Laurent heard her say, "Terry," her voice a murmur, "what can I do?"

Calling him by his Christian name-someone who must be more to him than a housekeeper. Who would hire a woman with only one arm to cook and clean? Chantelle was very smart-looking, even more attractive than the whores in the bar of the Mille Collines, women known for their beauty, many of them killed because of it.

Laurent told himself to be patient, Johnnie Walker wasn't going anywhere. Give the priest time to accept his mother's death, someone close to him but far away in America. He would be used to death close by, there in the church, less than one hundred meters away.

Was he staring at the church, or in his mind staring at nothing? Or was he listening to Ziggy Marley and the Melody Makers now doing "Beautiful Day," Ziggy's Jamaican voice drifting over the hills of western Rwanda. Laurent became aware of his body moving oh so slightly and made himself stand still, before the priest or Chantelle would notice.

The priest was turning to walk away, but then stopped and looked back at Laurent.

"You know a young guy named Bernard? A Hutu, wears a green checkered shirt, sometimes a straw hat?"

It took Laurent by surprise, thinking the priest was grieving the death of his mother.

"I know of him, yes. He came back from Goma, the refugee camp.

Those relief people, they don't know the good guys from the bad guys. The RPA comes, the Hutus run, and the relief people give them blankets and food. Yes, I know him."

"He tells everybody he took part in the genocide."

Laurent nodded. "So did most of the ones he tells."