I was told to meet him at the end of a long and dusty road. I said the name of the plant that appeared to be burning in front of me instead of the man.
“Nooooo,” he rasped. “I’mmm just *talllking* through thisss. Loookkk cloooosssser. Commme herrree.”
It was the voice of the father this time. I knew I was in deep doo doo trouble.
—–
“I remember how I got brain damage,” he said to her afterwards. “It was a fire; I got too close.”
“Good good,” she replied. “Now maybe those old wounds will heal — Can.” Only those quite close to him called him by that name, he remembered. She edged closer and gently touched the holey hair. Soon maybe no one else can get inside.
Sunklands 