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Still, he enjoyed the climb up the trellis, his sandals scraping the stucco walls, silvery in the moonlight. His mother had caught him at it once and warned him never again. He might hurt himself. She wasn't someone you wanted to argue with. But tonight he was an explorer, barnard an astronaut heaving thin air. One of his mother's flowers brushed his face, and he choked on its perfume. The tall and bony American cousin sat up on the barnard bed, his rolled-up shirts and underwear spilling all across the carpet, his barnard backpack in the middle of the floor. Couldn't Michael put away his clothes like a person? But how elegant he looked, perched like a stork on the edge of the bed. He wore an expensive shirt the color of a plum and shiny black shoes, like for a meeting. "Shalom," Michael said.
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