He sweeps the leaves as best as he can. He’s got his broom for a dance partner and no worry about stepping on anyone’s toes. If he’d been an Argentine and of a different time, he’d have kept a rose between his teeth. But this is not Argentina, and if roses still grow somewhere, it is not here. The glass floor around the tree’s enclosure glistens. Brother Adalbert is a conscientious priest. At break time, he retires to the kitchenette right off the great hall and spends a half hour staring at his sandwich and sipping coffee. Today, he cannot