worm crawls out. I put the worm in the crib, in the rags in the crib. I look down at the crib. I look down at the children. I smile. I make the shape of the nursery with my mouth.
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After the lesson, we will go to the forest. We will take the globe to the forest. We will take the books to the forest. We will ride the rocking horse all through the forest. We will push the horse with our legs. How many legs? I say. Six legs, says Spot. Six legs, says Tamworth. We have six legs. A fly, I say. We are a fly. A white fly. We live in a blister of meat. What is a house? I say. A blister of meat. There is no meat, I say. There is no house. We live in the forest. We live in the field. We pick stones from the field. We lie down in the furrows. We lie down. A fat girl passes. She is the cook. She has a tray of cakes. She has a pitcher of milk. She rests the tray on a clod, the pitcher on a clod. She sits on a clod. She scrapes her sores with a knife. She wipes her knife on the cakes. The gardener passes. He puts lilies in the milk. The stalks fill with milk. The throats fill with milk. They drip milk. The petals turn white. They drop on the clods. They are cream, great clots of cream. Ladies drink cream. They turn white. Their skin is clean and white. The farmer rides through the fields on a horse. He has two legs. They flap on the sides of the horse. He slides from the horse. He sits on a clod. He puts his thing in the milk. He drains his thing in the milk. He holds me close. What is that smell? says the farmer. A lady won't know. She won't know. She isn't taught smells. I don't know. What is a smell? I don't know. It is milk, I say. It is the lilies in milk. I laugh. Flies tickle my foot. They crawl from the hole in my foot. Each fly has six legs. Each leg has six hairs, little white hairs. I pull a hair from my foot. A long white hair. With a needle and a hair, I could stitch the hole. I could fasten the button to the hole. I could close the hole. I could cover the hole. Something fell from her mouth. Her foot slipped again and again. She dropped. She screamed. She jerked. Something fell from her mouth. It fell on the grass. It was small. What is small? I say. A child. An apple. A child is small. An apple is small. A key is small. A button is small. It was small like a button. I sat in the field. I found a button attached to a hair. I followed the hair to the house. The hair wound through the house. It wound through the hooks. It wound through the rails. It wound around the knob of her door. I touched the knob. I pushed the door open. Her neck was tied to the bed, to the tester of the bed. She dangled. Something small had fallen from her mouth. I climbed onto the bed. I put my hand in the dark between her breasts, in the hole between her breasts. I crawled into the hole.
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I look at the crib. I look at the window. I look along the top of the wall. I look at the faces, gray faces, gray masks of women's faces. Every mouth is open. The Master watches. He watches through the mouths in the masonry. I throw the tray at the wall. I throw the pitcher at the wall. I hit the wall with the chair. I breathe hard. I put the chair on the carpet. I sit on the chair. I look down. I look at my foot. I hear a puff of air. It comes from my foot, from the hole in my foot. There are no more fluids in my foot. There is air. I am very slim. I am very light and slim. I am very dry. I am filled with air. I hear the puff. It does not come from my foot. It comes from above. It comes through the mouth of the mask. The Master is speaking softly. He whispers. He doesn't want her to hear. He doesn't want them to hear. He is breathing a word. I don't know the word. I can't hear the word. I stand. I can't hear the word. The Master breathes the word through the wall, through the mask in the wall. I open a book. I flip through the book. I put my fingers in the book. My mouth comes close to the book. Is this the word? I say. Is this the word? There is no