“You promise not send me back? My papa write and say guerrillas burn two more villages near home.”
“I’ll talk to Immigration.” He shifted to his clerk to give the oath.
“I come here like I do every morning. To clean trash away. Make pretty tall Iron Lady for everyone, and I see coat there.” He indicated with a toss of his head the plant bed behind him. “I walk closer and see man under coat and think he like me, an SDF, and have no home or work and need help. ‘Monsieur,’ I say, ‘you okay?’ He no answer. Not move. I look closer and see much red over back of head. This bad sign and run for police station under Eiffel Tower. They not there, and I must run to telephone booth.”
He stopped and blinked, and Stanislas realized that in seconds he had told what little he knew. “Did you see anyone
