Youth

There is a photograph of them. I don't know where it is now, but I remember I saw it many times when I was a child.

They're in Africa. It was taken during their first term there. They are smiling. They look happy and young. Well, not that young, because anyone who took part in a war can't be young anymore, but still, they look as if anything was possible. He's sun-tanned because he's been there for six months. The picture is in sepia tone, but I can see her cheeks are flushed. She had never left her country before. She doesn't know much of him yet, except that she's in love with him. He hasn't told her about the war yet. He probably won't tell her before long about Utah, the military training and the girl who looked so much like Rita Hayworth. Maybe he'll have to get drunk to tell her about that German guy in the graveyard. But all this is so far from Africa. And war has been over for long already. They're holding hands. A big amethyst wedding ring shines on her finger. They're dressed in white and you can almost feel the warm wind weighing on them. Sure they'll be happy there. There is so much to do, and so much to live.

She looks decided and he looks proud. They've left everything in Europe. They don't know that they'll have a baby there, and that within ten years, they'll have to leave Africa as well, because its people will need freedom. But they will understand, because they know what freedom means. So they'll leave. And then, later again, they'll die.

But right now, they don't know it yet. They're just happy, and nothing else matters.