In diplomatic circles parties are plentiful and in this small, friendly country parties abounded in summer. At the third cocktail party of the evening, an elderly, fashionably dressed woman stopped in front of me. “I have met you before,” she paused and looked closely at me.

She remembered, “You are the Consul at the US Embassy.” As I nodded, she added, “You denied visa to my son.” “I am sorry,” I said. “We have to follow rules.” “I understand,” she said. “You actually did me a favor.” I confessed I did not understand. “I didn’t want him to leave for the US. He is my only son.

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If he went there to study, I wasn’t sure he would ever come back. I was relieved when you rejected his visa application on the ground that he couldn’t say much about the studies he planned to pursue in the US.” She added, “He stayed with me, as he couldn’t go to the US,” and, after a pause, “I wanted him with me.” “I am glad it worked out right for you,” I said. “For eight months,” she said. “He died in a car accident.

He was always a bad driver.” “I am so sorry,” I responded sincerely. “I am thankful to you for those eight months he spent with me. Without you, I would have lost him earlier.” I did not know how to respond. The party was over for me.

(The writer is a Washington-based international development advisor and had worked with the World Bank. He can be reached at mnandy@gmail.com)