who said this is all exactly as I planned it, that awareness of assembly, from somewhere out of the exclusion zone. who said actually I think it is appropriate for this child to learn about their career as the one in the world who stands holding the buckets, because as it is supposed to be. the lines converge this way.

well, shall we open the shed? and shall we find there the sleeping sables, caged, the soft soft flank of one dumbly draped over the muzzle of a sleeping gun? sleeping, all the sables sleeping. while she is in the old falling down summer house gathering up her things. what things does she have. she has her father’s things, which she considers now her own. his great green jersey of rough wool, with its holes in the elbows and hard beads of dripped white paint. this’ll be warmer than what she’s had so far. and she’ll have his eyeglasses for reading, for when she learns to read. and she’ll have what’s in his bedside drawers, the unopened packets of outdated biscuits and crackers and discounted sweets, and the butcher's calendar, and the magazines full of cartoon pictures of naked women and photos of readers' wives. and socks, and the brace for his knee.

he’s clumping through the bush at the back of the property. he’s holding down the fence with his stick, pulling his bad leg over. moving closer to us. whispering some verses.