Spring 1946 – The Company of Others Who are Unlike All Others

The shadow rose up, becoming very tall, more than eight feet in height. “Hello Little Thorn,” the shadow said in a voice that had surprising music to it. “The years have been kind to you.”

The shadow stepped out from the thicket and, in the light, became Henri, Eisenstein and de Franco’s unfortunate creation. He smiled. It was not a grand gesture; his lips merely turned up slightly at the corners, but it was an expression that I had never before seen grace his contenance. 

“Hello Henri,” I said. “You look well.” 

One lip turned up just a bit further. “Country living,” he deadpanned.