"That dream again-the clanging, clattering donkey, the gypsy peddler, the storm-then waking in a pool of sweat, panting, panic-stricken, disoriented, still hearing the sound of his own terror-filled voice shouting "Mama " as lightning flashed and cold rain coursed down his tear-streaked face, soaking his hair, his shirt, his shoes. He was lost His heart raced, his breath came in spasmodic gulps. There was no Mama. Mama was dead And somehow it was...