Wood. “I am a fool,” he said. As for me, I look twice at it. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. It’s the only clean way for us. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. After a while he spoke again. What would happen when confronted by the actual? He was young; she was also young and physically beautiful—his lawful wife.
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