"I want you to touch me on the inside part."
"Go on back in that house and get to bed."
"You have to touch me. On the inside part. And you have to call me my name."
As long as his eyes were locked on the silver of the lard can he was safe. If he trembled like Lot'wife and felt some womanish need to see the nature of the sin behind him; feel a sympathy,(s) perhaps, for the cursing cursed, or want to hold it in his arms out of respect for the connectionbetween them, he too would be lost.
"Call me my name."
"No."
"Please call it. I'll go if you call it."
"Beloved." He said it, but she did not go. She moved closer with a footfall he didn't hear and hedidn't hear the whisper that the flakes of rust made either as they fell away from the seams of histobacco tin. So when the lid gave he didn't know it. What he knew was that when he reached theinside part he was saying, "Red heart. Red heart," over and over again.