Page 19 - Tales the Maggid Never Told Me

Madagascar Madness

Private Seidell stood up, shaking his head to clear it. How much
alcohol had been in that beverage?
“I don’t know whether to believe you or not. Certainly no one
back at HQ will believe me! In my opinion you are mentally
unbalanced. Perhaps you really are Romanian. But your physical
deterioration is obvious: you would not survive a trip on these dirt
roads back to town. If you have no American ID, then I am not
obligated to report your existence. So I can honor your wishes as well
as my duty. Goodbye.”
The old man, after the effort of a long conversation, had fallen
silent. Seidell saluted him, turned, walked carefully back to his jeep,
and drove away as fast as he could from the compound and its
madness.

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