Chapter 38
Philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau wrote: “Smell is the sense of the imagination.” How my imagination sustains me, conjuring scents from the past for comfort, when there is little peace in my soul. –DB
18 July, 1941 - Southampton, England
Nick stepped off the bus onto the dock with the other children and hoisted his knapsack over his skinny shoulder. Tall for his age, he would be nine years old this year. In his mind, he was almost an adult.
Nick knew a lot for his age. He knew which berries you could eat and which ones would make you sick. He could spot leaves that would make you itch like the devil, and he knew how to fashion traps for squirrels and rabbits. He had learned how to trade things, like food and tools and cigarettes, and he could communicate in several languages
