At the bank, Edwin did everything. Or almost everything. He knew the books better than the director did, the faces of the customers better than any younger employee, and the vault better than even the god of financial discipline. He had lived through crises, agricultural collapses, bad harvests, a winter when oil rose so high everyone smelled of panic, and of course robberies.

The robberies were the town’s favorite part of his story, and the most ridiculous part when he thought about them himself.

“Mr. Marsh saved the bank again,” the local paper would say.