Unsheltered

by Barbara Kingsolver

She’d never given a thought to these little lives hurtling themselves over the dark ocean, their tiny brains still big enough to dream of a warm jungle on the far side of a god-awful journey.

She was happier in a dank bog than any woman or man Thatcher had known, under any shining sun.

Thatcher saw he could never name his friend with one tree because she was many. The fossil ferns, ancient cedars, and flowering plants joined at the root to the different eons of their emergence: Mary was all these at once. She was phylogeny.

When is someone gonna call me phylogeny

“Most people look at a forest and say, ‘Here are trees, and there is dirt.’ They will see nothing of interest unless someone takes them by the hand. I am astonished at how little most people can manage to see.”

In order to study the character of Polyergus, I captured several and made them prisoners. I gave them every necessary accommodation, and placed an abundance of food before them. But they seemed to scorn the idea of labor, and would not even feed themselves. I kept them in this condition three days, until I was satisfied they would all die without their slaves, so I put a few in the prison with them. These faithful creatures manifested joy on meeting their half-famished masters. They stroked and licked them, removing all dust from their bodies, and prepared food and fed them; finally they excavated a room for them, and took them from my sight.

“Sorry,” Willa said again, the word that could never be said enough in the space of one marriage.

“Deserving, getting, and wanting are three different things, moro. Typically unrelated.”

In terms of the available options, it’s inevitable to want all the goods. Isn’t it?” This question he considered at length. “Not inevitable,” he said finally. “If that were true, people would never marry. But we do. We choose to be monogamous. Maybe wanting less than everything translates to quality over quantity.”

They are all for the great captain, while he indentures them and eats their souls and property. Somehow he gets them to side against their own.”

“They are happier to think of themselves as soon to be rich, than irreversibly poor.”

Willa watched Tig’s group among all the dark people-shapes backlit by Atlantic City electricity.

“Mom’s having a visitation from the Ghost of Capitalist Fantasies Past.”

“Plus,” Tig said, “it reminds me to be patient. Seeing all these people that have passed on. I get frustrated sometimes, waiting.” “For people to die?” “Yeah. To be honest. The guys in charge of everything right now are so old. They really are, Mom. Older than you. They figured out the meaning of life in, I guess, the nineteen fifties and sixties. When it looked like there would always be plenty of everything. And they’re applying that to now. It’s just so ridiculous.”