10
The woman and I walked for a long time. Every now and then she’d swoosh away a sleeveful of gray and we’d both watch the pageant below.
Everything was so beautiful. Even war can be beautiful when there’s no sound. There was a majesty to it—the way bodies fell and houses exploded and balls of light flitted upward toward us and disappeared into gray spaces of their own. I could imagine the men and women taking up their places at the card table, completely unconcerned with what had happened to them moments before, already moving ahead to their next lives and whatever they would bring.
“You said some people don’t play.”
“Yes,” the woman answered. “They’re too afraid. Or some of them are too tired.”
“Have you ever . . . not played?”
“Not yet,” she said. “You and I both know there’s sti
