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Rita
was
sitting
three
rows
in
front
of
me
,
her
back
to
me
as
she
ate
.
I
hadn
’
t
chosen
this
time
to
eat
because
it
coincided
with
her
lunch
;
it
just
worked
out
that
way
.
For
no
particular
reason
,
I
’
d
gotten
used
to
watching
her
eat
from
this
same
angle
each
day
.
Cafeteria
No
.
2
wasn
’
t
the
sort
of
place
a
sergeant
major
like
Rita
would
normally
be
expected
to
dine
.
It
’
s
not
that
the
food
was
bad
.
It
was
pretty
good
,
actually
.
But
it
didn
’
t
seem
likely
to
impress
someone
who
woke
up
in
an
officer
’
s
private
sky
lounge
each
morning
and
had
half
the
base
at
her
beck
and
call
.
I
’
d
even
heard
that
U
.
S
.
Special
Forces
had
brought
along
their
own
cook
,
which
only
deepened
the
mystery
of
her
presence
.
She
could
have
swallowed
a
live
rat
and
wouldn
’
t
have
seemed
more
a
snake
in
our
midst
.
And
so
our
savior
ate
alone
.
No
one
tried
to
talk
to
her
,
and
the
seats
around
her
were
always
conspicuously
empty
.
For
all
her
prowess
in
battle
,
Rita
Vrataski
ate
like
a
child
.
She
licked
the
soup
from
the
corners
of
her
mouth
and
drew
pictures
in
her
food
with
the
tips
of
her
chopsticks
.
Apparently
chopsticks
were
something
new
to
her
.
At
1143
she
dropped
a
bean
on
her
plate
.
It
rolled
,
picking
up
speed
,
bouncing
first
to
her
tray
,
and
then
to
the
table
.
The
bean
flew
through
the
air
with
a
clockwise
spin
,
careening
toward
the
concrete
floor
.
Every
time
,
with
lightning
reflexes
,
Rita
would
extend
her
left
hand
,
pluck
the
bean
out
of
the
air
,
and
cram
it
into
her
mouth
.
All
in
under
0
.
11
seconds
.
If
she
’
d
lived
back
in
the
Old
West
,
I
imagine
she
’
d
have
outdrawn
Billy
the
Kid
.
If
she
’
d
been
a
samurai
,
she
could
have
read
every
flash
of
Kojiro
Sasaki
’
s
katana
.
Even
when
she
was
eating
,
the
Full
Metal
Bitch
was
the
Full
Metal
Bitch
.
Today
,
like
every
day
,
she
was
trying
to
eat
an
umeboshi
pickled
plum
.
She
must
have
confused
it
for
an
ordinary
piece
of
dried
fruit
.
After
two
or
three
attempts
to
pick
it
up
with
her
chopsticks
,
she
put
the
whole
thing
in
her
mouth
.
Down
the
hatch
.
Rita
doubled
over
as
though
she
’
d
taken
a
57mm
round
right
in
the
gut
.
Her
back
twitched
.
Her
rust
-
colored
hair
looked
like
it
was
about
to
stand
on
end
.
But
she
didn
’
t
cough
it
back
up
.
Tough
as
nails
.
She
had
swallowed
the
whole
thing
,
pit
and
all
.
Rita
gulped
down
a
glass
of
water
with
a
vengeance
.
She
must
have
been
at
least
twenty
-
two
years
old
,
but
you
’
d
never
guess
it
watching
her
.
The
sand
-
colored
military
uniforms
didn
’
t
flatter
her
,
but
if
you
dressed
her
up
in
one
of
those
frilly
numbers
the
girls
in
town
were
wearing
,
she
’
d
be
pretty
cute
.
At
least
I
liked
to
imagine
so
.
What
’
s
wrong
with
this
food
?
It
tastes
like
paper
.
"
You
enjoyin
’
yourself
?
"
The
voice
came
from
above
my
head
.
