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Mark whispered his answer from the couch. "They could try."
"Mark," said Cecily. "There's nothing you can do."
He glanced at her, then turned back to the screen. "That's what Chinma said when he saw this news story. He said, 'They don't know anything, they don't want to go there, they don't want to die like that.'"
"He's one of the few people in America who actually knows what he's talking about when it comes to the nictovirus."
"But he lived through it," said Mark. "Most people do."
"Mark, mere's ninety-nine percent 'most' and there's fifty-one percent 'most.' The one's almost a sure thing, the other's like a coin flip. Chinma knows better than these people."
"Remember when he said, 'Where were the Christians?'"
"Yes," said Cecily. "In my nightmares."
"I can carry a sign," said Mark.
On the television, the male MSNBC commentator was saying, "Aren't there plenty of needs for charity in America? Why are they so eager to go to Africa? Because it's against the law for them to go, that's why. They're not going—so they get all the credit for being charitable, without actually having to do anything!"
Cecily took the remote out of his hand and pushed the numbers for Fox News. They were rerunning clips of the latest U.S. Army special operations in Africa. Atrocity footage, mostly—bodies of villagers who had been shot, and U.S. soldiers, faces covered with breathing masks, holding up a Biafran flag. Since it was cut together from electronically enhanced helmet footage, the camera was jerky and no view was held for more than a moment or two. But that almost nauseating quickness and jerkiness of movement made it feel all the more immediate and real.
"They get to help," said Mark.
"Help what?" asked Cecily. "They're working to spread the plague further."
"You know that's not true," said Mark.
"What did you say to me?" asked Cecily. "Are you accusing me of lying?"
"Are you trying to pick a fight with everybody?" asked Mark.
"Not even with you," said Cecily. "But it's very bad form to call your mother a liar."
"Not a liar," said Mark. "A hider."
"Oh, really? What am I hiding from?"
"The truth," said Mark.
"And when did you ascend this pinnacle of wisdom, from which you can see truth that nobody else can see?"
Mark turned to her for the first time, making no effort to wipe the tear-streaks from his cheeks, as if he had forgotten they were there. "You only get nasty and sarcastic like this when you know you're wrong."
Cecily was flabbergasted. "I'm not being nasty or sarcastic—"
"Both," said Mark. "Dad said so."
Cecily flumped backward onto the couch and stared out the sheer-draped front window. "Oh, did he, now?"
"It was after the two of you had a fight."
"We never fought in front of you children—"
"Pardon me, a 'difference of opinion with raised voices,'" said Mark. "And I said to him, 'Why is Mom so mean when she argues?' And he said, 'That's a good sign. She only gets nasty and sarcastic when she knows she's wrong, and that means that pretty soon she'll realize it and change her mind, so it's a sign that everything's going to be fine.' "
Cecily was furious at the idea that Reuben had told their oldest boy such an absurd blanket interpretation of her arguing style. She was also grief-stricken all over again, hearing this r
epetition of something Reuben had said to her more than once. "It's just the way you fight, babe," he said. "It's your 'tell.' "
