In a ghetto

I knew where to find him; in a Cambodian ghetto, a winding maze of dark narrow hallways with grottos carved out of them, places where people huddled in hopeless anonymity, fearful that they might be discovered.

He lived there with his wife, had lived there for nearly forty years now and most people thought he was just another old man scrabbling for the rice seeds that gave his bones some definition, but I knew who he was.

I showed up with my American bravado and marched down the street like I knew what I was doing, totally oblivious to the fact that I was the truffle hog, the messiah of the end.

Behind me came the men in gas masks and uniforms, the men carrying huge gas cans, splashing white death along the walls, claiming to be there to rid the city of vermin.  But of course they didn't have to claim anything.  The only ones who saw them would soon cease to exist and I had to get them out of there.

The horror that was about to explode around me made my heart pound in terror.  I could already feel the heat.  My sweat clung to me like a thin shield and I wondered if it could possibly save me like it did the feet of fire walkers as they danced across coals.  I began screaming, "Get out!  Get out!"

In English, of course, I could not speak their language, but he understood.  He understood the moment he saw me coming down the street.  It was the end of an era.

Later, as we huddled in a filthy bathroom between the toilets and the tub I tried to wash the excrement off the shower curtain as we talked.  "They have a new method now. "  I told him.  "You have to leave your thumb print on the post it note and they attach it to your pictures."

He frowned at me even as he pressed his forefinger onto the small square of waxed paper, watching as it was then affixed to his papers.  I wondered what I had done.  My intentions had been pure.  I only wanted to find him, bring him back into the world, make it possible for everyone to enjoy his work once more.  Such hubris.

And then I woke up.   This dream clings to me like the old gray film attached to my living room windows.  I wonder where it came from.