I didn’t know these men flooded our land down the highway of three decades with war banging their brains silent unseen and tortured like grain…
GLANCING out of the window, I can see the subject — and eventual victim — of this inquiry, dangerously perched in the crotch of an old chestnut tree, about fifteen feet above the ground. Should I rush out and tell him to get down? Or should I let him be, hoping that he won’t climb any higher, or, if he does climb any higher, hoping that he will not fall? It is probably all right, so I shall not bother him. Tree climbing is one of the things he has learned all by himself. There aren’t many th...