“Who was that, dear?" I heard his mother's voice. "It was that dumb “wetback” kid," was his reply.”

“He still heard his mother's voice--"Davey"--rise like whisper-dust from unseen corners in the house, but it was no longer the only voice he heard. His ears were also filled with the voices of others--his father and Primrose and Refrigerator John and his grandmother. Of course, all of their words for a thousand years could not fill the hole left by his mother, but they could raise a loving fence around it so he didn't keep falling in.”

“Before I succumbed to the sweet lull of his voice, I made one last request. "Stay".I was asleep before he could answer, but in my dreams I heard him reply forever.”

“But what I heard was a low insistent murmur, with pauses for reply in which no reply was made. It had a hypnotic quality that I had never heard in any voice: a blend of urgency, cajolery, and extreme tenderness, and with below it the deep vibrato of a held-in laugh that might break out at any moment. It was the voice of someone wanting something very much and confident of getting it, but at the same time willing, no, constrained, to plead for it with all the force of his being.”

“If a mute kid swears, should his mother wash his hands with soap?”

“I heard God in the silence. I recognized his voice precisely because it was inaudible.”