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"Close, though," said Mark. "He's on branches so tiny they swayed five feet when he put his weight on them. Every breeze swings him around like a tetherball. And he doesn't even look nervous."
"If he weren't a climber," said Cecily, "he'd be dead now."
"If he weren't a climber," said Mark, "he wouldn't have been sneezed on by a sick monkey."
"Are you brave enough to try one of these hot sauces for me?" asked Cecily.
He looked at her like she was insane. "No," he said. "Are you trying to poison me by burning through my mouth? I saw those peppers you bought."
"I'm afraid he'll think I'm playing a really cruel prank on him," said Cecily.
"Tell him you think it's too hot for human consumption, but he's free to try it if he wants. He's my age, he can decide what he wants."
"I keep forgetting he's your age, he's so much smaller."
"I had the benefit of American nutrition, Mom. All those nitrates and monosodium glutamate and high-fructose corn syrup make a boy grow tall and namby-pamby."
"Nobody called you namby—"
"I like alfredo sauce on my noodles, Mom. And when you dare me to eat death-by-pepper sauce, I don't take it as a challenge, I take it as attempted murder."
"That doesn't make you a wimp."
"I take pride in my wimphood, Mom. I'm not a man like Dad was—I'm not a soldier in the making."
"Your father never expected or even wanted his sons to be soldiers."
"I know that, Mom. You think he didn't tell me? But I knew that he wished I were a different kind of boy. Worse grammar and more bugs in my hair."
"Your father was so proud of you, Mark, that it made him cry sometimes. For heaven's sake, don't invent a version of your father that you can't live up to!"
"If I had lived in Chinma's village, I wouldn't have been up in a tree, taking pictures of the slaughter of my family so I could testify against the murderers later. I would have been one of the people running around screaming till they shot me."
"So Chinma was the right kind of hero for the job God chose him to do," said Cecily.
"Yep," said Mark. "Didn't you ever wonder if Elijah or Peter had an older brother who just didn't amount to much?"
"Didn't you ever wonder if any of those prophets had sisters?"
"Nobody expected girls to do great things in those days—and they still had Deborah and Esther and Ruth."
"Yeah," said Cecily, "like lying down at a cousin's feet was anything like challenging the priests of Baal."
"It took courage all the same," said Mark.
"Ha! I got you to say it! Bravery doesn't take the same form every time."
"You don't get it. I'm not brave, but I also don't want to be brave. I don't want to climb a tall tree. Or a short one. I don't want to eat that death-by-pepper sauce, or even Newman's Own Sockarooni stuff. And I'm happy that way. I just recognize that God isn't going to have any particular use for me because I'
m not the kind of kid who does anything spectacular."
"You don't know what you can do until it's time to do it," said Cecily.
"If men with guns came into my village, I'd think, Oh, I guess this is how I die. I wonder if it will hurt. I hope not. I don't like to hurt. And I'd still be thinking that when they came in and shot me and everybody else."
"I can see that you've played through this whole script in your mind."
"Several times," said Mark. "And the only difference between the versions is whether I die screaming and begging for my life, or just sitting there waiting patiently for the end to come."
