I had to answer the summons and go to the army headquarters but, as I’ve said, there was fear and trepidation in my heart. The road was lonely, not a single other person walked along it except for myself and the woman who had brought the message. My shadow appeared to extend and diminish, extend and diminish. At moments I even lost consciousness of its shape and form. My ears were buzzing. There were voices, confused voices, intermingled with the whirring insect sounds that emerged from the jungle. The interrogation had already begun in my mind. I was rehearsing the questions I would be asked, interrogating myself. It was a preparation for what I would have to face. I reached the kade. The soldiers were standing around with their guns. Their expressions changed when they saw me. Their faces were hostile. I was on the other side as far as they were concerned, a terrorist. I looked closely at their faces to see whether I could recognize any of them. My students used to describe them to me, faces without names, yet by studying their expressions you could sometimes discern what their natures might be. Their faces were young, as young as those of my students, but we looked at each other across tremendous, insurmountable barriers. One face struck me. It belonged to a short, squat-looking soldier. He had a look of aggression on his face. He watched me warily. I would have to be careful of him. Those men must have wondered at me, silently forming their own ideas about me. I felt I could read their minds:

‘He is one them. How did he escape? These terrorists are elusive. He must have slipped out of our hands. They vanish, then they appear. They lay mines. They take sniper shots at our men. How did he alone escape from the prawn farm?’