As Dom Helder started to speak about the poor, he choked up and could not continue. The bags under his eyes filled up like fountains and the tears ran down his wrinkled face. For five minutes he could not speak. His mouth twitched every now and then, and we hoped he might be able to continue. We waited in rapt attention for him to express what he was trying to say, but he could not. The memory of the destitute and the realization of their desperate plight left him with just one response: tears.
Moses' motions were like a dancer's ... sliding, circling, turning — his movements finding balance and his eyes finding voice ... a bark of delight when he saw a true shot, a rasp of laughter as he found the right angle, the click of his tongue when he snapped the perfect picture.
And the camera which Novalee had thought old-fashioned and unwieldly, looked small and delicate in Moses' hands, hands that moved in magical ways, fingers that found their own rhythm and knew, without knowing, when is was right.