Do you remember, in Juara, at the end of my platoon leaders course, in that rainy December? I took the wet military blanket on my shoulders, and you were covered with the sleeveless cape that I drew for you from my belt? Do you remember the gleaming chalky rocks? The whistle of the wind passing through the trees? And how we roamed all night, looking for a piece of dry ground? Do you remember how we were happy anyway, on awakening, with first light, when embracing we stumbled on a broken stair, in front of your door, and we stood suddenly flooded with the thick flowing aroma of the flowering carobs?
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