This Perfect Day

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A CITY’S blank white concrete slabs, the giant ones ringed by the less giant, gave space in their midst to a broad pink-floored plaza, a playground in which some two hundred young children played and exercised under the care of a dozen supervisors in white coveralls. Most of the children, bare, tan, and black-haired, were crawling through red and yellow cylinders, swinging on swings, or doing group calisthenics; but in a shadowed corner where a hopscotch grid was inlaid, five of them sat in a close, quiet circle, four of them listening and one speaking.

“They catch animals and eat them and wear their skins,” the speaker, a boy of about eight, said. “And they—they do a thing called ‘fighting.’ That means they hurt each other, on purpose, with their hands or with rocks and things. They don’t love and help each other at all.”

The listeners sat wide-eyed. A girl younger than the boy said, “But you can’t take off your bracelet. It’s impossible.” She pulled at her own bracelet with one finger, to show how safely-strong the links were.

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