During breakfast, I'd watched two swaggering crows - they had bold, clever, eyes and murderous feathers - they sipped water from a shallow stone basin - they were like insouciant assassins -
Inevitably, I thought of Ted Hughes - I remembered reading Crow's First Lesson, worlds ago, in my dad's copy of The Listener - I sat there, in a comfortable lounge, wide eyed and shaken after I'd read the poem -
Later that morning, we'd followed Nancy to the ATM in Mararikulam village - we all fell in love with Nancy - she was a calm, radiant, presence - I felt as though I'd known her all my life - I could tell her all my secrets and sorrows -
Nancy's partner, Bill, was a retired CBC journalist - he'd flown to Afghanistan from Moscow in an ailing helicopter, witnessed the terrible siege of Beslan Number One School, subsisted on almonds and flat bread in mountain fastnesses -
Now he was fighting for social justice - last year, he'd made a film, financed by the Ontario Public Service Employees Union, exposing the consequences of the right to work laws -
Bill was already in the village, Nancy said - he'd be inside the tiny internet cafe, sifting news -
The back water near Mayas Beach House was half covered by water hyacinth - we walked through vivid greenery - a man cycled past us very slowly -
We saw a church shaped like a 1930's radio - inside, young women were singing hymns - their saris were brightly coloured - one woman's lustrous hair was left unveiled -
We stood outside the church, the sun dazzling us, listening to the singing - Anne wanted to enter the church, to stand amongst those reverent figures, profoundly moved by their tender voices -
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