Or was their guilt written plainly, and for all the world to see, across their face? Was it their face, in fact, for which they were guilty?
It would be autumn, and our fathers would be out threshing in the fields. We would walk through the mulberry groves, past the big loquat tree and the old lotus pond, where we used to catch tadpoles in the spring. Our dogs would come running up to us....
We lost weight and grew thin. We stopped bleeding. We stopped dreaming. We stopped wanting.
