December 20, 2018:
Before the farmstead, newly whitewashed, against vibrant Big blue Sky.
She's obese. She'll have to turn sideways to walk through the door.
He's lanky, more thin than later. As usual after 1945 he's entirely expressionless. The flat affect of depressives which signals suicide.
Was he broken by the war? Or defeated by her?
It's May 18, 1959. His abandoned little daughter is twenty-one. She has a son, his grandson, who's now one-and-a-half.
It'll be six more years before he reaches out to them.