There were three of them.

They were Americans, young men—really boys, chained together like animals.

It was the first time Toni saw Americans. She was seven. And she stared, holding onto her mother’s hand, bolted to the dirt road strewn with spent artifacts of war. One boy stood out from the rest. His hair looked like ripe wheat and his skin like bronze. And he had the sky in his eyes. He sat on the street, shirtless, barefoot and filthy, as did the other boys. A communist guard with a bayonet was watching them. Actually he was nodding off to sleep. His comrades probably went off to raid the local market for food.

Children screamed in fright at the Americans and ran to their mothers. Some threw stones at them. The communists had told them Americans were devils who ate little boys and girls. But the children picked on Toni, too, in her village. They called her names because she was the local shaman’s granddaughter. They made fun of her name. But then her grandmother disapproved of her name, too. She was named after a holy man, her mother had told her. Her name meant earth and clay.

Toni observed the Americans in fascination. She could find no evidence of horns on their heads—or tails. But then they might be hiding them under all that grimy hair and torn clothes.

The Americans ignored the onlookers and their persecutors. The boy with the dirty straw hair reached out surreptitiously, and picked up a piece of yellow melon skin from the ground, that someone had thrown out. He took care not to make a sound. After carefully brushing off the dirt from the peeled melon skin, he divided it in three pieces, and gave two pieces to the other boys and took one piece for himself. It was clear he was their leader. The boys ate silently but hungrily, sucking their dirty fingers.

Toni felt her mother’s grip tightening. Her mother’s eyes welled up, and she began rummaging through her grocery bag and found two long sticks of pumpkin candy. She wrapped them in the folds of her long skirt and broke them into pieces. After making sure the guard was still asleep, she quickly approached the yellow-haired American and put them into his hands. She hurriedly indicated his pocket. Understanding her intention, the boy nodded at once and stuffed his pocket with the candy pieces. Satisfied, she turned away quickly and strode away with Toni.

Toni had to run to keep up with her mother on jelly-like legs. Her heart was thumping from paralysing fear. She thought the guard might awaken ferociously any moment and pierce her mother through with the glistening bayonet. There was no forgiveness for those who helped Americans. Or even worse, Toni thought the blue-eyed American might jump up with bared fangs and eat her and her mother. Toni had never been so frightened in her life.

Her mother began crying once they were out of danger. ‘That’s somebody’s boy. They are someone’s children,’ she sobbed as she led the way home. Toni kept looking back at the Americans. She couldn’t help it. The yellow-haired boy was staring at them with his intense blue eyes, then he mouthed something at Toni, pointing at her mother. Later in life Toni understood the boy was saying ‘Thank you.’ Toni often thought about the boy, and wondered if he’d lived.

That night when Toni went to sleep lying next to her mother, she said, ‘Mommy. When I grow up I’m going to marry the boy with the sky in his eyes.’

Her mother didn’t understand. ‘Shush,’ she scolded her daughter’s foolishness, pulling the cotton blanket to her little chin. ‘Go to sleep.’