Magdumhusen M Kureshi

sound and movement, I decided to walk through the woods beside it, angling back into felt heavy again. What had I been doing, I asked myself. Why had I been walking in the road? I must have been crazy, deluded by the shock of the shooting, entranced in some state of euphoria. Get real, I told myself. You have to be careful. There are people here who will kill you if you make the slightest mistake! I froze. Ahead of me, perhaps a hundred feet, was the priest. He was sitting under a large tree that was surrounded by numerous rock outcroppings. As I stared at him, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. I flinched but he only smiled and motioned for me to walk up. Cautiously I approached him. He remained motionless, a thin, tall man of about fifty years of age. His hair was cut short and was dark brown in color, matching his eyes. ‘You look as though you need some help,’ he said, in perfect English. ‘Who are yyou' I asked. ‘ I am Father Sanchez. And you?’ I explained who I was and where I was from, dizzily sinking to one knee and then to my buttocks. ‘You were part of what happened in Cula, weren't you?’ he asked. ‘What do you know of that?' I asked warily, not knowing whether to trust him. ‘I know someone in this government is very angry,’ he said. They don't want the Manuscript publicized.’ ‘Why?' I asked. He stood up and looked down at me. ‘Why don't you