Invariably, the soldiers would find us. I always expected a more violent opposition, more in keeping with what I thought about the military. They would come down in helicopters, press our faces into the ground, tie our hands back with plastic strips, heft us onto hollow, blue busses, but always with an odd detachment, a certain weariness. How all of us looked, slumped in the soldiers' arms. You said we looked like children, carried away to bed by our fathers.