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Soon
enough
,
the
small
woman
returned
.
She
was
carrying
a
brown
earthenware
jug
of
water
.
She
put
it
down
,
carefully
,
on
the
table
,
and
retreated
to
the
couch
.
She
pulled
herself
up
,
with
a
wriggle
and
a
shiver
,
and
was
seated
beside
her
sisters
once
again
.
"
Thank
you
.
"
Laura
walked
over
to
the
table
,
looked
around
for
a
cup
or
a
glass
,
but
there
was
nothing
like
that
to
be
seen
.
She
picked
up
the
jug
.
It
was
heavier
than
it
looked
.
The
water
in
it
was
perfectly
clear
.
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She
raised
the
jug
to
her
lips
and
began
to
drink
.
The
water
was
colder
than
she
had
ever
imagined
liquid
water
could
be
.
It
froze
her
tongue
and
her
teeth
and
her
gullet
.
Still
,
she
drank
,
unable
to
stop
drinking
,
feeling
the
water
freezing
its
way
into
her
stomach
,
her
bowels
,
her
heart
,
her
veins
.
The
water
flowed
into
her
.
It
was
like
drinking
liquid
ice
.
She
realized
that
the
jug
was
empty
and
,
surprised
,
she
put
it
down
on
the
table
.
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The
women
were
observing
her
,
dispassionately
.
Since
her
death
,
Laura
had
not
thought
in
metaphors
:
things
were
,
or
they
were
not
.
But
now
,
as
she
looked
at
the
women
on
the
sofa
,
she
found
herself
thinking
of
juries
,
of
scientists
observing
a
laboratory
animal
.
She
shook
,
suddenly
and
convulsively
.
She
reached
out
a
hand
to
the
table
to
steady
herself
,
but
the
table
was
slipping
and
lurching
,
and
it
almost
avoided
her
grasp
.
As
she
put
her
hand
on
the
table
she
began
to
vomit
.
She
brought
up
bile
and
formalin
,
centipedes
,
and
maggots
.
And
then
she
felt
herself
starting
to
void
,
and
to
piss
:
stuff
was
being
pushed
violently
,
wetly
,
from
her
body
.
She
would
have
screamed
if
she
could
;
but
then
the
dusty
floorboards
came
up
to
meet
her
so
fast
and
so
hard
that
,
had
she
been
breathing
,
they
would
have
knocked
the
breath
from
her
body
.