Many were decorated. And still there are those who would deny us the small plaque that recalls our camp. There were no guard towers, they insist. Shown the concrete foundations of the eight towers, they shake their heads. There were no towers, they repeat.
History is clay that can be shaped, broken, and shaped again.
But until recently we had no ownership in the kilns. What's left of the ship are stumps of timbers. I've dragged up pewter cups, candle holders, vases from China, buttons, plates, bolts, and the captain's sextant. The lady was missing, as if she'd slipped out of her harness to meet her lover. But I can't go on intruding into the crew's and passengers' privacy without more financing.