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55 Edward Tick I finally locate my friend Son. Once again he sits me in his seat of honor —the only rickety chair in his tiny shop. Before we talk “of cabbages and kings” he explains why he is now often out of his shop and difficult to locate. Reunion It has been a hard year. First my old grandfather, survivor of floods, famines and four wars, died. Then my uncle, suddenly. Finally my father fell ill. For weeks I sat by his side in hospital but by Tet he was gone. His funeral took all the money we had. I could not think. I could not work. I could not feed my mother and brother. And that is why, after September 11, though I worried about you I did not write. I have examined my mistake. Now I ask you, please, friend, can you forgive me? R We can never know when the gates of memory will part another inch. But the return of forgotten scenes of tenderness or humor are green shoots on dry twigs—signs of healing. Perhaps awakened by the hospitality we find throughout Viet Nam, one of my traveling companions who, during the war, helped supply the young men who would fight to survive, recalls: ...

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