We were spirits that at once met and understood. She said: “My son, I have walked all my life across this valley, or up this hill, or toward that green mountain where you are going. I never walked as far as I wanted to. But walking even so short a path makes for consolation.”
Now she laid aside antique grandeur and took on plain vanity.
“Do you know how old I am?”
“About eighty-five.”
“I’m ninety-two years old, young man, and I’m going to live ten years more.”
It was getting late. I said, “I am glad indeed to have met you.”
She answered, “I am sorry my valley has not been kind.”
I ventured to ask, “So it’s your valley?”
I had touched a raw nerve. I was completely shaken by the suddenness of her answer.
“Mine! Mine! Mine!” she shrieked. Kneeling, she beat up the dust of the road with her cane. And then “Mine! Mine! Mine!” shaking her outstretched arms over that amphitheatre, as though she would drag it all to her breast.