The Wistful Voyage
You are seven years old. The house is dying. It stands in a field of dead wheat, the windows gaping like missing teeth. The wind howls through the rot. You stand in the kitchen. Your father stands by the stove. He is large. He is quiet. He does not look at you. "Get the bag," he says. You do not ask why. You get the bag. It is heavy. It smells of damp wool and old iron. You follow him out the...
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