Early in the Summer of 1970
A. B. Yehoshua
1972
I believe I ought to go over the moment when I learned of his death once more.
A summer morning, the sky wide, June, last days of the school year. I rise late, faintly stunned, straight into the depths of light; don’t listen to the news, don’t look at the paper. It is as though I had lost my sense of time.
I get to school late, search the dim green…
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