The man’s jaw was in his throat, he says, and his upper lip and teeth were missing. One eye was shut, and the other looked like a star-shaped hole. O’Brien imagines that the man he killed was born in 1946 and that his parents were farmers; that he was neither a Communist nor a fighter. Kiowa justified O’Brien’s actions and urges him to come into terms with the man’s death. All the while, O’Brien reflects on the boy’s life, cut short. He observes at the boy’s sunken chest and delicate fingers and wonders if he was a scholar. Kiowa covers the body and urges him again to talk, but all O’Brien can contemplate is the boy’s daintiness and his eye that looks like a star-shaped hole. More than twenty years after the end of the war, O’Brien’s daughter Kathleen asks O’Brien if he has ever killed anyone. O’Brien, however, insists that he has never killed anyone. Knowing his lie, O’Brien imagines telling the entire story of My Khem to Kathleen as an
The man’s jaw was in his throat, he says, and his upper lip and teeth were missing. One eye was shut, and the other looked like a star-shaped hole. O’Brien imagines that the man he killed was born in 1946 and that his parents were farmers; that he was neither a Communist nor a fighter. Kiowa justified O’Brien’s actions and urges him to come into terms with the man’s death. All the while, O’Brien reflects on the boy’s life, cut short. He observes at the boy’s sunken chest and delicate fingers and wonders if he was a scholar. Kiowa covers the body and urges him again to talk, but all O’Brien can contemplate is the boy’s daintiness and his eye that looks like a star-shaped hole. More than twenty years after the end of the war, O’Brien’s daughter Kathleen asks O’Brien if he has ever killed anyone. O’Brien, however, insists that he has never killed anyone. Knowing his lie, O’Brien imagines telling the entire story of My Khem to Kathleen as an