ALT The Healers You can hear them moving among the ruins, hear them by their silence in the noisy crowds. You can see them, opening their little bags, opening the shrapneled hearts of strangers, crouching before the body of a child to lean down and whisper her a story, a story in which what's happening is not what's happening. They mend; they stitch; they carry. They work; they weep; they lose. And when nothing can be done among the rubble, they kneel there as the fires fall around them and they cradle the face of the dying, the life that is trying to speak to them, the life that whispers, listen, and they do. —Joseph Fasano