And finally, I go with some friends to a memorial site, an abandoned school, near Gikorongo. Here there are no stone monuments, no statues of generals on rearing horses, no cenotaphs with an everlasting flame. Inside, resting on tables, I see hundreds of skeletons—bones bleached white by lime. I see couples with their arms around each other; I see mothers and babies; I see little children, their arms flung over their faces (were they trying to blot out the horror before they died, or were they trying to protect themselves from the inevitable blows?). Some of the dead still wear shreds of clothing—odd pieces of civilization in a scene of primitive savagery.