He was old when the first man clubbed the second man over a stretch of dirt, and he was patient about it, because he has always been patient. He took them one at a time. A fever here. A winter there. A dropped stone, a bad well, a spear that went in where it was aimed. It was steady work and he was good at it and he never once had to raise his voice.
Then somebody handed him this.
Look at him now. Look what he is wearing. He buttoned the jacket. He straightened the tie. He came up out of the light like a man arriving at a meeting he has been assured will be productive, both hands raised to a room with nobody left in it — and the terrible thing, the thing you cannot get out from under once you have seen it, is that he is not gloating.
He is just grateful for the help.
