I went back to bed and tried to get some sleep as the first light of dawn filtered through the window. Images from the night before kept returning with a fury. The gunfire. The shooter’s face. His uniform with the shoulder straps. My mother in a pool of blood. All that blood. The explosion. Her blackened body. How were we going to give her a proper burial?
I was sitting up on the couch hugging my pillow, rocking back and forth, when Krisztina entered the room. She came to me, I opened my arms and gave her a squeeze. “I can’t sleep,” she said. “Why are those people shooting. Can you hear them?”
“They’re far away,” I said. “You’re safe. The good people are fighting the bad people so Papa can come home. Mama is on her way right now to bring Papa home?”
“Will she be alright with all the sho
