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e all the trees and open fields？ For two years； I tried to get Baba to enroll in ESL classes to improve his broken English。 But he scoffed at the idea。 Maybe I ll spell cat and the teacher will give me a glittery little star so I can run home and show it off to you； he d grumble。
One Sunday in the spring of 1983； I walked into a small bookstore that sold used paperbacks； next to the Indian movie theater just west of where Amtrak crossed Fremont Boulevard。 I told Baba I d be out in five minutes and he shrugged。 He had been working at a gas station in Fremont and had the day off。 I watched him jaywalk across Fremont Boulevard and enter Fast & Easy； a little grocery store run by an elderly Vietnamese couple； Mr。 and Mrs。 Nguyen。 They were gray…haired； friendly people； she had Parkinson s； he d had his hip replaced。 He s like Six
Million Dollar Man now； she always said to me； laughing toothlessly。 Remember Six Million Dollar Man； Amir？ Then Mr。 Nguyen would scowl like Lee Majors； pretend he was running in slow motion。
I was flipping through a worn copy of a Mike Hammer mystery when I heard screaming and glass breaking。 I dropped the book and hurried across the street。 I found the Nguyens behind the counter； all the way against the wall； faces ashen； Mr。 Nguyen s arms wrapped around his wife。 On the floor： oranges； an overturned magazine rack； a broken jar of beef jerky； and shards of glass at Baba s feet。
It turned out that Baba had had no cash on him for the oranges。 He d written Mr。 Nguyen a check and Mr。 Nguyen had asked for an ID。 He wants to see my license； Baba bellowed in Farsi。 Almost two years we ve bought his damn fruits and put money in his pocket and the son of a dog wants to see my license！
Baba； it s not personal； I said； smiling at the Nguyens。 They re supposed to ask for an ID。
I don t want you here； Mr。 Nguyen said； stepping in front of his wife。 He was pointing at Baba with his cane。 He turned to me。
You re nice young man but your father； he s crazy。 Not wele anymore。
Does he think I m a thief？ Baba said； his voice rising。 People had gathered outside。 They were staring。 What kind of a country is this？ No one trusts anybody！
I call police； Mrs。 Nguyen said； poking out her face。 You get out or I call police。
Please； Mrs。 Nguyen； don t call the police。 I ll take him home。 Just don t call the police； okay？ Please？
Yes； you take him home。 Good idea； Mr。 Nguyen said。 His eyes； behind his wire…rimmed bifocals； never left Baba。 I led Baba through the doors。 He kicked a magazine on his way out。 After I d made him promise he wouldn t go back in； I returned to the store and apologized to the Nguyens。 Told them my father was going through a difficult time。 I gave Mrs。 Nguyen our telephone number and address； and told her to get an estimate for the damages。 Please call me as soon as you know。 I ll pay for everything； Mrs。 Nguyen。 I m so sorry。 Mrs。 Nguyen took the sheet of paper from me and nodded。 I saw her hands were shaking more than usual； and that made me angry at Baba； his causing an old woman to shake like that。