Child of God

by Cormac McCarthy

GOING UP A TRACK OF A road through the quarry woods where all about lay enormous blocks and tablets of stone weathered gray and grown with deep green moss, toppled monoliths among the trees and vines like traces of an older race of man.

She sat stark naked on the ground and watched him go, calling various names after him, none his.

Reckon you could do it now from watchin? he said. Do what, said Ballard.