She’d gone on and on about the “cycles of violence” in which Maya’s client had been both victim and perpetrator. The woman made them sound like ocean tides: as inescapable as the gravitational pull of the full moon. To Maya, “cycles” sounded too much like just deserts. She did not believe in karma. To her, violence was a sickness, a contagion. Everyone who came into contact with it became a carrier. Its survivors, its bystanders, all served to bring more violence into the world.
