forehead. My throat felt like I had a stone caught in it.
I turned and walked away like one in a trance, not
feeling, not seeing, not hearing anything but the cries
of sadness inside me.
Somehow, we got down the stairway and out
the front door to Octavious's car. Mama and I sat in
the back, me lying against her, my eyes closed, my
hand clutching hers. We slipped through the night like
shadows indistinguishable from the blanket of
darkness that had fallen heavily over the world. No
one spoke until we arrived at our shack. Octavious
opened the door and helped Mama get me out. "I'll take her from here," Mama told him
sternly:
"Will she be all right?" he asked. Mama
hesitated. I felt her turn to him and I opened my eyes. "She will be fine; she will grow strong again,
whereas you will grow weaker and smaller under the
burden of your sin," she predicted. He seemed to
shrink. "You be sure that that madwoman you call
your wife treats that child with love and kindness,
hear?"
"I will," he promised. "He'll have everything he
needs and more."
"He needs love."
Octavious nodded. "I'm sorry," he muttered one
final time, and went back to his car.
Mama turned me to the shack and we made our
way to the door as Octavious drove away, the sound
of his car drifting back into the darkness. I was still in
pain. My legs felt so heavy and my head even heavier,
but I didn't complain. I didn't want to make things any