tulips, and sprawling lilac bushes. It seemed like two
different worlds. Cary said there was often two kinds
of weather. It could be stormy on the east with the sun
shining brightly on the west.
Perhaps the differences in the land explained
the differences in the people, I thought, some hard,
frugal, with religious ideas carved in stone; other
carefree, impulsive, jolly, and hungry for fun and
excitement. Some lived to work and some worked just
enough to live.
At night the little town was exciting, especially
with all the people, the music from the bars and
restaurants, the carloads of tourists yelling to each
other, the crowds down at the dock. My eyes went
everywhere. He bought May her frozen custard and
asked me if I wanted one, too. I did. He got himself
one as well.
May wanted to go to the dock and watch the
deep-sea fishermen try to entice the tourists to hire
them. I had never been in a real tourist town at night
before, and was taken with all the lights, and the way
store owners and desert tour operators barked at the
people, tempting, cajoling, practically begging for
their business.
"I hate those desert tours," Cary remarked when
a jeep load rolled by. "Once, a couple of jeeps pulled
up behind our house and the guide pointed to my
mother and Laura, describing them as native
fishermen's women."
"So, that's what your mother is, right?" "She's not a freak for tourists to gape at, no," he