That Which Remains In

In his mind’s eye, Reuenthal circled that child of nine. The boy looked up at him coldly, uncowed. There were no threats that Reuenthal could make that could shake him, no matter how he menaced him, loomed over him, grabbed his chin in his broad, adult hand and forced their eyes to meet— black and blue. That was memory, Reuenthal thought. It always seemed to be happening to someone else, someone outside himself. He no longer could access whatever he might have been thinking in those moments— only the images of events remained, needing to be re-interpreted again and again. To remember is to interrogate the past.But even if the boy had been someone that Reuenthal could touch and threaten across the space of years, he wouldn’t have divulged anything. That didn’t surprise Reuenthal.

You’ve always been good at staying silent, haven’t you?