by bristolstreet

I pressed the buzzer to the gate on the crest of a steep hill and waited, not knowing who or what to expect. I hadn’t written or called, and didn’t really expect to find anyone home. Within seconds, though, a dapper white-haired man with black metal-frame glasses came walking down the yard's path in a chipper sort of way. He looked like Colonel Sanders’s twin, but without the goatee and moustache.

After I fumbled something in Portuguese about my being an American and that I had come to write a story but wasn't sure that this was the right place, the man flashed a great big smile.

“Well, yaw cum raht in,” he chirped excitedly. “I’ll git mah whife, and we’ll set us down and have us a rail nahce vis-i-ta-shun.”

What I love about this article is how it conveys the oddness and fixation on the dead and gone of Judith and Jim without passing judgment. And the incredibly interesting subject matter, as well.