"It's not satin," my father whispers in response. "Brushed cotton, morelikely."For a split second, my eyes meet his. Then, we turn back to the screen,...haking our heads in disbelief that so much unwarranted kindness isradiated by the same woman who rules our lives with an iron fist.Ever since she has begun her broadcasting career, my mother's contractshave always specified that the clothes she wears on camera become herprivate property. During her years as a newscaster, she'd bring home. We fell in behind them at the limit of sight, even aided by my spy glass, and were not noticed by them, even if they also had looking glasses, because they were bright and shiny in the sun, and tall on horseback, while we were brown and low, without glitter. Neither were we the only skulking followers.We fell in with tribesmen of the prisoners, who had been following the filthy Spaniards northward from the coastal shores of the Southern Sea, hoping for a chance to rescue their kin, but had lost. More

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