“Yes, indeed, I am the stuff, the prize property, the recaptured trophy he will put up on the mantelpiece, in a rage every time I move a millimeter or look less polished, less tarted up than he thinks I should look. In a rage, every time I disappoint him. Which will happen every day.”

“I could feel the hard part of Mom very strongly that time. It was like a stone in her that grew bigger every time my father lost his temper, right under her heart. Feeling the stone in her calmed me down. It told me that she would always be there for me.”

“Why were we so full of hope in those days? Looking back, I see so clearly that violence was worsening. Living through that time, we didn’t see that. We believed in our capacity to grow a great country. A just society.”

“Somehow it felt familiar, an old story retold, the claws in my shoulder, my arms twisted behind my back, the drag down the street, Will assisting my father and thinking how much fun it was to hunt someone down. I knew it all. Each snarled command was a line from an old but faithless song. “Pipe down! I’m not going to hurt you! I just want to talk to you! This is for your own good!”

“How good the past can look from a rest stop in a bitter future!”

“He is hearing the uncertain passage of a broken heart, bruising itself again and again on the unjust stones.Such a heart might stumble to either bank of the stream to escape the rush of time. To the side of light, or to the infinity of dark. To virtue, or to evil. Right here, in the river of his life, curves a pool of experience where the heart baptises itself. Either it rises, dark and closed and formidable, or it thrusts forward like an opening hibiscus, its five extravagant petals still dripping tinctures of blood.”

“Discovery is the chance they never had, to tell, on oath, how wickedness infects a life. One’s only life. Beyond one’s will, evil comes, looking for a surprise soft spot, a place to inject its poison.”