayes a dies in the night, prompting them to seek two silver dollars. fiction Sam's tapping an angry beat come morning, but Lucy, before they leave, feels a need to speak. Silence weighs hard on her, pushes till she gives way. Leaking apologies or Ha ha has. "Sorry," she says now to Ba in his bed. The sheet that tucks him is the only clean stretch in this dim and crusty room, every surface sticky with tobacco spit. Ba didn't heed the mess while living, and in death his mean squint goes right past it. Past Lucy. Straight to Sam. Sam the favorite, round bundle of impatience tapping at the door in too-big boots. Sam clung to Ba's every word and now won't even meet the man's gaze. That's when it hits Lucy: Ba really is gone. She digs a toe into the dirt floor, rooting for better words. Words to make them listen. To spread benediction over years' worth of hurt. Dust hangs ghostly in the air, no wind to stir it. Something prods her spine. "Pow," Sam says. Ten to Lucy's twelve, wood to her water, as Ma liked to

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Apr 23, 2017

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