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"
But
,
Linda
.
.
.
Oh
!
"
She
slapped
him
on
the
cheek
.
"
Turned
into
a
savage
,
"
she
shouted
.
"
Having
young
ones
like
an
animal
.
.
.
If
it
hadn
’
t
been
for
you
,
I
might
have
gone
to
the
Inspector
,
I
might
have
got
away
.
But
not
with
a
baby
.
That
would
have
been
too
shameful
.
"
He
saw
that
she
was
going
to
hit
him
again
,
and
lifted
his
arm
to
guard
his
face
.
"
Oh
,
don
’
t
,
Linda
,
please
don
’
t
.
"
"
Little
beast
!
"
She
pulled
down
his
arm
;
his
face
was
uncovered
.
"
Don
’
t
,
Linda
.
"
He
shut
his
eyes
,
expecting
the
blow
.
But
she
didn
’
t
hit
him
.
After
a
little
time
,
he
opened
his
eyes
again
and
saw
that
she
was
looking
at
him
.
He
tried
to
smile
at
her
.
Suddenly
she
put
her
arms
round
him
and
kissed
him
again
and
again
.
Sometimes
,
for
several
days
,
Linda
didn
’
t
get
up
at
all
.
She
lay
in
bed
and
was
sad
.
Or
else
she
drank
the
stuff
that
Popé
brought
and
laughed
a
great
deal
and
went
to
sleep
.
Sometimes
she
was
sick
.
Often
she
forgot
to
wash
him
,
and
there
was
nothing
to
eat
except
cold
tortillas
.
He
remembered
the
first
time
she
found
those
little
animals
in
his
hair
,
how
she
screamed
and
screamed
.
The
happiest
times
were
when
she
told
him
about
the
Other
Place
.
"
And
you
really
can
go
flying
,
whenever
you
like
?
"
"
Whenever
you
like
.
"
And
she
would
tell
him
about
the
lovely
music
that
came
out
of
a
box
,
and
all
the
nice
games
you
could
play
,
and
the
delicious
things
to
eat
and
drink
,
and
the
light
that
came
when
you
pressed
a
little
thing
in
the
wall
,
and
the
pictures
that
you
could
hear
and
feel
and
smell
,
as
well
as
see
,
and
another
box
for
making
nice
smells
,
and
the
pink
and
green
and
blue
and
silver
houses
as
high
as
mountains
,
and
everybody
happy
and
no
one
ever
sad
or
angry
,
and
every
one
belonging
to
every
one
else
,
and
the
boxes
where
you
could
see
and
hear
what
was
happening
at
the
other
side
of
the
world
,
and
babies
in
lovely
clean
bottles
–
everything
so
clean
,
and
no
nasty
smells
,
no
dirt
at
all
–
and
people
never
lonely
,
but
living
together
and
being
so
jolly
and
happy
,
like
the
summer
dances
here
in
Malpais
,
but
much
happier
,
and
the
happiness
being
there
every
day
,
every
day
.
.
.
.
He
listened
by
the
hour
.
And
sometimes
,
when
he
and
the
other
children
were
tired
with
too
much
playing
,
one
of
the
old
men
of
the
pueblo
would
talk
to
them
,
in
those
other
words
,
of
the
great
Transformer
of
the
World
,
and
of
the
long
fight
between
Right
Hand
and
Left
Hand
,
between
Wet
and
Dry
;
of
Awonawilona
,
who
made
a
great
fog
by
thinking
in
the
night
,
and
then
made
the
whole
world
out
of
the
fog
;
of
Earth
Mother
and
Sky
Father
;
of
Ahaiyuta
and
Marsailema
,
the
twins
of
War
and
Chance
;
of
Jesus
and
Pookong
;
of
Mary
and
Etsanatlehi
,
the
woman
who
makes
herself
young
again
;
of
the
Black
Stone
at
Laguna
and
the
Great
Eagle
and
Our
Lady
of
Acoma
.
Strange
stories
,
all
the
more
wonderful
to
him
for
being
told
in
the
other
words
and
so
not
fully
understood
.
Lying
in
bed
,
he
would
think
of
Heaven
and
London
and
Our
Lady
of
Acoma
and
the
rows
and
rows
of
babies
in
clean
bottles
and
Jesus
flying
up
and
Linda
flying
up
and
the
great
Director
of
World
Hatcheries
and
Awonawilona
.
