CHAPTER SEVENThose days came and went, as did that year and the year after. Ours was a world forever in transition despite my ignorance of it. There was great distrust among the nations. There was revenge, both sought and achieved. I heard it at the dinner table. I horned in on conversations never meant for my ears while sitting in the backseats of cars or up front in Beep’s truck. I listened to “the mood of the masses,” Beep called it.
Even Paul Spriole, who spoke to me and Beepah each morning on the radio in the aviary, often referenced car bombings in Afghanistan and rockets striking Israel as Armageddon’s messengers. He continually encouraged prayer and soul searching with endless prognostications. “Warming along the Eastern Seaboard,” the radio crackled. “And by the lunchtime hour, l
