That man. No, he's not a man, he's a boy, a little boy who doesn't belong here. One of God's children, forever tormented by the trauma of war. Unspeakable events had to have occurred, because he wouldn't tell him a single word. "Have you ever been up to the front, Father?" Somehow, those nine words echoed in his mind, reminding him that he got to sit back and watch the aftermath of the war, the bloodied and wounded. He stared back at the boy, not quite knowing what to say. Perhaps my work isn't enough. God knows I've tried. But is my work as meaningful as theirs? They've seen more, heard more, and felt more than I have. How can I understand his sufferings? He gave a weak smile to the man. "Well son, you rest yourself, and we can talk later." Father Mulcahy slowly and quietly arose from his chair and left post op. And he left post op with a new passion; there is yet more to be done.