An old woman whose back was bent went into a park whose trees were bare. She stood in front of the immense stone statue of a tall man with a stern face, his right hand raised in a gesture that inspired awe and respect, as if blessing his invisible minions kneeling there. The old woman was filled with an overwhelming fear that made her weak in the legs. She wanted to look daggers at the man who had killed her sons and their father, but her gaze was incapable of letting go of its usual sadness and humility. The old woman felt as if she were shrinking. She continued to shrink until she disappeared, and everything around her – the buildings and the people – also began to shrink, until they too disappeared. Nothing remained except the statue, and the birds whose pleasure it was to crap upon it.