HE STOOPS AMONG US ABOVE IT, TWO OF THE EIGHT
hands. In his face the blood goes in waves. In be-
tween them his flesh is greenish looking, about that
smooth, thick, pale green of cow's cud; his face suffo-
cated, furious, his lip lifted upon his teeth. "Pick up!" he
says. "Pick up, goddamn your thick-nosed soul!"

He heaves, lifting one whole side so suddenly that we
all spring into the lift to catch and balance it before he
hurls it completely over. For an instant it resists, as
though volitional, as though within it her pole-thin body
clings furiously, even though dead, to a sort of modesty,
as she would have tried to conceal a soiled garment that
she could not prevent her body soiling. Then it breaks
free, rising suddenly as though the emaciation of her
body had added buoyancy to the planks or as though,
seeing that the garment was about to be torn from her,
she rushes suddenly after it in a passionate reversal that
flouts its own desire and need. Jewel's face goes com-
pletely green and I can hear teeth in his breath.

We carry it down the hall, our feet harsh and clumsy
on the floor, moving with shuffling steps, and through the
door.

"Steady it a minute, now," pa says, letting to. He turns
back to shut and lock the door, but Jewel will not wait.

"Come on," he says in that suffocating voice. "Come
on."

We lower it carefully down the steps. We move, bal-
ancing it as though it were something infinitely precious,

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