Let's Go Play at the Adams'

by Mendal W. Johnson

Paul did what is known as a jump for joy (rarely seen).

The philosophical ins-and-outs of one person’s taking another person’s life—a nicety that seems rarely considered in actual events—was beyond them. The point needs clarification: they could not have discussed it. The literature on the subject, the annotated codes of law prescribing the provocations and instances of retribution, the history of the matter—all of history with all its precedents pro and con—were unavailable, unreadable, and incomprehensible to them. They faced the subject anew.

She had the hungry desire to be outside and in it, free and naked and bowed on her knees, her forehead to the earth: she had the ravenous want to open her mouth and bite the wholesome dirt, to feel the cool, damp grit and sand in her mouth and between her teeth. It was a more ancient form of prayer than she had known before. I want the dirt in my mouth, and then it will be all right, she thought. I want the dirt on my whole face, dirt in my hair, dirt against my whole body and then I’ll be safe. On the earth, with the grass and weeds lay anonymity, oneness, inviolability. Is this the last and only day? Dirt, I pray to you.