Thinking of his age, his health and how many mouths for him to feed, he counted himself lucky to get a comparatively eff ortless job. It was in any case more profi table than growing rice. It was also more sensible to be a guard in a metropolis with possibilities rather than a hopeless farmer in the dying village. Since mother had become a wreck and the children had left home for further study, there weren’t enough hands to grow rice anymore. Just recalling the phobia of that summer, his strength weakened. He yearned for a break, a good breath and the continuation of his children breeding him grandchildren so that he could sleep in peace.