I returned from excavating the mass grave that night, soggy, tired and cold. I lit the old gas heater, and the small, blue flames leapt into life. I was living in an abandoned wing of a monastery in downtown Buenos Aires. The caretaker of the place warned me to turn off the gas before I went to bed, because there was, perhaps, a leak, and it would kill me in my sleep. Shivering, I put the blanket around my shoulders and, leaning towards the flames, began to write.
Contains "Gas," "Children's Hospital," and "City of God."
