Summer 1985 • Vol. VII No. 3 |

Fragments from a Journey

The Woman at the Protestant Cemetery The gray stone walls of the Protestant cemetery rise as an island in a street of cars which move like the waters of a polluted and sluggish river. We pull the iron bell attached to the gates. A tall, big-framed woman comes down a gravel path from her little house to let us in. Her gray hair is untidy, her glasses are smudged, and she wears a stained black dress. I barely understand her, but I smile. She leads us back up the gravel path to her house, a porter's lodge really, where the office is. The guest book is on a table under an open newspaper covered with clean, red lettuce leaves. On the floor, the rest of the lettuce floats in a blue bowl of water. We sign our names and look at photographs of the graves we have come to visit: those of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Walter Savage Landor. We all smile at each other. She shows us a picture of herself when she was younger. In the snapshot her hair is carefully combed. She looks

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The Convict

By James Lee Burke

The Woman at the Protestant Cemetery The gray stone walls of the Protestant cemetery rise as an island in a street of cars which move like the waters of a […]

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