The Boy from Reactor 4

CHAPTER 87





SHE WAS THE mighty woman with the torch.

Back in school in Korosten, Adam had badgered a teacher into translating the poem with which the Mother of Exiles greeted new arrivals:


Give me your tired, your poor,

Your masses that want to breathe free,

The human garbage that washed upon your shore.

Send these, the beaten and homeless to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!


Those were the lines he liked the most. Those were the phrases he recited before he went to sleep.

Now that he was here in person, though, she seemed to have more to say. It was a simple message. The wind carried it across the harbor and onto the bridge. It echoed in his ears over and over again:

Anything can happen in New York City.

Any dream can be fulfilled.