A Spanish civil war veteran lives with a piece of shrapnel embedded under his skull. His disconnected reality sees apples, cider, and flashes of old memories that to him, seem to belong to strangers. His one-armed friend is the only one that seems able to talk to him, or at least has the patient to talk to an old simpleton with a perennial smile embedded on his creased face. The gypsies come to town, and the old man runs to their camp by the woods, a habit of his that nobody can figure out. The gypsies welcome him like an old friend. Sitting by the campfire, the simpleton has no idea of the murder in town and the lynching mob approaching, seeking revenge, which is often confused with swift justice.
