SHE SAT BY HIS lifeless form until the authorities came to take it to the crematorium. Her children got home that night, and the three of them knew each other again through the fact of their grief. Even standing and walking took massive amounts of concentration, so Evelyne did little of either. Great bursts of color were coursing through her, a symphony of inexplicable, contradictory messages about nothing and everything. Your sea is so great and our craft so small, O Lord. The cuttlefish’s song.
