To evoke such a feeling of compassion was a violation as despicable as that of those others, and perhaps even more so! I wanted to kick him. To scream and punch. To hurt him in every possible way. He looked up then and met my eyes. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a folded photograph. He looked at it with loving melancholy and held it for me to see. I wanted to turn away, to deny him the satisfaction, but I was unable. Instead I saw a fading image of a young lady, close in age to me, with hair that was dark, like mine. A sister, or a girlfriend. Maybe a lover. The photograph tilted and dropped from his fingers. He hid his face once more and, shoulders shuddering, sobbed as quietly as he was able. The rumble of distant explosions came to us then. I bit my lip and sought to summon back the loathing I had for this man. For this boy. So frightened and far from home. In the forced company of coarse men reduced to degenerate beasts by war. Caught up in events he would never truly. Michael and I discussed in great detail our plan to keep things secretive, immediately. His unwavering cooperation indicated to me, that he wanted more, and his calm demeanor made it possible. I did my best to separate myself from what has occurred, but it occupied my thoughts,... constantly. Michael became more relaxed as time progressed, knowing I wasn't going to inform his father. I reminded him I was equally involved which set his mind at ease and fast.We carried on with life as usual enjoying family outings and events, like nothing happened. It was important to me that this didn't interfere with our typical daily routine in any way, revealing its existence. I made it clear that it was only something we would embark upon,... if it was meant to be.My husband Keith was impressed by Michaels new sense of responsibility, knowing that he didn't have tosupervise his tasks around the house, unaware of the new stimulus. I was very pleased with Michaels adaptation.One Saturday afternoon.
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