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turning to page one
The boy comes downstairs. His father, in his backbrace, watches TV; his sister lies on the couch, semi-conscious, more pale than before. His mother pats the girl's head with a damp cloth. There's a little Hindu altar with candles.
MOTHER
(praying softly)
For certain is death for the born/And
certain is birth for the dead/Therefore
over the inevitable/Thou shouldst not
grieve. Sweet, sweet Diane.
The boy surveys the sad scene. His mother looks up, smiles.
MOTHER (CONT'D)
A slice of pie for my turtle expert?
The boy beams with pride, then gets solemn.
BOY
Mom, there's something I feel I have to
do. I don't know how to do this, but I
feel in my stomach that I have to.
MOTHER
What do you have to do, honey?
BOY
Collect one of every turtle in the world.
(beat)
It's a long list, ma. Cuora
galbinifrons, Graptemys versa, Callagur
borneoensis, all the Galapagos species,
people think there's only one, but that's
hardly the case. Cycloderma frenatum,
Cuora pani...
(sighs)
I don't think my life is worth living if
I can't do this.
The boy and his mother look at each other.
MOTHER
Well, we'd better get started, huh, baby?
The boy nods his head solemnly.