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Show -6 I had said to myself. Gulls had made a screechy circle over my head. Lucky man. "My father loved Indians," I said. "That's why he named me Buckdancer. Jacob he named after his own father, and Carlo was Alice's idea." We were crossing into Oregon; white clouds appeared below us, hiding the mountains, and we began to shoot up and down on powerful currents of air. "Poor boy," Morgan said. "Why? Because of the name? I'm used to it." "Because of your father." "When I left home I swore I'd never come back," I said. "Carlo was the only one in the family I wanted to see again." "And now?" Morgan said. "I'm sorry he's dead." The plane's bouncing made me feel queasy and I stopped talking. Nobody else in the family got motion-sick. Not Adam, not Carlo, who I could remember twisting and turning above my head at ~he Benton County Fair, nor Jacob who rode beside him. My older brother already at twenty looked like the lawyer he would be at thirty, in a sport-coat and somber tie, his face solemn even while he hung upside-down, whipped above the yellow tents and shooting galleries. "Just relax," Morgan said. "We'll be landing soon." "Adam had his rational side too," I said. "His mother was French; she was a suffragette in Lancaster, Ohio. Adam |