“Sometimes the crime follows the punishment, which only serves to prove the foresight of the Great God.""That's what my grandmother used to say," said Brutha automatically."Indeed? I would like to know more about this formidable lady.""She used to give me a thrashing every morning because I would certainly do something to deserve it during the day," said Brutha."A most complete understanding of the nature of mankind,”

“It's hard to explain," said Brutha. "But I think it's got something to do with how people should behave... you should do things because they're right. Not because gods say so. They might say something different another time.”

“And that is a crime I would gladly commit every day for the rest of my days," he said "Punish me how you will. I love her.”

“I nearly committed a terrible sin," said Brutha. "I nearly ate fruit on a fruitless day.""That's a terrible thing, a terrible thing," said Om. "Now cut the melon.”

“One day I told him about the boys of the neighborhood, about their mocking.He said, "That's because they don't understand.""They should understand, I said. I didn't want to cry, but I was crying."If your mother had diabetes, what would they say?""I don't know.""This is like diabetes. She's not well. That's all."Was that what he told himself? That she was not well? That she might get better? I don't know.”

“So as not to see anything any more, I turned towards the wall, but alas, what was now facing me was that partition which used to serve us as a morning messenger, that partition which, as responsive as a violin in rendering every nuance of a feeling, reported so exactly to my grandmother my fear at once of waking her and, if she were already awake, of not being heard by her and so of her not coming, then immediately, like a second instrument taking up the melody, informing me of her coming and bidding me be calm. I dared not put out my hand to that wall, any more than to a piano on which my grandmother had been playing and which still vibrated from her touch. I knew that I might knock now, even louder, that nothing would wake her any more, that I should hear no response, that my grandmother would never come again. And I asked nothing more of God, if a paradise exists, than to be able, there, to knock on that wall with the three little raps which my grandmother would recognize among a thousand, and to which she would give those answering knocks which meant: "Don't fuss, little mouse, I know you're impatient, but I'm coming," and that he would let me stay with her throughout eternity, which would not be too long for the two of us.”