“I write their stories—in a few words—and put them in their pockets.” “Why?” “Nobody’s going to say words at their unmarked graves. These are their eulogies.” “Is that part of the job?” “No. And Mr. Raus—and the men who come to retrieve them for burial—probably think I’m mad. I don’t know if they toss the papers I tuck inside their clothes. But it makes me feel better. I keep good records so that someday . . . if someone comes looking, they can be found.”
