Ruth

Amada saw her son on TV, blindfolded, kneeling. Seventy-two dead, the reporter said, a massacre. She let the TV blast on a few more hours, days. Why had his picture been posted there? If it hadn’t, she might still retain the hope he was alive, somewhere, lost in the desert. Finally, one of her friends turned off the TV. By this time, Amada was packed and ready to return to her country.