The CIA Will Find The Truth
“Who do you think you are? Don’t you know who I am?”
Full of contempt, with the corners of his mouth pulled down, eyebrows raised, and chest puffed, my father played the grandiose. Hardly intimidated, the bearlike psychiatric nurse put his muscular arm and broad paw on my father’s cramped shoulder and helped him into the ambulance. Before the nurse could close the door, my father stretched out his muddy hands toward me. “Take good care of it! The CIA will find the truth! This is the evidence to save our future.” Then, with narrow, reddened eyes drowning in desperation, he placed a dirty finger over his lips and looked around. “Not a word. It’s about life and death!”
