Why did that young woman, with hair to her waist, run about laughing, eating handfuls of earth? Why did that Dorsetshire man stab himself with a dirk? How did the graves of the Boothby children get left open, deserted for days? Was God in the heavenly lectern those days...to save us of our sins!
For days the sun chewed us in Blackwell. It gave us a chance to kill some of the rats. Caesar, don’t let one bite you! Worms crawled out of the earth. Caesar, beware! Whenever I passed our cemetery I smelled new, raw earth—as terrifying as the death smell. ’Sblood, how many deaths does it take to satisfy the earth?
Youth—
What is this vomit, this black gunk pouring out of your mouth? Are you only fourteen...with death on your face?
This is our boy, Slade, who walked to school last week and fished where I fished.
“Papa, let’s carry him into the shade. We’ll cool his hot face and give him water. Our medicine has to make him well. We need him, to grow up and catch perch and pike, and marry Jenny.”
Papa is washing his face. There’s fruit. There’s sleep. There’s tomorrow. There’s kindness. There’s forgetfulness.
Best to cover him.
I’ll cover him. There, that blanket may keep him from shivering. His mother’s sick too. I’ll rub his hands and arms. Water, Papa, give him some. There!