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Show Anting Alone Page 241 Even jingoism can't sell a morning injection of lethal poison." At the mention of the word poison Shanny put her little hand under her breast and looked down at her pin for a second. It was a soft tin head-and-shoulders depiction of that favorite hostage with the big blindfold around his face; but artistic license had abbreviated the blindfold somewhat at its lower edge in order to display a pair of plumpish, over-rouged cheeks. "He looks like the statue of Saint Willibrord in the nuns' kitchen," said Sam. "Your favorite place." "I know my pin's silly," said Shannon with courage in her squeaky little voice. (Sam realized how tired he was getting of that voice already.) She calmly shut the door and switched on the Army-issue air conditioner. A fresh cloud of vaporized aluminum rust belched into the trailer as Shannon sat down at the foot of his cot to enunciate her Philosophy of the Pin. "Especially when you look at it so mean alia time, Sammy, I know it's a silly pin to have. But you're not s'posta take it all by itself, you know, like just a object. You got to know the story back of it. It's the thought that counts." Sam made tongue-lolling barf noises. Shannon continued in a louder voice. "Sometimes I miss my cousin. I do. He's so simple in what he wants and needs and the stuff he believes in. He don't make fun of himself like you do. And he's not mean on purpose like you been sometimes lately. Sammy. And his body is in such good shape physically -" Shanny stopped trying to wrangle Sam's "dixcount" presents from her |