‘War’s a pig,’ she said after a time, ‘devouring everything, turning it to merde.’ She turned to Bradley. ‘Why? Why do men feel obliged to...destroy all that is good, is beautiful? Is it only ennui that creates art and music and love in times between so they can tear it all down again?’ Reflected in Michelle’s moist brown eyes, Bradley saw the same need he had, to believe reality was more than gaping wounds upon lands and bodies. ‘Even during war there’s still art and music,” he said. ‘And love.. On Christmas Eve 1982 I boarded the plane and bid my farewells. Before I went I wrote down a few addresses and phone numbers and promised to keep in touch.I was brought down to earth as soon as I landed in Manchester though. It was at least a foot of snow and certainly a different scenario than Florida.My mother welcomed me back and gave me a pile of letters which included quite a few from agents. That lifted my spirits a little. I explained to my mother that there was a pattern of guys leaving. More

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