Exile is the art of before and after, a negotiation with memory. Among displaced people, there are those who tend to their loss like a garden, nourish it, prune it, pledge allegiance to it, guard its borders against all manner of trespass, pick from its rank flowers to decorate the house, and inevitably force it into the hands of their children, for whom it becomes a burden, a bitter heirloom. Then there are those who turn their backs on loss forever, never speak of it, deny it even a sidewar...
