We lived in a big
square green high ceilinged room. An open staircase led to an unfinished
attic. Splinters of sky gleamed through and the window panes didn’t fit
properly … Milo and the farmer’s wife were the same height. Her body was
lean and tough, a concentrated weight. Her eyes like small honed wedges slid
into his soft and spilling flesh so swiftly he felt nothing but a cool void
closing up behind her glance. …Milo took to staring out the rattling
windows. No matter how loud I talked his backbone gave no sign of hearing.
His eyes were large, very brown, spongey, dangerously tender. The
countryside oozed into his long patient ogling as into a marsh. I stood my
ground on the side of the road that separated our house from theirs and
laughed. I said, Who would have dreamed you’d come to this? One day Milo and
I were sleeping back to back with handkerchiefs over our eyes and hands over
our ears when we were awakened by the cow in labor. Milo jumped out of bed
and said he must go see. I said such things are better imagined than seen.
Stay then, he said, and I hurried after him the short distance between our
house and their barn. Green Sassoon
