“How is that friend of yours?” she had said. “Mom,” she said, with a teenage groan that hadn’t changed over centuries. Europe’s the new Rwanda and Sudan, and, oh Christ, everywhere!” He looked at her and realised that her eyes were wet. Only once did I find enough courage to tell him what was in my heart.
“Looks like a Buddha,” Hayashi reported, peering through a glass. “I used to think about you looking in from outside,” he said. I remember her sitting in our little house, which Thomas paid for with his soldiering money. The mundane chore, performed in a bright island of light he thought.
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