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"
The
children
.
They
always
do
.
I
thought
you
were
wonderful
about
the
dishes
.
"
"
I
’
m
devious
,
"
I
said
.
"
And
,
in
due
course
,
I
have
designs
on
your
honor
.
"
It
has
been
my
experience
to
put
aside
a
decision
for
future
pondering
.
Then
one
day
,
fencing
a
piece
of
time
to
face
the
problem
,
I
have
found
it
already
completed
,
solved
,
and
the
verdict
taken
.
This
must
happen
to
everyone
,
but
I
have
no
way
of
knowing
that
.
It
’
s
as
though
,
in
the
dark
and
desolate
caves
of
the
mind
,
a
faceless
jury
had
met
and
decided
.
This
secret
and
sleepless
area
in
me
I
have
always
thought
of
as
black
,
deep
,
waveless
water
,
a
spawning
place
from
which
only
a
few
forms
ever
rise
to
the
surface
.
Or
maybe
it
’
s
a
great
library
where
is
recorded
everything
that
has
ever
happened
to
living
matter
back
to
the
first
moment
when
it
began
to
live
.
I
think
some
people
have
closer
access
to
this
place
than
others
—
poets
,
for
example
.
Once
,
when
I
had
a
paper
route
and
no
alarm
clock
,
I
worked
out
a
way
to
send
a
signal
and
to
get
a
reply
.
Lying
in
bed
at
night
,
I
would
see
myself
standing
on
the
edge
of
the
black
water
.
I
pictured
a
white
stone
held
in
my
hand
,
a
circular
stone
.
I
would
write
on
its
surface
in
very
black
letters
"
4
o
’
clock
,
"
then
drop
the
stone
and
watch
it
sink
,
turning
over
and
over
,
until
it
disappeared
.
It
worked
for
me
.
On
the
second
of
four
I
awakened
.
Later
I
could
use
it
to
arouse
me
at
ten
minutes
of
four
or
quarter
after
.
And
it
never
failed
me
.
And
then
sometimes
a
strange
,
sometimes
hideous
thing
thrusts
up
to
the
surface
as
though
a
sea
serpent
or
a
kraken
emerged
from
the
great
depths
.
Only
a
year
ago
Mary
’
s
brother
Dennis
died
in
our
house
,
died
dreadfully
,
of
an
infection
of
the
thyroid
that
forced
the
juices
of
fear
through
him
so
that
he
was
violent
and
terrified
and
fierce
.
His
kindly
Irish
horse
-
face
grew
bestial
.
I
helped
to
hold
him
down
,
to
pacify
and
reassure
him
in
his
death
-
dreaming
,
and
it
went
on
for
a
week
before
his
lungs
began
to
fill
.
I
didn
’
t
want
Mary
to
see
him
die
.
She
had
never
seen
death
,
and
this
one
,
I
knew
,
might
wipe
out
her
sweet
memory
of
a
kindly
man
who
was
her
brother
.
Then
,
as
I
sat
waiting
by
his
bed
,
a
monster
swam
up
out
of
my
dark
water
.
I
hated
him
.
I
wanted
to
kill
him
,
to
bite
out
his
throat
.
My
jaw
muscles
tightened
and
I
think
my
lips
fleered
back
like
a
wolf
’
s
at
the
kill
.
When
it
was
over
,
in
panic
guilt
I
confessed
what
I
had
felt
to
old
Doc
Peele
,
who
signed
the
death
certificate
.
"
I
don
’
t
think
it
’
s
unusual
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
’
ve
seen
it
on
people
’
s
faces
,
but
few
admit
it
.
"
"
But
what
causes
it
?
I
liked
him
.
"
"
Maybe
an
old
memory
,
"
he
said
.
"
Maybe
a
return
to
the
time
of
the
pack
when
a
sick
or
hurt
member
was
a
danger
.
Some
animals
and
most
fish
tear
down
and
eat
a
weakened
brother
.
"
