“Pale light fell over her, fell swirling, burning on the golden fleece beside her, and then moved on, moved past the two old slaves to the door where the children watched. I could not look at them for pain and shame. Dreams they might be, as old and pale as ghosts in the cairns of Newgrange, but dream or solid flesh, they were children, inexplicably doomed. How could I close my wits on truths so weird? (Who can believe in the spectre who walks leukemia wards, who stands severe above laughing gir...ls whose hearts pump dust? Who can believe those pictures in the news of a million children, senselessly cursed, dying in silence, caught up in Dionysos’ wars, or the refugee camps of Artemis? ) All time inside them … And then I did look, searching their eyes for the secret, and found there nothing. Softly, my guide, invisible around me, spoke. “Poor dim-eyed -stranger, you’ve understood the question, at least. Look! Look hard! Study their eyes, windows of the world you seek and they have not yet dreamed the price of: the timeless instant.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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