Sixty Blades of Grass
It all started when…
I was lured by the romance of doing something bold and brave, something no one else could do for the resistance. At first, the cell asked me only to fetch refreshments for our small meetings. I brought what I could buy with their meager funds; apples, bread, tea, beer filched from home. Once served, they let me stay, sitting on the floor, listening to them speak in passionate bursts about plans. In the dim light, I knew their voices more than their features. People came and went, bringing in documents, departing with others, no words of goodbye or farewell. No one used a name, and I didn’t offer mine. I sat and thought, soon, there will be a job for me.
And then, there was. We need intelligence on the transports. You, you are an artist. You paint! Put everything in code. Numbers, everything.
What if I am caught? I said. You’re an artist! Make something up! All they will see is a flower, or a sky. Lie!
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Book signing at Wellesley Books. Wonderful audience, wonderful bookstore! Signing books is so very much fun!