“She handed Sophe an envelope, unstamped, a letter that had passed through no postal system to get here. I watched as Sophe read her name, and saw the letter grow heavy in her hands. She looked up at me and we shared a moment of uncertainty. I was grateful. Am still. She looked down and then, with a care that seemed almost timid, nicked the seal of the envelope with her thumbnail.
I moved away and sat against a wall of the tent, giving her space. And yet, already I was fearful of looking away.
The wind blew beyond the canvas and Sophe read. Tent ropes vibrated in the wind, a hum coming off them. She read. There were children laughing outside, yet she was oblivious. Trucks unloaded sacks of wheat in the dusty public square, and I listened, and watched her read.
I tried to interpret her face.
When she finished she looked up from the gap in time she’d passed through. Even now I can’t properly describe the way she appeared.
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