The boy taps the arrowhead rock against the embedded stone, loosening it. He pulls the rock free. It’s about the size of a large man’s shoe. He taps the rock against the side wall of the hole. He removes the T-shirt from his head.
The rock is heavier than a fieldstone of similar size. His hands tell him that this rock is different. It feels spongy, but there are also dense grooves and pits in it. He grazes his fingers over the raised columns of hard rock, running through the fissures. There are cool rivulets of stone that feel like glass. He buffs the rock with his shirt. One side is striated in gray and black like any ordinary stone. His heart sinks. But a gut instinct tells him not to give up.
The boy turns the rock over and buffs the underside with his T-shirt. The fabric snags on something. There are points on the underside. He grabs the ends of the T-shirt and rubs it across the points; clumps of red earth dislodge and fall away. The boy begins to sweat because he is excited about the rock’s prospects, but he’s tentative because he is not accustomed to good news, nor does he trust his own eyes. He finds glints of gold and streaks of blood red in the striae of the rock so dark it appears to be purple. Pigeon blood ruby. He knows it because the dealers let him hold a similar stone once. He retained a picture of that ruby and sees it in his mind every night before he goes to sleep, visualizing that one day he will find one just like it. And now, he has. His heart swells and feels as though it might explode inside his small body.
He wraps the rock in his shirt and climbs out of the hole. He surveys the muddy field speckled with boys as far as he can see. He calls to his brother. “Aaie!” he shouts. His brother runs; he knows by the urgency in his younger brother’s voice that he has found the treasure.
The boys working in the field drop their tools and climb out of their trenches. “Aaie!” they shout. Soon a small army of boys runs to the one holding the rock. They encircle him.
If one boy finds a ruby, they share the yield equally. When they share the yield, they eat. They are family connected by something much deeper than one name. There is one table and all are welcome to the feast.
The boys jump and holler and dance in celebration of their good fortune. The boy holds the ruby high in the air for all to see. The lucky one lifts his face to the sun and shouts, “Life!”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This novel is about how we live and what we leave behind after we go. Of course, you, beloved reader, will tell me that it’s about a lot of other things too—and always, at the center of everything, or at least the stories I attempt to tell, is the family. I dedicate this book to our daughter, Lucia. Her arrival in this wonderful and weary world has made our lives worth living. Named for my maternal grandmother, Lucia Bonicelli, our daughter inherited her good heart, empathy, and eye for detail.
When Lucia was five years old, I asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. I expected her to say teacher or artist or astronaut, instead she said, “Nice.” She understands the moral obligation of kindness. Nobody taught her that—it’s just in her. I hope, in addition to God’s gifts, that she has been presented with a set of values that will sustain her long after we are gone—and of course, the greatest of these is love.
I am honored to be published by the great folks at Dutton and Penguin Random House. I return to the fold under the magnificent leadership of Ivan Held, a trusted, longtime friend who embraced this novel with enthusiasm and support. Maya Ziv is a glittering star in the pantheon of young editors, and I am lucky to work with her again. Sometimes fate throws a rose your way, and I will cling to Maya as long as she allows it. My deepest gratitude to Dutton’s spectacular team: Christine Ball, John Parsley, Lexy Cassola, Amanda Walker, Stephanie Cooper, Katie Taylor, Jamie Knapp, Hannah Poole, Caroline Payne, LeeAnn Pemberton, Mary Beth Constant, Katy Riegel, Chris Lin, Julia Mehoke, Susan Schwartz, Ryan Richardson, Dora Mak, and Tiffany Estreicher. More gratitude to the PRH Sales team, who puts the books in your hands. Kim Hovey is a gem. Vi-An Nguyen created a cover that tells the story inside in glorious color and detail. The interior design is as beautiful as I have ever seen in any novel. Pat Stango is the great technical wiz at PRH.
At PRH UK, I am grateful to Clio Cornish, Lucy Upton, Gaby Young, Madeleine Woodfield, Deidre O’Connell, Kate Elliot, Hannah Padgham, Louise Moore, and Maxine Hitchcock, and the irreplaceable Eugenie Furniss, and Emily MacDonald of 42. I am grateful to Tara Weikum, Danielle Kolodkin, and my old friends at Harper’s, and to Suzanne Baboneau and Ian Chapman of S&S UK.
At WME, thank you to the petite dynamo and my longtime champion Suzanne Gluck, thank you to the beloved Nancy Josephson, Jill Gillett, Andrea Blatt, Nina Iandolo, Ellen Sushko, Wesley Patt, Caitlin Mahony, Oma Naraine, Tracy Fisher, Sam Birmingham, and Alicia Everett.
At Sugar23, I am thrilled to work with the high-octane team of Katrina Escudero, Sukee Chew, Michael Sugar, Esmé Brachmann, and Viola Yuan. At Sunshine Sachs, the great Brooke Blumberg drives the bus. My gratitude to the producers, Laurie Pozmantier, Larry Sanitsky, and Katherine Drew. Richard Thompson of Breechen Feldman Breimer Silver & Thompson, LLP, is the best attorney in the business.
My evermore thanks and love to Bill Persky, mentor, dad, friend, and pal, whose creative genius on the page and stage has made all of our lives richer, better, and more fun.
Gail Berman is the sister I call to solve problems and point me in the right direction. My gratitude for your wisdom and loving heart.