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It
would
have
been
nice
to
think
my
electronic
traces
could
be
wiped
in
the
same
way
,
but
that
kind
of
escape
belonged
to
the
legendary
heroes
of
another
age
.
The
cleaning
robot
trundled
off
and
I
went
back
to
the
graffiti
.
Most
of
it
was
Amanglic
or
Spanish
,
old
jokes
that
I
’
d
seen
before
in
a
hundred
similar
places
;
Cabron
Modificado
!
and
Absent
without
Sleeve
!
the
old
crack
The
Altered
Native
Was
Here
!
but
high
on
the
bench
’
s
backrest
and
chiselled
upside
down
,
like
a
tiny
pool
of
inverted
calm
in
all
the
rage
and
desperate
pride
,
I
found
a
curious
haiku
in
Kanji
:
Pull
on
the
new
flesh
like
borrowed
gloves
And
burn
your
fingers
once
again
.
The
author
must
have
been
leaning
over
the
back
of
the
bench
when
he
cut
it
into
the
wood
,
but
still
each
character
was
executed
with
elegant
care
.
I
gazed
at
the
calligraphy
for
what
was
probably
a
long
time
,
while
memories
of
Harlan
’
s
World
sang
in
my
head
like
high
-
tension
cables
.
A
sudden
burst
of
crying
over
to
my
right
jolted
me
out
of
the
reverie
.
A
young
black
woman
and
her
two
children
,
also
black
,
were
staring
at
the
stooped
,
middle
-
aged
white
man
standing
before
them
in
tattered
UN
surplus
fatigues
.
Family
reunion
.
The
young
woman
’
s
face
was
a
mask
of
shock
,
it
hadn
’
t
hit
her
properly
yet
,
and
the
smaller
child
,
probably
no
more
than
four
,
just
didn
’
t
get
it
at
all
.
She
was
looking
right
through
the
white
man
,
mouth
forming
the
repeated
question
Where
’
s
Daddy
?
Where
’
s
Daddy
?
The
man
’
s
features
were
glistening
in
the
rainy
light
from
the
roof
—
he
looked
like
he
’
d
been
crying
since
they
dragged
him
out
of
the
tank
.
I
rolled
my
head
to
an
empty
quadrant
of
the
hall
.
My
own
father
had
walked
right
past
his
waiting
family
and
out
of
our
lives
when
he
was
re
-
sleeved
.
We
never
even
knew
which
one
he
was
,
although
I
sometimes
wonder
if
my
mother
didn
’
t
catch
some
splinter
of
recognition
in
an
averted
gaze
,
some
echo
of
stance
or
gait
as
he
passed
.
I
don
’
t
know
if
he
was
too
ashamed
to
confront
us
,
or
more
likely
too
set
up
with
the
luck
of
drawing
a
sleeve
sounder
than
his
own
alcohol
-
wrecked
body
had
been
,
and
already
plotting
a
new
course
for
other
cities
and
younger
women
.
I
was
ten
at
the
time
.
The
first
I
knew
about
it
was
when
the
attendants
ushered
us
out
of
the
facility
just
short
of
locking
up
for
the
night
.
We
’
d
been
there
since
noon
.
The
chief
attendant
was
an
old
man
,
conciliatory
and
very
good
with
kids
.
He
put
his
hand
on
my
shoulder
and
spoke
kindly
to
me
before
leading
us
out
.
To
my
mother
,
he
made
a
short
bow
and
murmured
something
formal
that
allowed
her
to
keep
the
dam
of
her
self
-
control
intact
.
He
probably
saw
a
few
like
us
every
week
.
