With my heart in my throat, I asked Mr. Salas if I could make a copy of the manuscript. He said I could, reiterating that he wanted history to know the truth. “Everyone is dead except me, Robert. And I’m not going to live long. But Box 13 is history. No one can erase that.” He said there was a copying machine in a store not far away. We walked over and stood by the machine as, one by one, the pages slid out.
