Im siting here with my sweet beamish boy in a cafe in the middle of nowhere, where the cookies taste perfect dipped in coffee. I took him out of school early, but its still a work day for me. And while Im on the laptop, hes trying to make me laugh: He sticks out his tongue. He wriggles his nose. I try to smile, but its hard, because while he giggles and does jazz hands, Im going over the transcript I wrote when I interviewed a terrorist a few months ago. We knew where the Israeli would be every Friday because he was always there buying eggs the words jump out at me. . I look up at my sweet beamish boy with the pretty eyes and crooked smile, how strange it is to sit here where life folds over on itself while I look at these words: I held the knife over him and stuck it in his chest too many times to count. My son is building a tower out of backgammon pieces, black and white. One after the other, each piece listing on the other, black and white. The tower falls and the pieces scatter, black and white. Sometimes, even when its complicated and nuanced and a swirling mass of misty grey, there are moments of clarity where the world can be divided between good and evil. This is one of them.
Posted on: Wed, 13 Aug 2014 11:21:45 +0000
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