May We Be Forgiven

conversations with the village become more frequent, the list of things I need to bring grows longer. I take sweaters and shirts out of my bag to make room for instant Jell-O pudding, a twelve-inch wok, rechargeable batteries, acetaminophen, surgical cement, chocolate chips, Fleischmann’s yeast, and effervescent vitamin C.
    The expediter I hired to get Ricardo’s passport asks for an extra two hundred and fifty dollars, because it too has required more explaining than usual.
    Sofia has sent Sakhile, the South African village leader, a moment-by-moment breakdown of what should be happening while we’re there. “I like to be organized,” she says defensively, when I suggest we leave space for things to unfold naturally. “I realize that it can be difficult for others to see the value of this level of detail, but,” she says, “I want it to go well, and I am aware that there may be cultural differences related not just to the bar-mitzvah event but to a sense of time and occasion, and so I wanted to make my expectations clear.” Sakhile’s face appears on the computer screen. “Do you have everything you need?” she asks Sakhile. “Any last-minute items you need me to slip into a suitcase?”
    “We are good to go,” Sakhile says. “I have your instructions in hand.” Sakhile holds up a clipboard with many pages attached.
    “We are very excited,” Sofia tells Sakhile. “Harold will bring you a copy of the printed invitation.”
    “You have a very powerful wife,” Sakhile says later, when Sofia is not there.
    “Not my wife,” I say, “a party planner.”
    “Like Colin Cowie?” he says. “He made a big event for Oprah.”
    “Exactly,” I say. “Sakhile, I’m curious—how did Nate come to your village?”
    “We built the school to save our village, and from that good things come,” he says. “My generation had to leave to find work—most didn’t return. We were shrinking smaller and smaller, and then I had an idea. With democracy comes money—we can apply and get money for a school which can support our village. So first I build a small school, and then I say we need money to build a bigger school where the children from villages nearby can come. Most of the children who come have only grandparents who cannot take care of them, and all the more important is that they have an education.”
    “Where did you go to school?”
    “I went only to a missionary school for two years, but there are things I know. My family has been here for a very long time. I am all that remains.”
    “Noble,” I say.
    He shakes his head. “I am not so noble, I am practical. I don’t want my village to die. There was nothing left, no more reason for anyone to be here except that we have always been here. That is how Nate came to us. ‘If you build it they will come,’” he says, and laughs. “I am quoting from Close Encounters of the Third Kind , when Richard Dreyfuss builds a mountain of mashed potatoes. …” The way Sakhile says “potatoes,” pronouncing each syllable like it was a word itself, makes potatoes sound delicious.
    “I think that’s from Field of Dreams , the baseball movie with Kevin Costner. In Close Encounters , Dreyfuss says, ‘I guess you’ve noticed something a little strange with Dad. …’” I say the line without knowing how I even know it and make a mental note to watch the film again—clearly it had a big impact on me.
    “Safe journey,” Sakhile says. “ Ulale kahle. ”

    T he night before we leave, everyone is outside playing Wiffle ball. Nate and Cy are coaching Ricardo. Madeline is cheerleading. It is twilight—the lightning bugs are blinking, and except for the mosquitoes, it is sublime. Ashley and Nate’s embrace of Ricardo is unqualified—one never has a sense of the two of them apart from him or competing with him. He is their brother; he has been left to us and we to him.
    I stand on the front steps, slightly apart, observing, as though I now hold knowledge that separates me from them—but I don’t. They are simply engaged in what is before them, and I am thinking about what time we have to leave, about passports, currency, and suitcases, while they are thinking it is summer and the day is perfect and I’m making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.
    “Play with us,” Ricardo calls to me. At first I don’t respond. “Play,” he demands.
    “Where are the bases?” I ask.
    “The azalea is first, rhododendron second, and the lilac by the driveway