Written by my mother, after my grandfather's death:
http://lascauxreview.com/2014/04/secrets-in-the-landscape/
Secrets in the Landscape
by Cathy Herbert
He looked like a hungry baby bird, gasping for breath, eyes watery and unfocused. At that moment, shortly before his death at age 92, I realized that my father’s face was absurdly long and narrow, almost pointy at top and bottom. In old photos, his black curly hair broadened the crown, and a prosperous life filled out the cheeks and chin. Once, he had been movie-star handsome. No photographs marked his return from World War II after more than two years as a prisoner of war. Behind the barbed wire, he ate bread made with sawdust and beet pulp. His robust six-foot two-inch frame withered to 120 pounds of skin and bone. When the war ended in a forced death march through a blizzard, he survived—barely. If a farmer had not come along…if the farmer had not stopped…if the farmer had not been willing to allow the scarecrow of a man to be placed upon his cart…if the cart had not stopped at the barn…if there had not been other Allied soldiers in that barn…if one of those soldiers had not had soup to share…if there had not been straw and rags to help ward off the cold…if…that day would have been his last.
