Yesterday I saw on the street a man who once worked for me, a man who never liked the fact that I had replaced his patron, the man who had given him his job. The man and I are near the same age, but now he looks much older. In the dozen years since I last saw him he has become stooped and withered. I remember a morning when he came to my office to learn if I would require him to leave his job.

I went back to my journal for 1990 and found the following entry:

ADVERSARY
(Journal entry on Tuesday, November 20, 1990)

The man who once was my enemy,
he having chosen the relationship,
stood before me trying not to look into my eyes,
wondering, I imagine, why it is that I was not defeated,
why it is that I am still there,
a significant, even critical, part of his life.
He had underestimated my ability and determination
to stay in a place where he did not want me to be.

He had come this morning to find out what I thought of him.
He could tuck his tail and run away or stay,
and if he stayed, he had to know some things...
what would the king of the mountain do with him?
perhaps he thought another assault would give him victory?
But he wanted to know, too, what I would require...
did I want servitude and groveling from him?
would I make him eat a plate of crow?

Somewhere I read that conquerors should be generous,
so I motioned him to sit and pointed to my best chair.
He lowered himself slowly as if expecting a trick,
as if the beautiful, clean chair might hurt him.
He turned his body to the side to keep from facing me.
I waited for him to speak before I said a word.
I made it clear that I was prepared to listen to what he said.

I thought of things I might say to him,
hard things, things that would make him wince,
things that would sting his eyes and burn his soul,
things that would make the point that he had lost the war,
that there could be no more battles or negotiations.
But I simply sat and looked at him and waited.
The harshest words are ones not said at all.