By tacit agreement, we did not discuss the death of Mickey the Mouth or any other of the day's events. It was still all there, though, a spectre at th... feast. I think we were all too worn down by the experience of living inside an enigma to face it yet again. Angela decided that she would honour her intention stated when we first met. She would 'do' Trotsky. A completely naturalistic piece, she promised. No tortured soul clawing its way through the twisted bronze. She threatened to do the twins. ‘We will die, Husband, won’t we?’she whispered. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we should sing our death songs now, in case we become too weak to do so later.’ ‘Not yet,’ she whispered against my chest. ‘Finish the story of Se-lu and Ka-na-ti first. Then we will sing. And our souls will break free together.’ I adjusted the pile of blankets above us and began. ‘So when the boys saw how Se-lu got corn and beans from the corn-crib, they became frightened because they thought she was a witch. ‘We have to. More

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