“The tattoo, son; why?”
“Saida; on my first pass from basic training, with my friend Aristedies. He was killed.” My father nodded. “I wouldn"t do it again.” My father lifted my arm taking in the red and green square, the blue letters. “Legio Patria Nostra?”
“The Legion is my family, my country.”
“You believe that, Tim?”
“I belong here. This is where I want to be.”
“It"s some haircut they give ye,” he said, jerking his thumb at my cropped skull.
“Goes with the job. I like it that way.”
“Anyway, ye look well, Tim.”
A couple of local beauties in their summer dresses walked past.
“Bonny girls.”
I guessed where this was heading. “It"s all right dad, ask me.”
“Have ye a girlfriend?”
“No.” I swallowed Ricard.
“The music teacher, Isobel Clieshman wasn"t it; did ye ever see her again?”
