/b>
New Mexico "That poor child," Mrs. Murakami said. "We should stop and pick her up!"
The ceiling of gray and blue clouds hanging low over the rented minivan was suddenly veined with lightning. The vehicle's interior flashed blue white.
It might have been the judgment of the
kami. Alien spirits of an alien place, Mr. Murakami thought.
Obsessed enthusiast that he was for the history and culture of the southwestern United States so different from his grim industrial suburb outside Tokyo Murakami should have been in heaven. Instead he was peeved. Not to mention lost. "What child?" he demanded, as the echoes of a shattering thunderclap died away.
"That child. Hurry! It's about to rain," his wife replied.
This is the desert, he thought. It isn't supposed to rain. Although from his studies he knew that it did. Rarely. But violently. And there was no denying a violent downpour was in the offing. He could smell the rain and the ozone, overly ...
read full excerpt from The Chosen ebook
