Bobby read The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, amazed that a man whose name he couldn’t pronounce might write a story that seemed like it was written just for him. Like the young prince, he too found the adult world strange. He too saw very few certainties in it. Afterward, Val shaved Bobby’s head. The blade tickled as she pulled it over his scalp. “Stop fidgeting,” she said, “or I might slip and cut your ear off.” Thick brown locks fluttered to the ground, in keeping with the seasons. “Are we all going to shave our heads?” he asked. “In terms of us hiding in plain sight, I’m not sure how effective it would be.” “But there is no one here to hide from.” “We’re going to need to go and get supplies. I think the sooner we do that, the better.” She and Rosa put on floppy hats that concealed most of their faces. Bert, though invited, opted to spend his time sleeping beneath the mobile library, hiding from the high-hung mist. The three walked down the long country road, which dipped and twisted at the seam of the fields.
