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He
should
have
felt
encouraged
by
the
nearness
of
the
German
Baptist
Church
but
he
was
not
,
because
the
building
was
not
illumined
,
was
cold
and
useless
as
a
pile
of
ruins
on
the
ravine
edge
.
He
was
only
ten
years
old
.
He
knew
little
of
death
,
fear
,
or
dread
.
Death
was
the
waxen
effigy
in
the
coffin
when
he
was
six
and
Great
-
grandfather
passed
away
,
looking
like
a
great
fallen
vulture
in
his
casket
,
silent
,
withdrawn
,
no
more
to
tell
him
how
to
be
a
good
boy
,
no
more
to
comment
succinctly
on
politics
.
Death
was
his
little
sister
one
morning
when
he
awoke
at
the
age
of
seven
,
looked
into
her
crib
,
and
saw
her
staring
up
at
him
with
a
blind
,
blue
,
fixed
and
frozen
stare
until
the
men
came
with
a
small
wicker
basket
to
take
her
away
.
Death
was
when
he
stood
by
her
high
chair
four
weeks
later
and
suddenly
realized
she
’
d
never
be
in
it
again
,
laughing
and
crying
and
making
him
jealous
of
her
because
she
was
born
.
That
was
death
.
And
Death
was
the
Lonely
One
,
unseen
,
walking
and
standing
behind
trees
,
waiting
in
the
country
to
come
in
,
once
or
twice
a
year
,
to
this
town
,
to
these
streets
,
to
these
many
places
where
there
was
little
light
,
to
kill
one
,
two
,
three
women
in
the
past
three
years
.
That
was
Death
.
.
.
But
this
was
more
than
Death
.
This
summer
night
deep
down
under
the
stars
was
all
things
you
would
ever
feel
or
see
or
hear
in
your
life
,
drowning
you
all
at
once
.
Leaving
the
sidewalk
,
they
walked
along
a
trodden
,
pebbled
,
weed
-
fringed
path
while
the
crickets
rose
in
a
loud
full
drumming
chorus
.
He
followed
obediently
behind
brave
,
fine
,
tall
Mother
—
defender
of
the
universe
.
Together
,
then
,
they
approached
,
reached
,
and
paused
at
the
very
end
of
civilization
.
The
Ravine
.
Here
and
now
,
down
in
that
pit
of
jungled
blackness
were
suddenly
all
the
things
he
would
never
know
or
understand
;
all
the
things
without
names
lived
in
the
huddled
tree
shadow
,
in
the
odor
of
decay
.
He
realized
he
and
his
mother
were
alone
.
Her
hand
trembled
.
He
felt
the
tremble
.
.
.
Why
?
But
she
was
bigger
,
stronger
,
more
intelligent
than
himself
,
wasn
’
t
she
?
Did
she
,
too
,
feel
that
intangible
menace
,
that
groping
out
of
darkness
,
that
crouching
malignancy
down
below
?
Was
there
,
then
,
no
strength
in
growing
up
?
No
solace
in
being
an
adult
?
No
sanctuary
in
life
?
