But Williams’s fantasia bore no resemblance to what we were staring at. Without the sign, we wouldn’t have found it. It wasn’t even a hole, really, just a sort of depression. Retrospectively, I grasp that the hole must have been closed up over the years. The slump I could barely locate without my dad’s help must have once offered access to an earthen room large enough to offer shelter and bed pallets. But all I could picture were moles, tunneling around in the earth.
