“9 Joseph VERHEAD, ABOVE THE FLAT ROOF HE LIES on, the moon is full and patient-seeming. Thin black clouds drift across it like floating veils. He can make out the silvery olive trees near the house, the gentle rise of hills behind them, even the high walls of limestone beyond that. The long grasses move in the night wind, and he strains to hear better the faint sound of some animal he cannot identify. His back pains him and he cries out, shifting one shoulder reflexively. The movement causes hi...m to draw in a sharp breath; he holds it, then lets it slowly leave his body. Better. This is the way, to release without protest. He hears someone coming and struggles to sit up. One of his sons? No. It is his wife, when he wanted so for her not to know he had left her side. His cry must have awakened her, and now she has come to him in haste, barefoot and sleep-tousled, a shawl wrapped carelessly about her. She sits beside him. “Why are you come here again?” She runs her hand, so light and cool, across his brow.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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