Seba watched as the asphalt of the I-95 northbound lanes and the trees on either side of the highway rolled past. The day was beautiful, the last hot days of summer having broken into the cool of impending autumn. Traffic ran smoothly on the highway in the midday lull between rush hours.

When he first heard that the Pope--the Argentine pope, no less!--was coming to the United States, Seba had thought he would be stuck watching recaps of his visit on news channels or the internet, alone in his room, between endless practices and games.

Several things had happened to disrupt that mental image, though. First, there were no practices and no games, as the player association’s strike continued unabated. Second, just as he was coming to grips with a season without his newfound zebra best friend having transferred to Maine, Draft Night surprised him with a wholly unanticipated development: he himself would be in Las Vegas no longer. In a trade that occupied a segment of every sports broadcast for the next few days, Seba had been sent to the Williamsburg Minutemen. From the glitz and gilded glamour of the Strip Seba found himself in a wooded town on the Chesapeake, able to support a professional basketball team only because diehard fans were willing to drive up to four hours to see its games. Needless to say, it was a shift. The strike alleviated the rush of the move, but crossing the country and bidding farewell to his first professional home was more emotionally taxing that he expected.

Third was the teenage night heron gazing intently out the passenger side window of the car: Kevin Kosciusko.

“((I am going back to the United States with you.))”

Seba had returned to Argentina to visit his family for several weeks before the season. The last time he had been home his own draft had been looming; this time, success achieved, he found himself able to enjoy his family’s company without the nearly eschatological stress that had heightened every emotion the year previous. He had grown accustomed to being recognized in public, and however much the periodic encounter with a passerby occurred in the United States, in Argentina he had become a veritable household name. No matter where he went, his beak served as a marquee for autograph hunters.

His visit was punctuated by appearances to fans and young athletes at local sports clubs and schools. The news of the FBAPL strike came and went. One afternoon, however, Seba took a quiet moment on the back patio of the family’s new house, overhung by the pink blooms of a Santa Rita plant. He looked up when Kevin, whose lanky waterfowl looks had come from their father, came to sit by him. Then came the announcement, uttered with concrete determination.

“((I am going back to the United States with you.))”

The sentence caught Seba so off-guard that his beak hung open for a moment. Kevin’s rationale was well-rehearsed. Yes, the Kosciuskos were much better off now that their son was a professional athlete, but even the middling of Americans seemed to live more richly than the wealthier among Argentines. America, recession notwithstanding, suffered none of the economic volatility that afflicted Argentina like clockwork. Las Vegas was a booming city, with lots of job opportunity, even for Spanish-speakers. With help, Kevin said, he could apply for admission to El Alado and get in the next year, following his brother’s footsteps. And the clincher: he had already gotten the immigration papers in order to apply for United States residency, a privilege granted because he had a family member with that status.

Seba’s appeals to his parents were to no avail; they had given Kevin their blessing and entrusted him to his elder brother’s care. Appeals to patriotism had little effect on someone who, having lived in instability, saw even the possibility of security as worth estrangement from his country of birth.

So it happened that Kevin came back with him to Vegas, moved into his home in Williamsburg alongside him, and now accompanied him in the car on the way to the capital city of the country that was, at least, their temporary home.

“So…” Seba started, breaking the long silence. “((You were researching things to see in Washington, no?))”

Kevin looked up from his skimming the deep greens of Virginia’s roadside vegetation, eyes glimmering. “((Yes! Did you know all the museums are free? We could go see the Capitol, the Air and Space Museum, the National Archives…))”

Seba laughed as he changed lanes. “((Extensive research! Well, you will need to pick one. After we check in at the hotel, we will probably have only a couple hours to visit places before Agundio arrives.))”

“((How about the National Archives, then? It’s where they keep the original copy of the Declaration of Independence. You know, like in that one movie?))”

Seba didn’t know “that one movie,” but acceded. It sounded interesting enough.

Whenever he was engaged in conversation, he felt as if he had surfaced from a swim that had begun with his return with Kevin to the United States. But with the end of each dialogue his background anxiety, held back somehow, rushed back in.

An unfamiliar twinge of discomfort had begun accompanying the anxiety with Kevin’s presence. Up to now, he hadn’t had a word for it. But one came to his mind: drift.

Kevin was drifting away from all they’d known for so long. He found himself hoping the pope would somehow cure this sense of slippage.

Seba kept a firm grip on the wheel and stayed in his lane.

----**----

“Thank you, keep the change.”

With this, Agundio stepped out of the cab. He then stood up as the car pulled away, seeing the marquee of the hotel. He nodded, sighing gently. He pulled out his phone, checking the text message Sebastián had sent him right as soon as he’d landed. He nodded, double-checking the room number before he entered the hotel.

As he wheeled his suitcase behind him, he sighed, slowly taking off his glasses. He was not certain anyone at the hotel would recognize him, and that was just as well. He knew what Murina had told him a couple of days before when Pietro’s disappearance had been leaked by FMZ: thus, he did his best to keep a low profile.

He had thus far succeeded at keeping his head down. And for that, Agundio was thankful.

Thankful, too, was he for Seba offering to share his hotel room with Agundio for the Pope’s visit. After the chaos of the previous day, he knew he needed a break. The visit of the holiest man in the Catholic Church was something Agundio had been looking forward to even before the leak, and he knew he would get some kind of rejuvenating.

His game certainly needed it. Pietro had been a distraction as of late, and Agundio figured a visit from the Pope would distract him from that.

He quietly ascended the elevator, taking it to the third floor. As he walked down the corridor, he scanned the room numbers, following the signs that took him to the right range before he came upon the hotel room door. He then glanced at his text messages one more time, before stepping forward and knocking on the door.

The door opened to reveal a familiar multicolored beak, so long that it took half-second for the door to open wide enough to catch Seba Kosciusko’s eye. The toucan flashed a grin. “Aggie! I am happy you made it safely. We’ve got a bed for you.”

“Good,” Agundio said, smiling. He then entered the room, rolling his suitcase behind him. “I’m rather glad to see you, too.” He then let go of his suitcase, before offering his hand to Seba. “There have been many changes since we last spoke, no?”

The toucan let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. “A good number. I expected to stay in Vegas both my contract years, but that wasn’t to be. And you--third pick, and Lorain! Maybe you can get them to fly a little higher this year, no?”

“I certainly hope so,” Agundio said. “It is indeed a lot of pressure. But we shall see what happens when the season begins.” He then nodded. “Don’t expect I will not give you my best game just because we are friends, Seba.”

“No, I expect you to give me my best game!”

“Good,” said Agundio. He then stepped into the room, noticing the heron sitting at the bed. “((Ah, and you must be… Kevin, was it?))”

The other bird jumped up from the bed, where he had been examining something on his phone. “((Yes, that’s me! And you must be Agundi-- Aggie. It’s good to meet you!)) Thank you for speak eSpanish. My English… very bad now, haha.”

“It’ll get better,” Agundio replied, stepping forward and shaking Kevin’s hand. “((And the pleasure’s all mine, Kevin. I think you’ll find America a very interesting place.))”

He then turned back to Seba, glancing at the clock, 6:30 flashing on the clock on the night stand. “((Well, alas, I have not had anything to eat,))” Agundio said to Seba. “((I hope you haven’t eaten yet…))”

“((No, we just got back from the museums and decided to wait for you to arrive. However, we did find a good Argentine grill close by, if you would like to try it. I do not have high hopes for its authenticity, but it is worth an attempt!))”

“((Oh, Hispanic food close by,))” Agundio noted. “((I honestly don’t care if it isn’t authentic: I will take it anywhere. Four years in a city with almost no Cuban food will make you feel that way!))”

“((Well, Argentine food is what happens when cowboys and Italians make dinner together, so you might find it interesting. Besides, you are part-Italian, no? It should be perfect!))”

“((And it is only a few blocks away,))” added Kevin, walking over.

Agundio nodded. “((Then let’s get going, no?))”

“Vámonos!”

----**----

Aggie had heard that much of the federal government was treating the Pope’s visit like a hurricane. That is, it was taking the same precautions it would for the severest of storms, advising many of its employees to work from home. As a result, the early-morning city seemed deserted as he, Seba, and Kevin made their way down to the Mall. Only as they approached did they start hearing booming music, which later came into view as a rally to urge action on climate change--as, the signs said, the Pope would say. Vendors sold Vatican flags and souvenir T-shirts on the sidewalks.

Unexpectedly, they ran up on a fence that seemed to circle all of Capitol Hill. “Oh dear,” said Agundio. “They really went so far as to erect a fence?”

A security guard confirmed their fear: only those who had received tickets from their congressional representatives could proceed to the east lawn of the Capitol. Despite large areas unoccupied by onlookers, all others would have to stay beside the fence. Seba pointed to a corner behind the climate change rally’s stage where they could, perhaps, catch a glimpse of the pontiff when he appeared on the Capitol balcony. The line of sight was good, and there was no chance of someone coming to block their view. Positions secure, they settled in for the wait--all ninety minutes of it.

Agundio turned back to Seba, the hybrid all giddy as he adjusted the collar of his guayabera. “I do not know if you feel the same way, Seba, but… This is rather exciting, no?”

Seba nodded. “Yes! It was exciting when they announced that an argentino would be the new pope, but I did not think I would get the chance to see him in person. Much less that it would take so little travel to do so!”

Agundio shrugged. “Well, God does work in strange ways,” he said. He glanced up at where the Pope would be soon. “I guess it was good fortune that I was not so far away myself, no?”

“Por supuesto,” Seba replied. “I am glad you were able to come.”

“((So, what do you think he will talk about?))” Asked Kevin from where he was seated on the curb.

“((I suppose we’ll have to see,))” Agundio replied. “((If I know him, though…))”

“((You know him?))” Kevin asked, confusion mixed with marvel.

“((Agundio studies theology,))” clarified Seba. “((So you’ve studied his writings, right?))”

“((Of course,))” said Agundio. “((It wouldn’t do if I, a Catholic theology student, did not!))” He then looked over, watching the crowd begin to go wild. “((Ah, do you think he’s here?))”

Seba squinted at the jumbotrons set up in front of the Capitol a quarter of a mile away. Aggie followed suit, raptor eyes picking out finer details that his friend’s could. There was a white-clad figure there among the people milling about on the giant screen, but it was difficult to tell what exactly was happening in the image. A car appeared in the frame, however, and the pope got into it; he was just leaving the Apostolic Nunciature to make his way to the Capitol.

“((Not yet, but he should be here soon)),” the toucan said.

Agundio’s smile was broad, and he even leaned forward a little. “((But soon we’ll see him!))” He stood up, pointing straight at the screens. “((Even if we couldn’t get close, this is still… It’s wonderful! I never thought I would see a day like this!))”

“((I just wish they’d turn the music down!))” Kevin interjected, jabbing a thumb at the climate change rally. “((I didn’t come all the way up here to listen to a live performance of the radio!))”

“((Speaking of that, I don’t think we’ll be able to hear the Pope speaking from here. The speakers behind us point back, and we’re far away from the ones up there… One moment.))” He pulled out his phone and, after a minute of tapping, turned it around. “((Vatican Radio! They’ll be broadcasting it. Aggie, do you mind if we listen in Spanish?))”

“((Absolutely not!))” Agundio said, adjusting his posture so he leaned in closer to Seba’s phone. “((And hey, even if we do not hear him from here… we’ll still be in his presence, no?))”

Seba concurred. “((That is what convinced me to come. I knew I would not see him up close, but it will be enough to see him even from this distance.))”

“((Besides)),” said Kevin. “((Isn’t he speaking to Congress, inside? Even the people on the lawn will only hear him through the speakers.))”

“((That is also true,))” Agundio replied. “((But nevertheless… We will be there when he greets us, no? He will have to after the speech, and even to walk among us after he greets us on the balcony!))”

Seba smiled. “((It’s unlikely he’ll come all the way down here, but that is fine. Look! He’s getting out of the car. It won’t be long before his speech begins.))”

Agundio then looked at the screens, before noticing that the camera lingered a little on the pope as he exited the car. Agundio watched with rapt attention, his face lighting up as he looked at the cirl bunting. He greeted most in the typical papal fashion, greeting a few of the bystanders as he worked his way to Congress. The cameras followed him into the building and quickly switched to the wide-angle views of the House chamber.

Several minutes passed before a voice announced, “Mister Speaker, the Pope of the Holy See!” Unencumbered by adulant members of Congress, the Holy Father proceeded up to the podium and began to speak. Cupping his hand and feathers around his phone, Seba made it possible for the trio to hear the words, which came out, to their surprise, in a quiet, measured, porteño-accented English.

Agundio glanced at Kevin, shrugging before he brought his head closer to the phone.

“Mr. Vice-President, Mr. Speaker, Honorable Members of Congress, Dear Friends, I am most grateful for your invitation to address this Joint Session of Congress in “the land of the free and the home of the brave”,” the pope began, Agundio leaning close to listen in. “I would like to think that the reason for this is that I too am a son of this great continent, from which we have all received so much and toward which we share a common responsibility.”

And from there, Agundio listened in rapt attention, not even minding the fact that the English was overridden immediately by the Spanish translation. He listened to the speech for the next forty-five minutes, his thoughts occasionally turning to Father Lutz and what he must have been thinking back in Miami. No matter what, Agundio felt like a little schoolboy again, smiling broadly the whole time.

The Pope’s speech weaved through several topics, before he listed and praised four Americans: of them, Agundio was not expecting Dorothy Day, the avowed Catholic anarchist, to appear. He briefly wondered what his Abuelo Agustín thought of that: despite the fact that the whole family was rather devout, he knew his grandfather would have at least some opinions on that.

And right as he thought of his grandfather, the Pope, seemingly having read Agundio’s mind, continued:

“I will end my visit to your country in Philadelphia, where I will take part in the World Meeting of Families.” Agundio paused, leaning closer as he heard this. “It is my wish that throughout my visit the family should be a recurrent theme. How essential the family has been to the building of this country! And how worthy it remains of our support and encouragement! Yet I cannot hide my concern for the family, which is threatened, perhaps as never before, from within and without. Fundamental relationships are being called into question, as is the very basis of marriage and the family. I can only reiterate the importance and, above all, the richness and the beauty of family life.”

And here, Agundio’s smile began to falter, at long last. He glanced at Seba’s phone, looking back at the screens that broadcasted the cirl bunting’s speech. And then, Agundio felt his heart run cold.

Pietro...

“In particular, I would like to call attention to those family members who are the most vulnerable, the young,” the Pope continued. “For many of them, a future filled with countless possibilities beckons, yet so many others seem disoriented and aimless, trapped in a hopeless maze of violence, abuse and despair. Their problems are our problems.”

Violence and despair… Agundio thought. He then took in a shaky breath, reminded of what Maria Jorgina had told him in Hawaii just before the Draft. About how Pietro looked like there was something that was bothering him. Despair...

“We cannot avoid them. We need to face them together, to talk about them and to seek effective solutions rather than getting bogged down in discussions,” the Pope continued.

Agundio felt his heart constrict. And then he remembered how Maria Jorgina had avoided the conversation. “The timing was all wrong…” he mouthed, so minutely that neither Seba nor Kevin noticed it.

The Pope continued from there, but Agundio had tuned out of the speech by then as a second, more horrifying realization smacked him right there. For he realized that he, too, had not asked Pietro what was wrong. He had seen signs: a slight curling of his fist at the airport in Vegas, a forced smile after his name had been called after his selection by the Firestorm, an embrace that took just a second too long when they left on their flights…

Something had been bothering Pietro. And as he realized that he could have done something to help, Agundio’s blood ran cold.

A cheer rose up from the crowd around him, mingled in it the voices of his friends. Pope Francis had emerged, from where they stood a tiny white speck against a sea of dark-suited congresspeople and security officers, though Aggie’s eyes made out the Speaker’s characteristic orange fur at the Pope’s side. The jumbotrons offered a view of the crowd assembled on the balcony as the Pope looked down and blessed those who had congregated below.

It was a spectacular sight. But as he stood up, all Agundio could think of was Pietro, Maria Jorgina, Pietro’s disappearance, his own failure as a brother…

He had to take in a deep breath. But even as he did, the feelings of guilt only grew with each passing moment.

----**----

As the crowd dispersed faster than Seba had expected, the trip back to the hotel on foot was relatively uneventful. The music from the climate change rally drowned out conversation, moreover, and everyone in the small avian party seemed meditative. That was alright with him; he was still digesting the pontiff’s words and the very experience of seeing the Pope in the flesh. Agundio’s gaze had remained trained on the floor the whole time back, which helped since they all made the trip back in silence.

The silence continued until the three entered the hotel room and the door shut behind them. Kevin, upon whom the Pope had apparently left somewhat less of an impression than the Capitol, asked, “So, we’ve got most of the day left here! What are we going to do?”

Seba retrieved the tourist map from the room’s desk that he had briefly consulted the night before. “Once the crowds are gone, I suppose we could go see the monuments. There are lots all along this green area… the ‘Mall’, se le llama? Or we could see some of the museums. I heard someone say that they are all free.”

“((Let’s see the American Obelisco! It’s a lot bigger than the one in Buenos Aires.))”

Seba found the spire on the map. “Hmm, it’s the Washington Monument. It doesn’t look too far away. I bet we could walk over there. What do you think, Aggie?”

Agundio remained silent. It was then that the other two avians noticed that he had not moved away from the door, and indeed had turned his gaze away from them to the bathroom door.

“...Aggie? Está todo bien?” the toucan asked, somewhat confused.

Agundio answered with a gentle sniffle. And before Seba or Kevin could comment, the hybrid had fallen to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut as he held the frame of the bathroom door for support. He whimpered uselessly against the frame, the tears flowing freely.

This was utterly unexpected. Seba felt like he’d been dribbling to the hoop only to find that the basketball was a football and the defenders were rushing at him, 140 kilos and bedecked with pads. One question reverberated, though inarticulate, through his head: “What is happening?”

That was also the question that escaped his beak. “Qué pasa, che?”

Agundio looked away. “Trapped in a hopeless maze of despair, he said,” he said, his speech broken up by sniffles. “Oh, but if only I had known what the walls were constructed of!” He covered his eyes, sniffling loudly.

Seba recognized some of the words from the Pope’s speech, but was obviously missing crucial pieces of context. He hadn’t yet moved from his spot. Kevin seemed rooted to where he stood near the room’s outer window, eyes wide; he understood Aggie’s words as little as Seba had their meaning.

Seba knew, however, that freezing was not an optimal response. He flipped through his mind, trying to find some notion of what to do in this circumstance. Feigning Danny’s cheerfulness not only seemed inappropriate but would almost certainly be disastrous. Vainly he continued sorting through memories, all the while hearing the sniffles from his friend, when his mind returned to sleepless nights on the mesa outside Vegas, the Fremont Palace’s parking facility, and the smile on a familiar striped face.

Oh dear Lord, he thought. I’m going to have to play Sluggy. Help me, please.

“Aggie,” he said, taking a step toward the hawk, who was now hugging his knees to his chest. He knelt down alongside him. It felt very awkward, but he focused his mind on how Sluggy Quaastch had acted toward him. “Is there something you would like to talk about?”

Agundio sniffled, looking at Seba. “Wouldn’t you already know?” he asked. “Particularly after the FMZ leak?”

Seba had only followed FMZ for the brief period that Coby Carson had lived in his apartment, bringing his tornado of public relations nightmares with him. Seba was glad he never had provided a reason for FMZ to track him. “Disculpe, what FMZ leak?”

Agundio blinked, a brief amount of surprise showing. “You never…?” He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s…” He closed his eyes. “You do remember Pietro from when we visited the Wildcards practice?”

In his mind, Seba quickly recalled the conversation: Agundio, and seated beside him in the Wildcards bleachers, the younger bird, bubbly with enthusiasm and basketball arcana. “Yes. Your brother, no?”

Agundio nodded, sniffling again. “Pietro… He ran away the day after the Draft,” he said. “It took us a week to notice he had vanished, and then another before…” Agundio sniffled, closing his eyes again. “FMZ leaked information about it on Tuesday. And ever since…”

Seba wanted to curse FMZ for their heartless meddling, but something whispered to his mind that such a diversion would not be the most appropriate action. Better to pay attention to Aggie. Then it hit him: Pietro [/i]ran away.]/i]

He moved from his knees to cross his legs, spreading out his tailfeathers behind him. “So you do not know where he… Pietro… is?”

“I don’t even know why he did it…” Agundio took in a sharp breath. “The worst part is, I feel like I could have spoken to him before, stopped him from treading down that dark path.” He looked back at Seba. “Maria Jorgina… my sister, sorry, she told me that she suspected something was wrong with Pietro. She wanted to speak with him, but… she didn’t… She thought the timing was wrong. But now…” He sniffled sharply. “We should have spoken to him. And now, all I can think...”

Seba watched as another burst of sobs cut off Agundio’s sentence; the toucan mulled over potential responses. Aggie was feeling guilty; he felt that he could have prevented the tragedy. His sister had suspicions. There was, somewhere, a breakdown of communication in the Atti-Morales family that no one had seen. Seba considered his options:

He could ask what Maria Jorgina had suspected was wrong with Pietro.
Analysis: interesting, important, but perhaps irrelevant to this conversation and Aggie’s emotional state.
He could ask why exactly Aggie felt badly about not having spoken to Pietro. It seemed to be an innocent mistake.
Analysis: uncertain purpose, vague question. Exculpatory, but unconvincing Unlikely to help.
He could try to offer comfort of some sort.
Analysis: unlikely to succeed; he was never good at spontaneously producing words of wisdom or aid.

As Seba pondered his options, an idea came to his mind that made the last course of action by far the ideal one: he himself did not need to offer the words of comfort. There were words already written hundreds, thousands, of years before that could serve that purpose better. He pulled out his cell phone and booted up his Breviary app.

It was a hard question to ask. It was not one he had really asked anyone before. But the sight of his friend in emotional shambles made his decision.

“Aggie, do you want to me to pray with you?” A pause, and perhaps too quick a follow-up clarification. “I have the Divine Office on my phone.”

Agundio looked up. His eyes still shed tears, but the sniffling had stopped. “You… You would do that?” he asked.

Though his stomach performed a flip at offering a service so personal, Seba responded, “Certainly.” Anticipating the hawk’s next action, he rapidly flipped to the current date and clicked the Midday Office, sending a prayer skywards that the day’s liturgy would fulfill the purpose he hoped it would: providing some degree of relief. Some prayers… well, didn’t. And with the Divine Office it was sometimes unpredictable.

Agundio nodded, sniffling once more before pushing himself away from the frame of the bathroom. “Alright,” he said, looking down at the phone. “Alright.”

With a deep breath, in part to calm the anxiety that jittered within him, Seba started the Office: “God, come to my assistance.”

Agundio bowed his head. “Lord, make haste to help me.”

They continued, reciting together the Psalm when it came. Seba had had to switch it from Spanish to English at the last moment and found some words unfamiliar--he pronounced them the best he could--but the expression on Aggie’s face was changing.

“I will praise you, Lord, you have rescued me
and have not let my enemies rejoice over me.
O Lord, I cried to you for help
and you, my God, have healed me.

“O Lord, you have raised my soul from the dead,
restored me to life from those who sink into the grave.
Sing psalms to the Lord, you who love him,
give thanks to his holy name.”

Agundio’s tears had stopped flowing by then. He had then closed his eyes, his hands held together as he shifted his posture so he was properly kneeling on the ground.

“His anger lasts a moment; his favor through life.
At night there are tears, but joy comes with dawn….”

Seba then realized with a start that he had not selected the midday prayers. By accident, he had pulled up the evening ones. Part of his mind protested that they should stop immediately and start the right ones for the hour. Another part understood that however they had arrived at this mistake, it appeared to be actually helping Aggie. He swallowed the protestations and, with a slight hiccup in his recitation, continued onward:

“The Lord listened and had pity.
The Lord came to my help.
For me you have changed my mourning into dancing,
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.
So my soul sings psalms to you unceasingly.
O Lord my God, I will thank you for ever.

“Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit:
— as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.”

Seba had forgotten how long the Liturgy of the Hours could get. Two Psalms and more later, however, Aggie’s sniffles had quieted and his breathing returned to a nearly normal pattern. Together, they voiced the concluding prayer:

“Father, you illumine the night and bring the dawn to scatter darkness. Let us pass this night in safety, free from Satan’s power, and rise when morning comes to give you thanks and praise. We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. — Amen.”

Agundio nodded, looking at Seba. He nodded, sighing gently as he bowed his head.

“Thank you, Seba,” he said softly. “I… I suppose I needed something like that.”

Seba scanned Aggie’s face for hints as to what was going on in his mind. The genuine relaxation and the unfeigned sincerity in his voice let Seba know that Aggie’s mood had, indeed, improved. Somehow, he had helped out. Well, he thought, God helped through you. It wasn’t a frequent thought for him. He would have to examine it later. “Always happy to help out when I can.” In another move cribbed from Sluggy’s gestural vocabulary, he placed a hand on Aggie’s shoulder and offered a smile. It felt as uncomfortable as any social physical contact did, but if Sluggy did that sort of thing, it might be beneficial. “Anytime.”

Agundio smiled back, before sighing. “I apologize for that,” he said. “It was… overwhelming, when I heard that…” He then glanced back at Kevin. “I apologize that you had to see that.”

The heron, who had sat silently with his hands between his knees, merely nodded. Whether from a loss of words or a lack of understanding of words it was unclear.

After what seemed like a long while, he said, “So… we are still going to the monuments, yes?”

Agundio nodded. “I suppose that would be a good plan,” he said.

----**----

The Washington Monument stood off in the distance, towering over everything beneath it. Agundio looked at it, walking along the edge of the nearby reflecting pool, his hands in his pockets as he regarded the scene around him.

“((And it’s rather amusing how most of the monuments are around here, no?))” Agundio asked as he turned to Seba and Kevin.

Kevin, glad to have a conversation in his native language, piped up. “((It makes sense! This is a bunch of open space, no? It all used to be swamp, too.))” He indicated the Washington Monument with a finger. “((Did you know the river used to come up almost to the base of the Monument? The White House was full of insects all the time back then.))”

“((I can imagine it,))” Agundio replied. “((The same thing could be said of Miami, to be honest. And now, look at what we have: a place where people would go to find what they want.))” He turned to Seba and Kevin. “((At least, that’s how my father saw it.))”

Seba’s eyebrows raised, but it was Kevin who beat him to the punch. “((Your father? Where’d he come from, then?))”

“((Italy,))” Agundio replied. He shrugged. “((He never speaks of it. The only thing he said was an experience relating to a Carvaggio painting, and even that did not come until recently.))” He paused, looking up at the sky. “((It seems as though there is a lot of pain behind it. I don’t know, he’s never told us even half of the story. But, I imagine it must have dealt with a rift within his family.))”

“((It’s hard to be so far away from family sometimes,))” said Seba, in a moment of self-disclosure. “((And to be away from Misiones. The smells here are unfamiliar…))”

“((I think it’s pretty great!))” Kevin said. “((Everything’s stable here. You can actually get somewhere.))”

“((Indeed.))” Agundio then looked over to Kevin, before looking over at Seba. “Seba, can I talk to you for a second? Alone?”

“Sure,” the toucan replied. They’d walked past the Washington Monument by now, and Kevin was all too eager to bound down toward the World War II Memorial beyond it. Keeping one eye on Kevin trotting down the green, Seba turned the other toward Aggie. “What is it?”

Agundio looked over at Kevin as he receded. “You two must be rather close,” he observed.

“Close enough for him to want to come live with me, at least. We’ve got about 6 years between us.”

“Indeed,” said Agundio. “He’s also… rather energetic.” He sighed, looking back at Seba. “He reminds me of Pietro, in some ways.”

Seba had not connected the two in his mind before that moment. The thought was not unsettling. “I suppose you are right.”

Agundio shrugged. “Please, don’t take that as a slight,” he said. He smiled softly. “After all, it is how it is, no?” He then looked down at the floor. “I just… Can you promise me one small thing, Seba?”

Open-ended promises were intimidating and generally inadvisable, but knowing Agundio and after the afternoon’s experience, he felt he could take this one. “I believe so.”

Agundio nodded, patting Seba’s shoulder. “Take care of Kevin,” he said. “Make sure you let him know that he can tell you anything.” He paused. “Don’t… Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Seba assented with a nod. “I’ll try.”

Agundio nodded, patting Seba on the shoulder. “I suppose the Pope’s visit was well-timed,” he admitted. “This is just what I needed, particularly after Tuesday.”

“God works in mysterious ways indeed. If only for the chance to see the Holy Father, I am glad I was traded out here. And I am glad to help out.”

Agundio nodded, giving a contented smile. “If there’s ever something you wish to ask, don’t hesitate,” said Agundio. “It… It is the least I can do for what you have done for me.”

“I’ll be sure to.” His gaze returned down the remaining length of the Mall. “Well, we have many more to visit today. Let’s continue, no?”

“Of course,” said Agundio. He then turned to the World War II Memorial. “((I think we can start with the one your brother is already at, no?))”

“((We can’t let him get lost, can we?))” Seba said, then started when he realized what he had said. “((Oh, my apologies..))”

Agundio nodded, shrugging. “((It’s all right. I know you meant no offense.))” He then began walking over to the memorial. “((Come.))”

And with this, the two of them walked along to the World War II Memorial, the both of them catching sight of Kevin walking around the giant fountain in the center of the memorial.

----**----

On the drive back to Williamsburg, the Pope’s words fluttered in and out of Seba’s mind, mingled with Aggie’s family troubles and the charge to take care of Kevin.

“...I am happy that America continues to be, for many, a land of ‘dreams.’ Dreams which lead to action, to participation, to commitment. …”

It was strange, he thought, that The Father should consider it good that the United States was based on dreams. Dreams are ephemeral, elusive. They vanish with the light of dawn. They’re not solid.

“...In recent centuries, millions of people came to this land to pursue their dream of building a future in freedom. …”

Kevin had this idea. His family seemed to have it, even if they hadn’t immigrated themselves. But, he objected, dreams drift. The now-common feeling lurched in his stomach again. How could people come so easily untethered to their own land?

Without warning, several instances of the drifting feeling overlaid themselves, as if the fabric of memory were bunched up by this single emotional thread. One: since his own move to the United States the places of his childhood had gained a mystical patina they had never before possessed. Two: the vertigo that came every time he looked at himself in team promotional materials, called to act in front of the camera in ways foreign to his gestural vocabulary. Others piled up, but these two lingered.

On the heels of this revelation, a familiar voice in his mind asserted itself: But are not you, Seba Couscous, also infected by the American Dream?

Reasons to the contrary bubbled up and swirled in his mind. He wasn’t a dreamer; he was practical. He came only because he had an assured scholarship. He wasn’t an American and did not aspire to be one; this was a temporary residence. His presence here, stranger in a strange land far from family, was instrumental, not an end in itself. Geopolitics, not providence, had made the United States wealthy and, hence, his destination.

What is more, pulling back some of the Pope’s words, these dreams did not seem to “awaken what is deepest and truest” in his life. His deepest and truest sense was as a Kosciusko, and that carried with it faith, family, and homeland, the red soil and verdant forests. (Basketball as a game somewhere fit in; he would not be himself without it; but that was another matter.) But as the voice had reminded him, here, and now even at home, he was called “Couscous” instead.

The adversarial voice split into two. One of them suggested: is not seeking the best for your family’s material wellbeing “what is deepest and truest” about you, and is that not what brought you to America?

The other remarked, Maybe you just dream more solidly than Kevin. Seba cast a glance over to Kevin, who was absorbed in the screen of his cell phone.

The Pope’s words resurfaced. “It is my desire that the spirit of the American people continue to develop and grow, so that as many young people as possible can inherit and dwell in a land which has inspired so many people to dream.”

Seba set his jaw, drew his eyebrows together, and kept driving.

----**----

Maria Jorgina had just pulled the suitcase onto her bed when her phone rang.

She paused, looking at Mikhail across the bed. The loon pointed at where her phone rested on the nightstand, ringing and vibrating its way towards the edge. The hybrid grabbed her phone somewhat quickly, looking up as she answered the call without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” Maria Jorgina asked.

“Ah, Maria Jorgina! I thought you were packing…”

And then, Maria smiled. “Oh, Agundio!” She walked away from the suitcase. “Actually, I had just started to do that.” She sighed, looking out of the window. “How are you?”

“I think I will be alright,” said Agundio. “And you?”

“I could be better,” Maria Jorgina said as she sighed. “How was the Pope’s visit?”

“It was exactly what I needed, after what happened on Tuesday,” said Agundio. “I feel somewhat… refreshed. And at peace with what happened.”

Maria Jorgina’s expression fell slightly, but she nodded. “I see…” she said. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, at least. It sounds like it was just what you needed.”

“It was,” Agundio replied. “Anyway, I will be back in Lorain. I have some people I need to talk to there about certain things. It may result in something to do related to charity.”

“Oh, good,” Maria Jorgina said. “You let me know how it goes.”

“Of course, Maria,” said Agundio. “I will have to go, now. We’ll be boarding soon. Good luck on your audition.”

Maria smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “You take care of yourself, Aggie.”

“You too, Maria Jorgina,” Agundio replied.

And then, the call ended. Maria Jorgina nodded, placing the phone back on the nightstand. She sighed, shaking her head as she looked back at Mikhail.

The loon nodded. “It’s alright,” he said. He then gestured to the suitcase. “Come, we should probably begin to pack.” He then unzipped the suitcase open, the sound of the zipper prominent over much else. “After all, that audition for Wolfe Trap will wait for--”

And then, he opened the suitcase quickly. He was interrupted by the sound of a moderately loud slip, and then the sound of something hitting something else within the suitcase. Maria Jorgina and Mikhail both frowned, looking over in surprise. They then turned to each other, giving confused glances.

Mikhail turned the suitcase cover back over, unzipping one of the compartments on the flap. “I assume from your confused glance that you don’t know what that is,” he said.

“And neither do you,” said Maria Jorgina. “What is in there?”

Mikhail frowned, reaching into the compartment. He then pulled out what looked like a spiral notebook, the kind used for taking notes in class. Their confused frowns only deepened as Mikhail inspected both the back and the front covers.

“Interesting,” he said. “I did not put this there.”

“Neither did I,” Maria Jorgina stated. She then held her hand out. “Let me see that?”

Mikhail handed her the notebook. When it was in her hands, Maria Jorgina looked over the covers. It was rather unassuming, though she noticed that it looked like there was a small indent in the back cover, likely caused by a pencil or something similar.

And then, absently, she opened it to an early page, wondering if it was blank. And to her great surprise, it was filled with handwriting. Her eyes widened, and she looked a little harder at the quality of the handwriting. It was slightly messy, but it was legible cursive at the very least. It was written mostly in pencil, and she inspected the writing, seeing something familiar about it.

Where have I seen this…? she thought.

Mikhail walked around, looking at the papers over Maria Jorgina’s shoulder. “What is this journal doing in here?” he asked. “And whose is it…?”

Maria squinted, reading a few sentences. And then, upon reading the sentences, she recognized certain patterns of speech. And it was only then that she called to mind other samples of similar writing she had seen.

The realization made her blood run cold. She only sat back, her eyes widening in shock. She took a shaky breath, the shake in her breath audible enough that Mikhail’s shoulders tensed. “Maria?” Mikhail asked.

She looked down at the notebook in her hands.

“Mikhail,” she said. “This… This is Pietro’s handwriting…”

---

A collaboration between me and  herr-wozzeck, to whom Agundio, Pietro, Mikhail, and Maria Jorgina belong. Set in the  furrybasketball, which  buckhopper created and is now led by  steviemaxwell.