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what it is, but it melts in her mouth. Seconds later her hands are stained with the juices of it, nothing left but bone. Her companion has grabbed one of his own and is gobbling it down, his cheeks stuffed with it. The stranger watches them all as a forbearing parent might watch their children commit a faux pas. He speaks again. She only half-hears the words, the sound of her masticating jaws is drowning it all out, but she picks up snatches: war … terrible time … long while I traveled … have news from capital? Capital? she blurts. The stranger nods, and pronounces a name she has never heard of. I don't think we're in the same country you're from, she says. The capital of this country has a different name.  |
The stranger shoos off this notion with a polite little wave. Names … change … have news? Finding difficulty in responding, she stares at the man's regulation military boots, which rise to just above his ankles. Was that it, was he an army man? Certainly didn't maintain himself like one, with all that wild hair and civilian clothing. No weapons either, just the damned stick. No news, she says. The war ended a long time ago. Again he gives the little wave. He makes a joke, laughing at his own punchline, and then explains further: Sometimes … rest, but … war … starts again. Always. Expect it.  |
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