What really took place in that little town in France is a tiny unrecorded speck of history. My father’s memory may have been clouded by his angst or his desire to forget. Over sixty years ago my father told me a story. My own mind has since suffered mightily and my memory has sometimes proven faulty, including a few times when a previous creative effort impersonated an actual memory.

I can only tell you what I remember … or what I think I remember.