There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming in the fruit groves. He sucked at her neck, biting her hard, leaving red marks that disappeared as soon as he made them. He carried a small bag. It had a tiny flaw, most bizarre. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. “John, of course I forgive you if it is what you need from me. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug.
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