‘How are you? Is Stephaney here with you or couldn’t she make it?’ she asks me, smiling. ‘Sorry for the damp hands. It’s started coming down...out there and I just got in.’ Rain. I can hear it above the dull roar of the room, beating down just beyond the open doors of the auditorium. I think of the first time I saw you. But I always think of the first time I saw you when it rains. We were in high school. It was our lunch period and you were standing with a couple of your friends, just under the. They were below ground,humid and damp, with trickles of liquid running down the walls. They stank ofraw sewage. Rats and insects scurried in and out of the cells and corridors. Above ground,the house and garden had long since been converted into a comfortable butinconspicuous home. The thick compound walls that ensured their privacy hadbeen built of mud, baked hard by many years of hot desert sun. Decades before,this site had housed a fort and prison used by the infamous French ForeignLegion to. More

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