The young soldier guarding the gate to the mansion had no idea whose place he was guarding. Three other stood at the entranceways of the house across the street.
I had the sensation that something distinct had, or was about to happen here. Before I saw the soldiers, the two hand-cobbled roads leading to a forested bend in the middle of the city, one road was higher, inviting me in. I thought there is a mystery here. Someone will die soon.
John thought it was one of the president's many houses. We talked of the cycles of war and politics. Further down the street, the new tendrils of Bougainvillea had nearly covered the glass shards crowning the high wall.
John thought Carolyn Forché took a cheap shot using the glass shard imagery in The Colonel, but it was definitely a part of his character. John said all the houses tend to have the glass shards embedded in their walls. The medieval walled town has survived into the 20th century in Latin America intact. Shredding countless hands. That's accounting for something.
3 August 1987
The day I left home, a M5.5 earthquake struck in Eureka. Last night a small bit of plaster had fallen from the bathroom ceiling, a small quake? The extreme angle of the sink drives me mad. The bar of soap slips off its cradle each time. I play musical chairs at breakfast, trying to find an angle that suits.
3 August 1987
3 August 1987
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