“She said 'Over my dead body!' so I took her at her word.”

“When he died, I think she did, too, it just took longer time for her body to realize her heart and mind were already dead.”

“Then, all but instinctively, I took her in my arms. Pressed against me, her whole body trembling, she continued to cry without a sound.”

“The savage rushing of the river seemed to be inside her head, inside her body. Even when the oarswomen, their guides, were speaking to her, she had the impression she couldn't quite hear them because of the roar. Not of the river that did indeed roar, just behind them, close to the simple shelter they'd made for her, but because of an internal roar as of the sound of a massive accumulation of words, spoken all at once, but collected over a lifetime, now trying to leave her body. As they rose to her lips, and in response to the question: Do you want to go home? she leaned over a patch of yellow grass near her elbow and threw up. All the words from decades of her life filled her throat. Words she had said or had imagined saying or had swallowed before saying to her father, dead these many years. All the words to her mother. To her husbands. Children. Lovers. The words shouted back at the television set, spreading its virus of mental confusion. Once begun, the retching went on and on. She would stop, gasping for breath, rest a minute, and be off again. Draining her body of precious fluid... Soon, exhausted, she was done. No, she had said weakly, I don't want to go home. I'll be all right now.”

“I enjoy the vibration of the sound against my lips, the heat of her breath against mine. Everything is visceral now, an explosion of sensations and my vision blurs. She is soft and I am hard and I rage against her, taking her over and over until her eyes glaze and her screaming stops. Her heart is pounding against my chest and her body is so very fragile. So I break it.”

“She said she wanted to see beautiful things. I took her to where i planted my seeds.”