I brought them bonbons as I’d once brought them to the runaways in the swamp as a child. You must remember this, Lydia. I brought you with me many times, and now I regret it. I regret having scared you, and I know I did. The men at the cannons were rowdy and wore uncombed, curling beards. The colonel in charge of the battery wore his nut-brown uniform as if he had a grudge against it, twisted and wrinkled and shoved beneath his belt here and there. The colonel stepped lightly around the cannons and appeared afraid of them. He did not join the others in shouting hurrah with each fusillade. He looked pained. The noise was suffocating, heavy, and lingered on long after the dirty yellow flame shot out the end of the tube. There were no cannonballs, only sound and fire. Even so, we all watched out over the water for the effect of the shots to become apparent. What effect could there be? I didn’t understand the theory of the cannons, how they could stop the disease from calling on our houses and in our public rooms, how the smoke and fire could dampen the bright, hot fevers.
